#// so. i just. realised that maybe even more than em just staying behind the walls of vega | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 10 months ago

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The idler wheel is wiser than the driver of the screw.

PART 1 ★ PART 2

Quick summary: After one too many drinks, you find yourself unable to think of anything but a certain smart-mouth detective who is in desperate need of a release.

Word count: 11K (I'm sorry)

Warnings: This is basically just SMUTT with a lil feelings (if you squint) sprinkled in there; kind of angsty at points (mentions of canon-typical death and violence (hellooo they're homicide detectives); gets a bit existential at points, watch out; pretentious.

A/N: YAY! I had this obsession with True Detective S1 all throughout October (watched it at my nan's house lmao), so enjoy the lovechild of that. This is just for fun, so, please, nobody be angry at me if they don't agree with Rust's characterisation, or any of the weird philosophical chat, lalallalal, OKAY ENJOY!!

***

The night air is sluggish and humid with the remnants of a warm summer’s rain, pressing down thickly, close, clogging, simmering just below the surface.

A few times, I’ve interviewed people who live in these sorts of places: motel-types, the “in-between”, where folks stay when they’ve either got no money, no choice or nobody. Other residents include passers-by who’re looking to save money on accommodation, skipping on the fancier places. Not that Louisiana really has any “fancier places”. Places without the paint peeling off walls like dead skin, I guess. A bed and breakfast in the nicer suburbia, with a view overlooking a subpar daydream of a ghost town centre.

I’ve leaned up against the crooked, metal railing, felt the influence of my weight almost sending it and myself crashing down onto the faded parking lot beneath. I’ve leaned up there—after knocking—and waited, waited for a grey face to peer through a crack in the cracked door. I’ve smiled and remarked about how the beat-up, brass numbers up there are hanging by a thread. Sometimes, people are real stingy – they slink out and close the door behind them, or they remain in that little slit, just an eye visible, or they plain shut it in my face. Most let me in right away, maybe a little intimidated by the shiny badge clipped up in my jacket – I’ve sat across from ‘em, felt that mud in the room’s air seep into my pores, inviting me under its still swamp.

Seems like the sort of place for him.

Too many a fuckin’ time, Marty’s come grumbling and muttering into the office kitchen, rolling his eyes, scoffing, huffing, the whole lot. And when I ask him why the strop?—“Ancient fuckin’ philosopher fuckin’ Rust Cohle on it again. Birthday’s comin’ up: get me earplugs and a generous bit o’ duct tape for my dear partner over there, would you?”

Or somethin’ along those lines.

For all his apparent talk about us silly, little “biological puppets”, this seems like Rust’s sort of place. Temporary existence, temporary living. Purgatory?

Whatever.

If you ask me, Rust Cohle’s head is so far up his own ass that it’s no wonder his outlook on life is so dark.

If I was more sober, maybe I’d be thinking about it—about him—less—but this night out has had me so drunk I was maybe even hallucinating at some point. Rust?—sure, he’s been in the back of my mind for some part of the last few months – I have to see him most days I go to work, don’t I? – but, sometime in the space between my third and fourth shot of straight vodka, he was suddenly at the very front of it. I’d seen a guy who smoked like him: cigarette pinched between his thumb and forefinger, a simple, deep drag. I’d thought it was him, but then I realised his face was shrouded in the smoke that he’d exhaled, and I recalled that Rust never seems to do that. Never seems to exhale. All the tar and shit stays in.

With a twist of my keys, the engine rumbles off into more-or-less silence. Fuck, it’s a bad idea, yes, just being here. If he likes to keep his distance, well—he’s entitled to that choice.

I glance over my shoulder, out the window, out at the complex which is all yellow and shining, illuminated by buzzing halogen light bars and, of course, the occasional bug zapper. It’s clean enough. The lines of this parking space were white enough. Apartment 11A, said Marty. Second floor.

“Are you drunk?” he’d asked – Marty, not Rust.

I’d replied, “No,” pressing closer to the phone box in attempts to remove myself from the swarm and bustle of the ladies’ bathroom. And it was an honest reply. Sort of. Despite his scepticism, by that time, I’d long stopped drinking, and all that remained from it was a sort of numb tingle in my fingertips—as far as I was concerned.

I don’t think I’d be in this parking lot, stepping out of my car, if I wasn’t still a little bit gone.

Marty’s sigh had crackled through the receiver. “Don’t bring any o’ tha’ party-this-party-that attitude to ‘im, alright? He’ll hate it.” I’d told him okay, my stomach spiking up with excitement. “Fact is, I don’t think you should go at all. ‘f you do, should be a work matter. This a work matter, detective?”

I’d lied, said yes, perhaps with a slur to my voice.

He clicked his tongue. “Okay, buck, whatever you say.” Then, he’d hung up.

There was something disapproving in the manner of the conversation. I got the feeling that he was talking to me in the same voice he used to lecture his daughters. The only reason I’d called him was to get something from him, sure, so that I could basically get something from Rust, his partner. I could see how that sort of thing might’ve upset someone. Not that Marty Hart should have any right to judge, not when he’s coming into work in the same clothes as the day before, stinking of sweat and God knows what. The unsaid agreement of everyone in the office is to turn a blind eye. I’ve met his wife. Someone should cut off his damn dick.

Quiet, now. Hell, who am I to talk? Marty’s fun to chat with, makes a slow day at the office a little brighter. ‘Course, there’s rarely a slow day at the office.

And I’m at the top of the stairs, now. And I knock—one, two, three—on the pilling, forest-green door. Dulled down 11A. Blinds are determinedly shut, slats flat. For a second, I think maybe I’ll be waking him.

Then I remember Rust doesn’t sleep.

A grey face appears as the door swings just a little ways open, grave and sunken-tired. His expression isn’t so pissed-off as it is just his usual expression.

“Rusty,” I say to him with a small nod, words scraping out dryly.

He doesn’t respond right away – ‘stead, he leans his body out partway, eyes absent like he’s searching for some hooligan criminal in the night.

“Marty told you my address?” he asks lowly. It’s more a statement than anything, but I amuse him with a nod anyways. There’s a cigarette flaring up between his fingers. His hand twitches a little like he’s wanting to take a drag, but his eyes are fixed on my shoes, now, like he’s still coming to terms with the fact I’m a foreign body in his domain.

My toes curl up tight in my shoes – there’s that prick of anticipation again. Ice-cold, you could easily mistake it as dread.

Rust doesn’t exactly subject me to an imploring look—not really his style—but he bows his head down just slightly – that’s sign enough for me. He wants to know why I’m here, and he no doubt wants to know the quickest way to be rid of me.

I sigh. I ask him.

My body trembles, and he notices it, records it, stores it away for later reference, for some other time he’ll find that it and me will contribute to his purpose.

Rust has a face of stone. I get to know it well as I search for a sign there that might let me know what lies beneath. But, of course, a statue is solid through and through. Sharp angles and smooth planes carved hollow. If he’s cold to the touch, I’d like to reach out and be sure. Is he cold where a man ought to be warm? Christ, it makes my pulse jump just to think about it.

There is no greater purpose or cruel intention underlying my words, as far as I’m concerned. Rust, however, lingers there, with his arm up on the door, barricading the entrance, while he peels back and flits over every layer of possible meaning, his attention fixed absently on my left ear.

He then looks at me—briefly—in the eyes, with a sort of paralysing intensity. Even the tingling in my fingers ceases to be.

It takes a moment, pregnant with the chorus of cicadas, crickets and other night-creatures, before he steps back neatly to allow me in.

The door clicks softly behind me as I enter into a room that’s bare as bare can be.

Rust grunts, coming up around me and into the kitchen area. “Want anything?” he mumbles around his cigarette, other hand shoved in his pocket. He’s still half-dressed in his work clothes, his tie strewn on the counter, his blazer slumped over a rickety picnic chair perched up in front of a wall of crime scenes and dead bodies. My eyes linger there—how can they not?

“A beer,” I tell him, still looking at those photographs, then at the stacks upon stacks of books. Philosophy, ethics, religion. Names I’d expect only those with PhDs to know.

“Don’t think you’ve had ‘nuff to drink already?”

I shoot him a look. “I think I can handle it, Rust.” He straightens up, raises his brow. I snort, reasoning, “I’ll only have one.”

“One,” he agrees, opening up the fridge and having a rummage around.

White walls and all of them empty, like some sort of psych ward. Half-sure Rust actually did do some time in that type of care, though, so—shouldn’t make any quips about that. I don’t want him thinking I think he’s crazy – he gets enough of that, I’m sure.

Back at my place, though, I’ve got posters or drawings or paintings up around every corner. My niece’s drawing of a mermaid sits on my dresser, and photographs of my family are displayed in the hallway. One up by the TV, I painted myself when I was in high school. About two years after I graduated, they asked if I wanted my portfolio back, and I’d obviously said yes. And I love my stuff! Some ‘cause it’s pretty, others because of memories and whatnot. Guess some people don’t have that creative trait, or they lose it. Or maybe they detest the sentiments, those strings that have been, are and will be attached to things. When my cousin broke up with her boyfriend, she cut her hair and burned his clothes. “I just want to forget him,” she’d snarled. I’d sputtered a laugh into my tea.

Rust plants a Corona down on the counter, already cracked open.

There’s no mirror in here either – I can’t check whether I look as desperate as I feel. When I focus back on him, Rust is taking a swig from his own beer, turning to glance at the crucifix pinned above the messy mattress on the floor. Huh. Didn’t peg him as a Christian.

His honey-blond hair doesn’t look cold to the touch, that’s for sure ‘n’ certain. Wonder if he just wakes up like that or what. Once, Marty had been teasing him at work, even cracking a smile out of the old guy. “Ain’t them just the prettiest curls y’ever seen, buck?” he’d remarked, nudging into me, cooing at him. Silently, in my head, even then, I’d agreed: prettiest curls I’d ever seen. Rust hadn’t looked up to chart my reaction, but, if he had, he’d maybe have seen my fidgeting fingers or hitch of breath. Or maybe he felt it, heard it.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this,” I offer pathetically through a nervous smile.

He blinks, takes another swig, leaning over the counter that separates us. “No, y’aint.”

Jesus, I have to turn my head and shut my eyes for a second. I don’t particularly believe in God, but I ask Him to please give me the strength to resist my urges and act like a normal damn person for at least a few more minutes. And then I apologise for only praying out of convenience. In the face of temptation. This is why people shouldn’t drink – still, doesn’t stop me from downing a good part of my beer.

I turn to the wall and try to turn myself off a little bit. It’s not hard – Rust still has Dora Lange (rest her soul) pinned up on his wall, naked, blue, stiff. I don’t want to know why, so I don’t ask him.

His eyes are adamant on the side of my head. Funny how he never seems to look at me at the same time I’m looking at him. Pisses me off a lot of the time – not just him, but in general. A lot of people share this same fear of not being heard, not being listened to and not being cared about. Men in particular, I’ve noticed, have a tendency to raise their voice over others’, to yell or shout or hit things or push ‘n’ shove. Marty’s that way – a lot of men at the precinct are, too. Women who are raised to be the listeners sometimes act out in the same way, frustrated at all the things they have to care about that men don’t, burdened with manners and politeness. I used to hate having to listen, to wait for the man who interrupted me to finish speaking. Rust always lets people finish their point, for better and for worse. Pisses me off in a different type of way. I can feel his judgement seeping out of him, so potent that’s it’s tangible, lapping at my feet.

He doesn’t push and shove – he’s a listener, too. Of course, he has that male privilege where his silence has a gravity, a magnetic pull, where mine is simply as is. At least he pays attention. Sure, on the surface, it might look like he doesn’t care at all, hunched over a case file at his desk, back turned to me and the rest of the lot, but proximity has its power – assigned workspaces put with his personality, and he knows what’s like and unlike me better than my sister. He’s reading into my refusal to talk, to face him – unlike me.

“So, you’ve given this some thought, then,” Rust says matter-of-factly, and my tummy bubbles up.

I snicker nervously, heart racing. God, I’d expected surprise, disbelief, outright refusal, maybe even a little disgust, but, when I manage to turn around and look at his face again, it just seems to me like a calmness. Stoicism found in the affirmation, maybe, of his expectations. It’s like I’m walking right into one of those little theories of his: a proved hypothesis.

I take another sip from my beer, feeling too shy for my liking. “Well, yeah,” I drawl, slumping over the kitchen counter and propping my chin up to look right back at him in a surge of liquid confidence. “I always think ‘fore I do anything that’s anything, Rust.”

Almost immediately, he retreats, standing up straight and resting the small of his back against the lip of the sink behind him. He hums, glances away. “We both know that’s a lie,” he combats, hands tucked into his pockets, chin tilted up, eyes down. A mouthful of beer numbs the sting of rejection. “What you mean is you think you can justify all your decisions. You think you can justify why you knocked on my door and said what you said—” he elaborates quietly, eliciting a snort from me, “—but, at the end o’ the day, all your decisions boil down to what you feel is right, not what is right.”

“‘n' you think you ‘n’ you alone know what’s right?”

Slate-grey eyes flit up and down my face, like I’m a specimen on a slide.

“I think that the girl who’s stumbled up on a fella’s door asking him to fuck her is less inclined to know, without bias, what’s right, yes.”

I swallow thickly, sucking the remaining flavour of beer off of my tongue before going in for another swig.

Christ.

Not a single bat of his eyes. Not a quiver of his mouth, not a twitch to his nose, not a morsel of natural, human hesitation. Does he have to be so crass? I did the courtesy of making it palatable, at least to my own ears, with a euphemism. But when have I ever known Rust Cohle to water anything down? No drink I’ve ever consumed will match his body’s preference of alcohol content. He’s nursing his beer close to his chest, but who knows what poisons lay dormant in these cabinets?

“Rusty,” I say lowly, maybe asking for a break – I close my eyes for just a second, part because I couldn’t bear it if I caught some sort of disapproval on his face, and part because it’s just past two o’clock in the morning.

Late nights have consumed my life recently, what with that sicko rapist connected to a Christian fertility cult. Children of God – “go forth and multiply”. His confession had turned my blood cold. Johansson had offered to sit in the box instead, but I did it anyway. I went home and cried over it, then came into work the next day to talk to some press and then receive my new assignment.

He hums, taking a drag from his cigarette, swallowing the smoke down. Rust knows how it is. To be honest, I’m probably the one who doesn’t know the half of it. One night at the office, he’d casually confessed to his insomnia, like he was just commenting on the state of the weather ‘n’ nothin’ else. So, I guess I won’t pretend to get it.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. “Are you into that whole abstinence thing?”

The weak light above flickers gently as he pauses, turns the question over in his mind. Anyone else would’ve surely laughed.

“I believe that man is susceptible to desire, yes—but he can resist it and its consequences should his willpower be stronger than the false promises posed by that temptation.

I snort again, because, now, I really am tipsy, and I can’t hold in my attitude any longer. It’s not that I think he’s lost it or whatever. It’s just—he’s so—objectively—absurd. Well—“objectively”. He’s got points, but those points lose all meaning in the spiralling darkness of overthought and deep contemplation wherein he’ll explain that everything really means nothing—and he’ll be right about that, sure, but also unintentionally prove a point about himself. I’d ask him what it means when, in a world where everything means nothing, a child will give their friend a flower found on the way to school, but I feel like his answer would be too morbid for my liking. Does that make me an unreliable source? The fact that I want to live?

He's absurd. He’s also a little bit awry in the head. Don’t know what he’s lost or what he’s lookin’ for, but it’s not a good look on him. He’s honest, yes – that’s a good trait. But honesty without kindness is cruelty. And he is kind – underneath, he’s kind, and I know that because of how hard he works to weed out evil people in this world, most times at his own risk. That’s kindness, albeit unconventional, whether he realises it or not.

The kindness almost cancels out his arrogance.

“So, what?” I challenge under the guise of a teasing grin. “You can go mouthin’ off for hours on end about how up themselves religious people and all’at are, but you can’t draw the similarities between their philosophy and your philosophy? How does that work, Rust?”

While I was working that Children of God nightmare of a case, he just couldn’t seem to restrain himself – every bullshit word that left him revealed to me his hubris. Now, I’m not angry, and he’s not stupid – we’re not arguing. In fact, he seems intrigued, lean body shifted toward me. He sets his beer down on the counter, crosses his arms over his chest after securing his cigarette between his lips, and lowers his head as if to listen to me better.

I sigh, continue. “D’you know what I think? I think you oversimplify humanity. You’re a great detective—‘nd I guess you know it—and, within the confines of your job, it serves you well, makes you good in the box. But your assumptions are too general. People are who they are, sure, but they also decide to be those people. By their environment and those who surround ‘em, people make the decisions that define ‘em. A lot of the time, their circumstances ain’t fair. People born into badness are trapped by the badness—either physically, or up in their heads—and they have a tough time escapin’ it.”

Rust inhales the smoke again, the only evidence of it happening being the soft whisp that curls away from his nose. I wonder to myself how his lungs are still standing.

“‘s that how you explain that—homicide case you’re workin’ on?” Three-year-old boy died of neglect, his siblings found locked in cabinets, one in a dog cage, by their mother and stepfather. Rust’s eyes flash silver. “Killer had a tough time?”

Asshole.

I narrow my eyes dangerously. “Don’t be mean, Rusty,” I scold, and he blinks in concession. “I think evil exists. I think it’s complicated. I think you summarise things that ought not to be summarised.”

He’s silent for a heartbeat. Then, his hand comes up to pinch away his cigarette, and he waves it in a small flourish, explaining, “When I say “people”, I mean society. Human culture.”

“Last I checked, Rust, you don’t know everybody on the planet. You don’t know their “culture��, or experiences.” That seems to shut him up. My eyes wander to his broad shoulders, trail along the meat of his arms beneath the cheap, polyester shirt that hugs close to the muscle, and they linger there like the quiet that settles between us.

He nods slowly, once. “Our decisions define us?”

I bob my head, unabashedly staring at the elegant column of his throat, his neck, and the stretch of tan skin that is settled beneath the white undershirt revealed by the first one, two, three buttons which have recently been undone.

He’s quieter when he asks me, “Well, how does this decision define you, then?” There’s nothing malicious about the way he says it, or even lustful – just a calm curiosity.

“Ain’t it obvious?” I grin again, laugh a little, blush hotly. “I’m horny!” I hide my face in my shoulder, trying to compose the hiccups of laughter in my stomach. “I’m sorry,” I snicker, wiping my palm over my brow, my eyes. “This probably isn’t very attractive to you.”

“You’re a very pretty girl,” he replies. He mutters my name solemnly, like we’re in a formal meeting or something.

I glance up, check whether he’ll offer me eye contact again, but he doesn’t – he’s staring at the wall, lost.

I scoff. “You’re a very pretty guy, Rust.”

God willing, none of the boys at the precinct will ever find out about this. If Marty lets it slip that I even asked for Rust’s address, then I’ll never hear the end of it. Worse, everyone’ll think I’m dead-gone over him. Guess I don’t really fit the standards expected of women around here: “wife”, or “whore”. Or “dead”. It’s hard enough to be taken seriously going about pretending I’m not interested in sex at all. Once sex comes into the equation, I’ll be reduced to that and nothing else.

Anxious, I start flicking up under my fingernails. Is Rust already starting to think those things, too? I’m a great detective, but that’s the only capacity in which he’s really known me.

I wring the neck of my bottle. “I should explain—”

He holds his hand up, stating, “I don’t need you to. Do you feel the need to?”

Curious, wary, I watch his face, a blank slate. Still waters run deep. My eyes drift down, to where his hands are together in front of him, one relaxed beside him the other curled around his wrist with two fingers resting on the pulse.

“No,” I reply.

“You thought it over,” he says, eyes tilting up at the ceiling, aloof, bored, maybe. His words are sort of monotone, like he’s reciting a passage from a book that he’s just recently read: “You chose me because you know me. You haven’t been sleeping well. You’re stressed, you’re scared, you’re frustrated.” He blinks. “You’re attracted to me due to some—unfortunate trigger beyond your control in the reptilian part of your brain.” Brief as the flicker of a candle in a still room, he looks over me, brow raised slightly as if daring me to tell him that he’s wrong. He pauses again, takes a short puff. “It makes you think I can take care o’ your needs.”

Look at the state of him: sallow and wilting on the inside. Reducing me down to a sentence or two, and being right about it.

“Well, can you?” I ask weakly, feeling small. He looks over me, blinks blankly. “How do you take care of your needs?” No reply. “You do have needs, don’t you?” I remark, tapping the rim of my bottle to my warm temple. “Programming ‘n’ whatnot.”

He tilts his head away in dismissal.

I smile, more to myself than to him. “Beat off in the shower, is it?”

For a second, Rust is still. My eyes grow heavy, admiring the strong profile of his nose. He then nods helplessly, like there’s no point in trying to lie.

I hum, a soft, self-satisfied smirk edging its way onto my face. “Must feel like a sin,” I snicker.

He squints slightly, like he disagrees with my logic, but does not interrupt to protest.

“I remember takin’ baths as a teenager and double-checkin’, triple-checkin’ I locked the door,” I confess. “Couldn’t take my time. ‘S that how it is for you, Rust?” I probe, tilting my head to the side, losing his eyes as quickly as I catch them. “You ever let yourself enjoy it? Let yourself want it—?”

“I don’t want it,” he snaps quietly.

“But your programmin’ says you do, right?” I point out, scrambling to hold onto the flaw in his argument. I search his face, my own bright, eager.

He quirks up a miraculous smile, and I myself burst into a wide grin. Still smiling—though, you’d have to admit, it’s such a strange sight, sort of gratifying, almost patronising—he shifts his weight between his feet, scratches at his nose with his pinkie, sniffs, takes a long drag of his dying cigarette. I know he must feel disjointed, though he doesn’t show it: he’s misstepped, and I’ve caught him. And how often does Rust Cohle misstep? I should’ve checked the news for a blue moon tonight.

Interested, now, is he? Breathing quietly, rolling his jaw – he’s entertaining the competition I have goin’ up in my head. From the looks of the gentle smirk on his face, he’s enjoying it, too.

“No,” he corrects with a dry husk to his voice. “No, I know what I want, and, when I think those things are necessary or useful, I know how to get them.”

In this type of context, I’d like to see him try. Though, he is an undeniably attractive man. Thick, solid all the way through, like a rich wood. But he’s got these brittle eyes: fraying.

He continues: “Most of the time, though, what we want is born out of dangerous feelings, like rage or lust. Ruminating on the consequences of those potential actions seems to me the more sensible thing to do than to just leave it and find out.” I sniff. “Desire is inescapable for most, including the sexual kind. I feel it—“ he eyes how I wriggle beneath my skin, “—you feel it. But it can be resisted. You’re lettin’ it dictate what you do ‘n’ say. If I do to you what you want me to, have you thought about how it might affect things down the line? Tomorrow, next week, next month—?”

“Yes,” I hiss, a little too emotionally, such that a gleam of satisfaction crosses his grey eyes at the strain and stretch of my voice. Christ. Desperate much?

I take several seconds to think before allowing myself to speak again, all while staring at him straight on and refusing to look away: I’d just die if I let him catch me out. “Well, how can you be sure of the fallout? How do you know the good won’t outweigh the bad? Not “you” specifically, but, also, yeah, “you” specifically. I can think about something morally ambiguous, and I can evaluate the potential consequences, and, just as you are satisfied to observe, I will decide to follow through with this somethin’ and deal with what I gotta deal.”

He sighs. “Because decisions define a person?”

I tuck my hair tight behind my ears. “Yes.”

And he hums – that beautiful noise resonates in my stomach before sinking down there, low, its weight a comfort. “I agree with you in that respect,” he admits.

A laugh erupts out of me like the sputter of an engine. Luckily, I’m easy to laughter – it’s like me, as is my genuine grin. “Rust Cohle’s agreein’ with me on somethin’?—Call the police!”

“We are the police,” he replies smartly, watching me snort and smile and grow flushed in the face. I feel very grateful to that beer – at least my giddiness can be blamed on the effects of alcohol and save me from embarrassment.

As I simmer down, he looks away, adds, “I agree to an extent. People all think that they’re one-of-a-kind. That they make these—amazing decisions. They speak and do and walk and play and work and fuck and eventually die – all of ‘em.”

“You’re part of the people,” I argue.

He hums, nodding in acceptance. “Yes.”

“If a person acts due to their instinct, whether it’s succumbing to it or fighting against it, then isn’t man simply his programming?” He lowers his head. “You can be aware of it, and you can be a part of it, too. Who are you to deny yourself the good parts?”

He fiddles with his cigarette, svelte fingers nimble and acute. I cross my legs, flex my hips; he notices.

“Because of the consequences,” he replies, a soft whisper.

I thought that everything meant fuck-all?

For someone who sees no meaning in life, he sure seems to spend a lot of time contemplating it. Here, I thought I’d have hot hands sliding all over me, gripping, spreading, pushing, but instead find myself defence in an unprecedented debate.

Rust is breathing slower, deeper, almost unable, now, to look me in the eyes, even look at me in general, whereas, before, it had been a choice, whether that choice be conscious or unconscious. His cigarette burns weakly in his fingers, forgotten. The muscle in his jaw flexes, his expression hollow.

My body buzzes with want, leaves me scrambling for breath like I’ve just run a race. I want. I want, I want, I want. The rough pads of his fingertips, the surest and most confident I’ll have ever known. Sharp tongue, quick and precise. Something about how he smells. All my compliments to pheromones – even in the heavy musk of the bar, I’d smelled him, ashy, warm, alive, and now it’s wreathing all around. Or maybe that’s just me – it’s like when you try to take someone’s pulse with your thumb, and all you’re feeling is your own heartbeat.

I want – my breath trembles with it.

“Rust,” I say softly. He shakes his head a little, looking away still, vulnerable like a wild animal. I sigh, gnawing at my lip. “I really want it. I—I’ve—it’s not just a rash decision,” I explain. “I’ve wanted it for a while, now.”

He shudders – I notice. “Since when?”

I huff out a sheepish laugh, fix my eyes on my restless hands. “You won’t remember it—”

“I will.”

His voice sounds clogged. It sobers me right up.

“A year back,” I tell him. “You were working at the office—late, in the dark. You called me, and I asked you why, and you said—it was because you were tired and thinkin’.” I glance up to check if he’s maybe looking, but he’s not – he’s turned his head even further away. The soft, gentle curls of his hair tempt me.

Blindly reaching for the bottle, securing it almost immediately, he finishes the rest of his beer, then sets it back down.

“I—” he begins, scratching his nose, “—I was—tired.” He pauses to re-thicken his voice. “And—thinking—”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but the both of us know what he said that night: Of you. Thinking of you—of me .

My stomach flips, leaving me almost nauseous, just like it did when I first heard those words. At first, I thought I’d misheard, that I was so tired my mind was playing tricks on me. Then, I thought he was being cruel, or maybe he was drunk. Those two instances weren’t—aren’t—unlike him, but he never, ever calls to be mean or to be stupid. He’d been quiet and warm through the phone after that, a presence so thick I could’ve sworn he had his arms around me right then. I hadn’t slept well for a time, then, of course, and that made it all the more vivid. His voice had made me shiver all the way through as he told me he had to get back to work.

When I saw him the next morning, I couldn’t look at him. It was the first time I couldn’t, not wouldn’t. It was also the first time I felt him paying attention to me.

I shift, ask the question I’d wondered since that call: “Why?”

A pause.

Then: “You brought me coffee that morning,” he explains softly, speaking to the wall opposite. “I was—looking at the mug on my desk – it was yours. Green one you like to use.” He sniffs. “And…” He teeters on the precipice of that word but does not finish the thought.

Hmm. That’s something to think about. Rust Cohle thinking about me and not picking apart why and why he shouldn’t be. It had been a mindless enough gesture – it’s not unheard of me to be makin’ coffee for other people in the office, not because I have to but because I like to. For the people I can stand, that is: Johansson always, and him for me; Cathleen; Marty, when I’m not pissed off at him; and Rust, from time to time. Everybody knows that green mug is mine, though – nobody touches it, not even the boss. Rust reads far too much into things. Most of the time, he’s dead-on. I should’ve known from the moment I placed that coffee on his desk, from the sharpening of his eyes (that did not spare me a glance) that lingered on my lingering hand on his table, that he knew. Figured out something I hadn’t even quite figured out myself. Not until later that night.

I wonder if he’s ever thought of me when fucking his own hand. I wonder if he thinks about me sometimes, when he can’t sleep, in between horror stories and brutal blows and uncovering the secret truths of the universe. I do, sometimes.

When I push myself back to my feet, stand up, Rust’s attention springs back, and he watches me, looks at me.

Quietly, I relish in the satisfaction of his stare, crossing on light feet to toss my empty beer bottle in the bin. He steps aside to let me open the cupboard under the sink, his hand curled in a loose fist by his side. I’m not trying to tease him – I grant him the space he so clearly needs, retreating about five paces back, leaning slightly myself against the counter.

I could say anything right now, no matter how insane, and he’d treat it with total and utter respect. I could reveal to him the reaction my body has to seeing his fingers fiddle like that with his cigarette, and he’d manage to identify the cogs and wheels in what, when you step back, actually turns out to be a hidden machine. Christ, I could probably remove all of my clothes, stand naked in front of him, and he’d look on as one would look on at a piece of evidence at work. Going over the details, once, twice, scribbling it all down in that big, leather ledger.

Here’s what I think: he needs it. For all his talk about how unoriginal, how predictable mammals are at the end of things, he probably knows that himself. The tension in his jaw, the perpetual tightness of breath. That clipped way of talking he has, wound so tight around himself, like a compressed spring fighting its natural urge to let go.

I could make him let go. Maybe. I wish he’d let me try. It’s nothing possessive, really: wanting to be the one to unravel his tightly coiled body. Just—the release of seeing him be. No thinking in particular – just being.

He is still, however, uncommonly mute, avoiding my eyes.

I sigh. I ask him tentatively, “You think I ought’a be ashamed o’ myself?” biting down on the fleshy inside of my cheek.

“No,” he contradicts.

“But—you think I should be findin’ my fun elsewhere, with—some other guy?”

He sort of pins his hands behind his back, pressing his weight against them there at the edge of the sink. He looks a lot taller from this angle. “I think there’s a lotta fellas stumblin’ over themselves to be with a girl like you.”

“Maybe,” I scoff, “but my reptilian brain don’t want none of ‘em.“ I blush warmly when I glance up and he’s there watching me, though there’s no bashfulness at all on his side of it.

I expect him to maybe dart his eyes away again, like he does, and then walk me to the door, maybe even to the car if I haven’t offended him too badly, and then call it a night. I could stuff it in; I can compartmentalise. Monday would carry on as it always does, except now without the wondering and the yearning and the delusion. Did he have to be so good-looking? His cheap, wrinkled shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows—like they are now—and those lean forearms braced up on the table, caging in the neatly set-out notes scrawled up in his ledger, like they have mind to escape. And he’s—beautiful. He’s tall. Out-of-place sort of tall, where he has this bend to his neck, sometimes, as to not draw attention to himself. Other times, though, he stands to full height, regal, elegant, authoritative, like when he comes out o’ the box.

He sees into people. He feels it all so deeply.

And he’s looking at me, seeing into me, deeply. His eyes are brittle like china pieced back together with store-bought glue. The low light casts long shadows down his neck and harsh face.

“Come here to me, Rust,” I say to him, beckoning him over with a tilt of my head. To my surprise, he does. He does immediately, peeling himself off the counter, eyes drifting somewhere just behind me as if disinterested.

He stubs his cigarette out on an old plate, abandons it there officially, before stepping slowly towards me, feet never dragging, dodging my searching eyes like the plague.

Hmm. Maybe I made a good argument “for” to his “against”. Or maybe he was never “against” to begin with. I’ll watch him carefully tomorrow and see if there was anything I missed.

I reach up and touch his face gently. I used to do this with my husband before he passed, and he’d close his eyes and whisper my name and lean into the touch, tender, loving – my fingers shake slightly with the memory. Rust Cohle does none of that, because he is nothing like my husband. He’s perfectly rigid against my fingertips; his stare flits briefly up right into my soul, his mouth pressed in a hard line. Everything about him is so sharp. The ridge of his cheekbones, the defiant slant of his nose. The lean muscle of his arms and shoulders, slightly sinewy just beneath the skin.

But when I brush my thumbs up along his eyebrows, easing the sharp line between them, he sighs and closes his eyes, neck bowing down, still as stiff as before, just—different. A small gap, an opening, to that locked room of his upstairs.

“Rust,” I whisper, nose brushing his. He hums again, lowly, eyes shut. “What do you think of us havin’ sex?”

“Sex,“ he replies softly, “is the illusion of connection constituted by the release of a mess of happy hormones, simply by touching all the right places—and nothin’ more.”

I hum and watch the look on his face grow brittle as our breaths mingle closely. God, he’s so near to me that my head swings in a bout of lightheadedness, heady, vision centring in on him and only him, such that I wouldn’t know if this place was burning down all around, even if the flames started eating us alive.

“I think you’re full o’ shit, Rusty. Know how I know that?”

He sighs shakily. “How?” It’s like the word is dragged right from the pit of his chest, barely a breath to show for the effort of it.

“I can feel you against my leg.”

He swallows thickly, but he does not blush, and he does not open his eyes. And, contrary to what he might seem, Rust is not cold like stone. When my fingers grow more confident, when they trace and drag lightly along the line of his cheeks, he is warm there. His pulse, when I find it, exists and is hot and slightly erratic, a fact that leaves my mouth dry and open. I can feel the inflexion of his throat as he swallows again, the shift of the skin and the rhythm of his heartbeat, the gentle influence of his breathing.

I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. So, I ask him, “Can I kiss you?” ever so gently.

Softer still, he replies, “Yes,” with that slight Southern whistle of his, barely moving.

Give me strength. Give me strength.

That look on his face is filling me with a delicious, vibrating power. As I stretch my neck up to brush a kiss against the corner of his mouth, my eyes are open and watching him, charting him: Rust breathes strongly out of his nose, eyes still determinedly shut, like he’s absent and meditating. He is not tough as stone – parts of him are soft. He barely returns the kiss, but, as far as my brain processes, his lips are soft. Hesitant, maybe.

Then, these soft lips part, and he is sucking in a hot, shuddering breath, capturing me in a deep kiss, as if to breathe all of me in, a strong hand threading through my hair. It hurts a little at first – a small noise escapes my throat at the slight shoots of pain tugging at the roots – but Rust doesn’t seem to notice. Not at first. No, he’s still breathing me in. His lips are dry, rough, a push and tug, a twist, and he’s kissing like a punch, knocking the breath right out of my lungs. Whatever oxygen I manage to hold onto is sucked out of me promptly.

I whine, my body going all slack and tired as he smooths the hair out of my face, palms dragging clean back across my cheeks. Those hands cradle the back of my head, making it impossible to keep my eyes open.

Content, I sigh, eyes succumbing to the sensation and falling shut. The last thing I see is his own eyes slipping open to look at my face.

Boy, he’s a good kisser. Must be that lizard brain he has such a distaste for.

My fingers blindly reach and fumble at his belt, hooking into the waist, pulling him flush against me. Rust must forget what he’s doing for a moment, and he pauses where he is, in limbo, eyes far away. When I begin to unthread his belt from its quietly clinking buckle, he goes stiff again, blinks rapidly before perceiving me.

Holy shit, he’s gorgeous.

His hands hover over my shoulders, not quite committed to the contact.

He’s seeing me—really seeing me—as I unzip his trousers and spit crudely into my palm and curl around the length of him, warm, tight. I begin to understand the gentle throb and strain he feels, a delightful thrill running rapid all through my insides. He feels deliciously alive.

But then he turns his head away, neck straining up, breath choked back in his throat. His hands come away, raised, it looks like, as if trying to seem non-confrontational, trying to come away unscathed from a bad situation.

My stomach burns with desire. “Let yourself like it, Rust,” I mumble against his cheek. “Are you here with me?”

I can feel him swallow.

“Yes,” he responds. I guide his face to me, stroking his cock confidently once, twice, as encouragement, maybe. Temptation. Whatever you want to call it. My mouth waters, my head goes airy, when I feel his sex twitch in my embrace.

“Kiss me again, then.”

And he does. Brows furrowed as if in pain, he does, with the tip of his nose dragging and pressing into my cheek. He kisses me sweetly once, then again, and then pants down hotly into my mouth, hovering there before sliding his tongue deep inside, close, smooth.

I let myself love it. I let myself let go with every kiss he blesses me with, growing looser and easier and lighter each second.

The weight of him in my hand inspires a beautiful urge to have him lay down and let me feel every part of his body. Even though his hips stutter, he doesn’t buck up into my fist, doesn’t whine, doesn’t moan, doesn’t curse. Not yet. He just breathes and breathes, and kisses me and kisses me, like it’s all he was set on Earth to do. All he’s allowing himself to do.

Desperate, perhaps, my thighs are pressed against his, feeling unnaturally weak and warm. The throb between my legs coincides with my heart rushing in my ears, a steady ache, impatient. Part of me wants to drag this out as long as possible, because what if this never happens again?—and another part wants to push him inside me already, have him fill me up, fuck me stupid.

This thought stuffs me up to the brim, like cotton punched down into a pillowcase. I whine shallowly and try to slot his thigh between my own.

A switch in his brain must flick on.

It’s like he’s inside my head, like he’s in on my desperation, like he can see and feel every sinful image and thought circulating my alighted brain. He knows it all so well, such that he uses his hips to press us firmly against the counter, spreads my legs with the nudge of his foot between mine, and immediately pushes the rough pads of his fingers right where I need it, through the fabric of my skirt, letting me grind myself against him, hips and all. He circles there generously. I can feel my need dripping from me. He can too, no doubt.

I sigh, he breathes. I gasp, he breathes. My eyes flutter open and shut, but he looks on, eyes half-lidded but stare immovable.

He then lifts his knee to place against my cunt.

“That feels good, don’t it?” he says gently, rocking me over his knee up and down, back and forth, fingers digging into the soft skin of my hips.

My legs widen. When I gasp out weakly, he raises his brow and scans my face, like he had predicted the shaky, wordless nod that I offer to him too late in return.

“Did you want it like this, girl?” His voice is low, intimate, a hit of something just shy of addictive. “Or did you want somethin’ else, too?”

He kisses the hollow of my neck.

His other hand grips at my ass, up my skirt, kneading the flesh there, manipulating it, and his fingers ghost my slit, spreading me around his knee. He fucks up into my hand. I slide my fingers through his hair, which is soft and warm like butter.

Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid, pretty curls. I’ve proved my point: regardless of whatever act he may try to put on afterwards, we’ll both know that Rust isn’t as numb as he wants to be, that I made him feel good, that I made him want me, and that he’s hot-blooded and thrumming with life. I can feel how alive he is . I hope he thinks of this again some time, whether by himself or surrounded by people. I hope it drives him a bit mad, remembering this.

A hot, sharp breath fans out across my cheek, his mouth slotting back over mine, open, daring me.

I rut against his knee, my fingers teasing the wet head of his cock. I look down between us, at my hand on him, with half a mind to drop onto my knees and make him cum down my throat.

Rust lets out a grunt and swallows hard again.

Then, he gently grabs my wrist and pulls my hand out of his pants, leaving me dazed and confused. With nimble fingers, he unzips my skirt, pushing it over my hips and dragging his hands over my bare skin. He asks me, “You want the bed?”

I step out of the pool of fabric around my feet, slide my shoes off. “‘s not a bed.”

I slide my fingers beneath his sweaty, white undershirt, feeling the taut muscle there, feeling the steady breaths that contradict his racing pulse. He holds my eyes, dipping slightly when I dip, tilting when I tilt. “Seems like one to me.”

How unlike him.

A smile spreads over my face, and his pupils blow wide, dark, imploring. “You wait ‘n’ see what happens when the dust-mites turn up.”

His eyes on me alone are enough to leave me breathless, chest caving in on itself. Of course, when he kisses me softly, it only makes things worse – his long fingers curl around the base of my throat, watching me watching him, and his other hand slides up under the hem of my blouse, palm spread over my bellybutton.

I sigh, try not to squirm.

“You want the bed?” he repeats, heavy, rough. I bite back a needy whine that sits at the back of my mouth. His fingertips press down slightly into my pulse, tightening my breathing.

I nod. “Yeah.”

Think of all the times I’ve sulked over his lack of eye contact with me. Was I annoying? Uninteresting? That, obviously, was an immature way of looking at things, definitely not improved by my distinct femininity undergoing some kind of unspoken disapproval by most I met on the job. This is the most present he has ever been in a moment with me around.

As he pulls himself away, steps back, his eyes are darting over my face, less like he’s judging me and��more like he’s trying to find and memorise every detail. I do that, sometimes: if I pay well enough attention, it feels like I’m re-living the moment when remembering.

His hands slot sensibly into his pockets as if his cock isn’t blushing and poking out of his fly right now, belt undone, hanging low about his narrow hips.

Legs don’t fail me now. I slink out of the glowing kitchen and carry on to where the mattress lies in a dim, blue corner, the strange crucifix watching over, a long shadow cast over the empty wall upon which it hangs. He follows shortly behind me, his warmth radiating out onto my back.

I pause and look out onto the darkness revealed behind the half-open slats of the floor-to-ceiling blinds that shield the room from the window to the outside world.

Rust’s presence is intoxicating behind me. He smells like cigarette smoke, still, enticing. I’m trying to quit, but he makes it damn hard. His nose is just shy of my hair, his body so close to enveloping me into him – the prospect of it makes me shiver in delight. I must hallucinate his fingertips along my spine.

I unbutton my blouse with slow fingers, then slide it off and undo my bra.

His breathing is level and grounding by my ear as he comes close, sliding his strong, wide hand up my stomach, along my ribs, and cups under my soft breast. He rubs over my nipple in gentle circles before squeezing over me warmly. He then comes around to pinch the creamy tissue gentle between his fingers and thumb, closing his hot mouth over, drawing along his feverish tongue. I sigh, stroke his hair, let him press soft pecks and kisses to the curve of the soft flesh and to my sternum.

My fingers, cupped around the nape of his neck, dip under the collar, cool. This touch, for some reason, causes him to make some sort of breathless, pathetic noise against me. His eyes are half-shut.

“Anything else philosophical y’wanna get out before we fuck?” I quip smartly (though, not feeling so smart altogether), hand placed innocently on his hip.

He lifts his head, removes his hands from my body – he looks so tragically beautiful in this light. “You want me inside you?” he asks genuinely, seemingly aloof to the fact I’m naked in front of him, open and wanton and pressing my thighs together, his eyes never drifting from mine.

“What do you want, Rust?” I whisper.

He seems to really think about it – he’s always thinking. Briefly, his eyes flit down to my mouth. Then, he looks away, scratches at his forehead.

After a moment longer, he swallows thickly and tips his head down over to the bed, tells me, “Lie down on the mattress,” in a gentle, decisive tone. He’s so soft-spoken – it makes my toes curl.

I do as told, transfixed by the dark shadow in his eyes, and sink down to sit and then recline back on his coarse mattress, coarse bedsheets, with my weight on my forearms and chin tilted up towards him. He watches me, tucking his thick cock back into his underwear.

Still fully dressed in his work attire, he takes a step forward, looming over me, powerful, assertive. Saliva pools in my mouth—again—as I play with the thought of him sitting heavy on my tongue with his stomach tight, shaking, hands in my hair, fucking down my throat. I would let him. Hell, I’d probably let him do anything he wanted to me at this point.

Does he know that? Maybe. I don’t know.

As he reaches his hand out too smooth the hair out of my face, I try to figure it out, but I can’t – he seems too wrapped up in his own desire to be thinking anything at the moment. I feel a flicker of satisfaction jump up in the pit of my stomach. Or maybe that’s something else.

“Lie back, girl,” he tells me.

My cunt flexes.

I thump onto my back, breathless. “Take off your shirt, Rust.”

Without replying, he sinks down to his knees in front of me, my thighs. Instinctively, I prop myself up and watch him unbutton that wrinkled shirt all the way down, shrug it over his broad shoulders. I could fuck myself silly just over the thought of those shoulders, I remark inwardly. He tugs the wifebeater over his head, lean muscles catching the low light, strong, study, solid, and tosses the thing to the side thoughtlessly. My hands reach out to touch him, to feel him and know him. When my fingers press into his skin, glide up his neck and down over his chest, he sighs deeply. He then carefully removes my hands, urging me to sprawl down under him.

“Said lie back, didn’t I?”

Rust doesn’t say another word before placing his large hands on my knees and easing them apart, lowering himself to press pecks and slow, open-mouthed kisses to my thighs, closer, closer, stroking my sensitive skin gently. I almost flinch at his every touch, like it burns. His face is awful serious, like he’s concentrating. I wriggle in anticipation, eager.

“Rust,” I whisper purposelessly. He looks up, hums, searches my face for anything the matter.

I watch on desperately, on the brink of feral distress. A sob clogs my throat as he kisses my fluttering stomach, ducking his head down and curling his forearms, his hands, around my thighs. The dark stamp of his bone-bird tattoo curls over his arm. I realise he is waiting for my attention to return to him, his eyes patient but glazed over with something cardinal. Hungry.

“Can—?”

“Yes.”

He hums. And then he breathes hotly over my underwear before pressing his nose right there into the damp fabric, inhaling my scent there. I whimper at the pressure he applies with the strong bridge of his nose, at the wetness of his open mouth against me. He breathes heavily into me, groaning slightly beneath it all – I can’t tell past the thrumming of my heart in my ears.

“Rust,” I whisper again, my shoulder straining with the task of keeping me up and looking down at the sight of his sweet head buried between my glistening thighs.

“Lie back.”

He kisses me through my underwear, dutifully kneading the flesh of my hips, my inner thighs.

I thump back against the mattress, helpless, keening into his touch as this grey man roughly tugs my underwear down, down, all the way down, until they’re clean off my body, long gone, and then returns his nose to the cleft of my pussy, unseaming me with his tongue, opening me up, breathing me in. It’s enough to draw a shallow, hoarse cry from me. He doesn’t say anything, and I can’t say anything, biting down on my white knuckles.

Rust licks warm over my clit, sucking gently on the bud of nerves (then not so gently), before sliding down, down through my very centre.

Whining breathily, the twist in my stomach tightens and spasms as he presses my hips and thighs right down against the mattress, slow, strong, giving me time to notice it, realise it, give into it, deny the natural instinct to curl my limbs tight all over his face, his neck, his mouth.

Holy fuck. Rust Cohle has his face buried between my legs right now. I have Rust Cohle’s tongue pushing deep into my cunt – he sighs softly, a sound with its own powerful gravity a black hole to envelop me in, and grinds his hips against the edge of the mattress for a split second, just once. My mind pulses with the thought of making him cum. I wonder if he feels the same hunger.

Then, he’s sinking his long, elegant fingers into me, one, then two, and just the knowledge that those fingers belong to him makes my thighs quiver and shake, makes me sigh again. Thick, confident, they curl inside, slow like an experiment, right up to the knuckle. When he taps up against me, when I squeal and crimp up into his hold, he returns himself to mouth dutifully over my clit. My hand threads itself into his hair, holding him steady – I offer a breathless moan when his grip across my hips loosen, an invitation to begin rolling myself up over his pretty face. He pulls his fingers out of me, wet and hot, and encourages my thighs upon his beautiful shoulders, clinging onto them urgently. He shudders a little, I think, when I lock them firmly around his head and grind myself shamelessly against his mouth, his nose. He moves his jaw, his face, in tandem.

I cum after a while like that, because how can I not? The searing buzz reaches a roiling static.

I go loose, moaning softly, melted down flat, and stroke fuzzy fingers through Rust’s pretty hair as he sucks my clit still, as he inhales again and sighs again, reduced to something primitive and needy.

Thick, my heartbeat throbs and echoes like a drum in my skull, threatening. I feel so full that I could mistake the beat of pleasure for nausea pressing in my throat. It was silly to think that this could all be satisfied just from one time. My eyes closed, Rust’s light touch over my abdomen, up to my throat, is acute and heightened, like a million tiny, individual sparks. His fingers fumble over my jaw, then press lightly over my pulse.

He retreats just as I’m playing with the hairs at the nape of his neck, coming to stand to full height above me, unthreading his belt from his trousers with quiet, precise hands. I press my shaking thighs together, watching him breathe strongly through his nose, trying to remain somewhat respectable in the presence of the darkening look in his eyes that is locked down on my body.

He pauses, wipes some shine from his nose. Before he can continue with whatever, I find myself sitting up on my knees, grabbing his hips hard enough to bruise all pretty and purple, shoving the trousers down to his knees, and palming him through his boxers.

We don’t have to say anything. He just watches me passively, pushing my hair back again, behind my ears, my shoulders, rolling my earlobe softly between his fingertips.

I remove his underwear, take him into my mouth, thick and long and wanting; he sighs, holds my head with two steady hands.

When was the last time someone helped him like this? I honestly couldn’t have told you, even given a loose theory, prior to this moment: Rust is simultaneously the hottest and most non-sexual being I’ve ever come across in my life. He just happens to be beautiful; he just happens to inspire these sort of feelings choking up inside me. No overarching intention that he’ll ever admit to, no vanity, no preening. So strict to himself, so tight, like a piston, something that fights and pushes and hurts.

So, as I hold him firmly and suck at the head of his blushing cock, kissing him, I watch his face, savour the tart taste of him, and press my thighs together: he’s becoming warmer, looser.

Still, as much as I want him, I know he’s wanted me. However vague he tells it, he’s wanted me. Good Lord, he looks even more stressed now, somehow, than when we had just been talkin’. Hands gently cradling my skull, he tilts his head away, watches the cross on the wall, as he succumbs to it, maybe, and begins to gently, languidly fuck my face. I tuck a hand between my thighs, and I love him, my other with the fingers digging into his hip, his ass. If I’m lucky, maybe it’ll leave some sort of mark, just to remind him I was here, so that, when he’s being all indifferent again, with his eyes lowered to the floor as he shares a report with me at my prim, little desk, we’ll both know that we were once in this room together, here like this.

Rust breathes and breathes, almost mechanically, and slides his cock further into my mouth. The weight of him in there drives me half-insane. If I could consume him, envelop him, and we could be one and the same, I’d readily allow it. When he sinks deeper still down my throat, I sigh around him, rub myself the way I like.

His eyes are determinedly shut, like some part of him refuses to be here.

Before I can make him cum, he shakes his head and tugs my hair back a little bit, mumbling for me to stop and sit away.

For all his mouthiness just a half hour ago, would you look at him now?—Rust Cohle, plundered by the human sensation of speechlessness. I’ve never seen him out of his element before. When he comes down and cages me with his body, hot skin flush against hot skin, I don’t mean that in a bad sense. Shit, he’s far from it. But there’s nothing to say. Nothing of note, nothing to pick apart, no deeper meaning, no theory. Just an itch that has to be scratched. He wants, he is, and it’s heaven to see.

In the dark, he sinks in to me as he is, eliciting from me a soft moan that curls over the shell of his ear. I have to bite down on his shoulder when comes the push, the stretch, the sink, the comfort of him inside. I curl my legs around his waist and grab at his ass, willing him deeper still. He shudders silently over me, thick ripples of pleasure rolling through his lean body.

I curse, but I’m sure it barely registers with him.

His head lifts and his eyes clamp shut as he braces an arm against the wall, lifting one of my legs up over his hip and fucking into me deeper, slipping out and in, and again, and again. I know what I’d see if I took a look down, saw his cock pumping into me, but I can hardly do anything but buck my hips up to meet his effort, my stomach stuttering with that building pressure, hands gripping desperately around his neck and shoulders.

Though, I’m not even sure it is effort that’s driving him.

I mumble into his shoulder, dumb, focussing on the feel and press of him in my belly. I doubt he’s really aware of anything more than the sensation of it, evident from the small grunt that passes his lips as he fucks deep in me. His stomach presses heavier down onto mine, crushing a delicious pressure there, teasing out a long, breathy whimper. He snakes an arm around my hips, pushes his free hand to the back of my knee, tilting my legs back a little more, and then pulls me wider. Tight, he moves me how he wants me, my flesh dipping and carving, fucking himself raw with me, with my hot cunt. His mouth moves over mine, not kissing me, not speaking, just there, present, hot, panting. He doesn’t open his eyes, so I close mine, and I breathe.

Rust stutters and cums and spills over into me with a grunt. He pants sharply, harshly, rhythmically into my mouth, tense again, and then he collapses over my body, and he lays there. I lay there too, burning on the far inside.

I think he only really remembers I’m there when I shift under him.

His eyelashes brush against my cheek. “Sorry,” he murmurs, but the sound of his voice scrapes directly against my brain with the shock of a flesh-wound.

I assume he’s referring to the thick cum that I can feel leaking out of me now. He shifts his hips, adjusting himself in the grip of my cunt. My fingers wrap around his arms, squeeze as I feel him easing out.

“It’s okay,” I reply.

He glances down between us and guides himself out with a lewd noise, swallowing hard. I shiver.

Quiet, sedated, he shrugs his trousers, his underwear, off of his ankles, slipping the bedsheet over both our naked selves. His hand spreads and flattens warm over my abdomen, feeling the gentle swell and sink of the breaths I take and release.

#true detective #rust cohle #marty hart #rust cohle x reader #rust cohle x reader smut #okay cool this is a bit niche hope you liked it #this show made me question my life's purpose #the first season at least #thanks matthew mcconaughey #anybody else here like Fiona apple or what #the idler wheel TD

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seijorhi · 4 years ago

Text

Fracture

i apologise in advance.

Miya Osamu x female reader

TW non-con, dub-con, psuedo-infidelity, referenced character death, angst, drunk reader, gaslighting, age gap, the slightest hint of nsfw

‘Yer still coming home for summer, right?’

How many weeks had your sister spent lovingly bullying you into coming down? How many hours had you spent listening to her gush over the phone about how excited she was?

And until about three months ago, you’d been excited too.

Despite the ten or so years between the two of you, there was nobody on earth you loved more than your sister. When you were sixteen years old and your parents passed away in a car accident, she was the one who stepped up to take care of you, putting a roof over your head, making sure you ate, slept and kept up your grades, balancing two jobs to do it.

And she grumbled and you fought, but she’s the only reason you managed to keep it all together enough to graduate high school, and when it came time for you to leave home for university, she was the one blinking back tears and loudly complaining about you ‘abandoning your poor older sister in her time of need’.

As if she hadn’t sat with you for hours, pouring over your options and gently nudging you in the direction of Tokyo.

“It’s just a few hours away,” you’d told her. “I’ll come back and visit you all the time.”

There was truth to that. The first six months of uni, you came home every other weekend arms full of expensive textbooks and mountains of assignments to write, but then she met Osamu.

You’ve never seen anybody fall so hopelessly in love as quickly as she had. Miya Osamu may as well have hung the damn moon in the sky for how your sister looked at him. And you suppose you can’t really blame her; he was stupidly tall, broad shouldered and handsome. Even back then his restaurant was a wild success, the man was talented and clearly knew how to cook. Nice was the wrong word to describe him, but Miya Osamu was good, and so long as he made your sister happy, that was enough for you.

And it wasn’t like he was the one to drive you away.

Osamu liked you – he let you camp out in his restaurant and work on your assignments when you desperately needed a change of scenery, stopping to humour you with conversation if it was quiet. He made you laugh, he was interesting, and the more your sister brought him around, the more you realised that you actually kinda liked the guy.

Things were just easy between the two of you, you never had to pretend to be anything but what you were.

You were the one who started putting space between you and her. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on their part, but somewhere along the way you’d started to realise that Osamu wasn’t the odd one out anymore; you were. She was building a life with him, and fortnightly visits turned into monthly ones, and then eventually it became once every few months and after that only on holidays and special occasions – their wedding being one of them.

At Christmas, cheeks flushed with alcohol, she’d pulled you into a one armed hug, pouting into your sweater. “You never come visit us anymore,” she’d sniffled dramatically, “I miss you.”

But it was Osamu – fingers laced with your sister’s, a hint of a smile curling at his lips – who’d voiced it. “Come spend yer summer break with us.”

Three months later you’d awoken to a call telling you that there’d been an accident. Your sister was dead.

Weeks pass by in a blur. Your classes are a haze of droning voices and mindless typing, you submit papers you don’t remember writing and you get good marks anyway. Your friends don’t know how to act around you, everything feels surreal, like you’re moving around in a dream, nothing touches you anymore. It hurts, but you’ve wrapped up that pain and put it someplace safe, seeking it out only when you’re alone and you just can’t bear the numbness a second longer.

The trip you’d promised to take back home to Osaka is the furthest thing from your mind, at least until Osamu calls you in the early hours of the morning, a week or so before the semester ends.

“Yer still coming home for summer, right?”

The word ‘no’ lingers on the tip of your tongue. The last time you’d seen each other was at the funeral, his face blank and hollow, eyes rimmed in red. He’d barely spoken more than a few sentences to you, but he’d stayed by your side the entire time, calmly thanking those who came up to express their condolences.

You’d lost your sister, but he’d lost his wife.

“Do you still want me to?” you ask him quietly instead. If you were in his shoes, you’re not so sure that you would.

Yet Osamu sighs heavily, and you catch a faint clinking sound on the other end of the line, like a bottle being set back against the marble countertop. “I just–” but he breaks off and something inside of your chest tugs. “I want ya here. The house is empty… she’s gone and I… I want ya here. Please.”

How could you possibly say no after that? Maybe you’ve been selfish, so wrapped up in your own grief and misery. You’d assumed that because Osamu had Atsumu he’d be okay. Not right away, of course, but he’d have that support around him – a support system that you were without.

It didn’t enter your mind that perhaps he was struggling too. That he was spending night after night alone in a house etched with memories of her. And just as you’d thought that Tsumu was the one keeping his head above water, maybe he was offering a hand to do the same for you.

—

He’s waiting for you on the porch when your taxi pulls up on the kerb. The driver’s nice enough to help you with your bags, but Osamu is quick to intercept, waving off the help with an impatient huff that almost makes you laugh.

“Yer here,” he says once he sets them down on the porch, grinning as he tugs you into a warm embrace.

It’s then that you get a good look at him, a proper look – and for a moment, you’re taken aback. You haven’t seen him since the funeral a few months back, granted, but Osamu doesn’t look the way you imagined him to – especially after your call the other night. There’s no hint of pallid skin, no bloodshot eyes with heavy bags underneath or a 5 o’clock shadow on his face. No, even with his dark hair still a mess, dressed in jeans and his Onigiri Miya tee, Osamu looks good. Healthy even, if the way the sleeves of his shirt cling to his biceps is any indication.

It takes you a second to realise that you’re staring, because Samu chuckles, brushing past you to bring your stuff inside.

“Y’know, most people start with a hello,” he calls over his shoulder.

Your cheeks heat, a hint of shame curling inside of you. Were you expecting him to be an inconsolable wreck? You know better than most that grief messes with people differently, and it’s not fair of you to judge him, however unintentionally, for not fitting that image of the grieving husband.

It’s a good sign.

“Hi, Samu,” you reply somewhat sheepishly, following him inside.

He’s already walking towards your old bedroom, the ‘guest room’ now (though you and he both know it’s always been yours), leaving you to trail behind the older man. Your intention is to stop him from going to too much effort, but as you walk past the living room, something catches your eye.

Or rather, the absence of something. Faltering in your step, it takes you a second to realise what’s missing, but as you glance around, brows furrowing in confusion, it hits you.

The pictures of you and your sister, the cute ones with her and Samu, the old family snaps that used to line the walls and sit on the TV unit, they’re gone. And it’s not just the pictures. The artwork your sister had painted that used to hang by the wall next to the kitchen, the little pot plants she’d doted on like children, hell, the throw that she’d knitted one winter that was always lying on the couch; they’re all gone.

The room feels almost alien without them, unfamiliar and cold. He’d hung up some cool photography stuff to fill in some of the spaces, but instead of homey it just felt… modern. Like the pictures you see in magazines of staged houses that nobody actually lives in.

And you must have been standing there for a while, because you don’t notice it when Samu comes back to find you still holding your purse, gazing around like a lost child.

“I didn’t get rid of ‘em, if that’s what yer thinking.”

You turn to face him, except Osamu isn’t looking at you. He’s gazing at the walls around you both, his face strangely impassive – except for his eyes. It’s impossible for you to miss the hurt that swims there, the faint sheen they didn’t hold only moments ago. “I packed them away – they’re in yer room if ya want to look through any of it, it’s just…” he trails off, finally glancing back to look at you. And once again, you feel that flicker of guilt slowly eating away at you. “It was painful, seeing her face everywhere.”

Before you left your apartment that morning, you swore to yourself that you wouldn’t cry today – but the tears come unbidden, and one moment you’re standing there staring at him and the next you’re choking on a sob, hand coming to your lips to try and stifle it.

Osamu’s there in a second, solid arms wrapped around you, pulling you into his chest. He doesn’t say a word (what’s there to say anymore?) he just hums softly, stroking your back with a gentle hand as you fall apart once more.

—

It’s surprisingly easy for the two of you to fall into a rhythm. There’d been some part of you that was hesitant about this whole thing – despite having a relatively good relationship with your brother in law, you knew that the only real connection between the two of you was your sister.

Without her, living in the same space and trying to navigate around the holes that she’d left, you’d expected it to be at least a little awkward between the two of you. But with Osamu working full time, it was kind of a non-issue. Aside from the first day when he’d taken the morning off to help you get settled, he was usually gone before you woke up, and most nights he wasn’t home until nine or ten. How he worked such long hours six days a week without collapsing out of sheer exhaustion was beyond you, but you tried to make things easier for him, cooking dinner for the two of you.

“Y’know ya don’t have to do this every night, right?” he asks you one night, sticking the leftover chicken into the microwave. “I have a restaurant, I can sort out my own dinner.”

You don’t tell him that despite being a rather terrible cook, it was one of the things your sister made sure to do every night in the weeks following your parents’ death. You’d spend most of your day holed up in your room if you weren’t at school, but dinner was the one time you’d sit and talk with her. It became a ritual; something sacred and special between the two of you.

You’re a better cook than she was by far, no comparison for Osamu, of course, but it’s the only way you really know how to help with… whatever this is.

Instead, you just offer him a wry look from your position on the couch, “And yet, you never do.”

He scoffs at that, a hint of a smirk curling at his lips, “Why would I eat there when I know yer cookin’ for me?”

—

Of course, as easy as it is to slip into living with Osamu, you can’t escape what happened there forever.

It doesn’t slip your notice the first night you spend there; the spare toothbrush in your bathroom, the decidedly masculine body wash in the shower, or how one of the shelves in the vanity was stocked with shaving cream and cologne and a few odd skin care products. You’d assumed that they were Atsumu’s, spares stashed away for the odd nights he crashed here. There’s another bathroom off the master bedroom, so you know it can’t be Samu’s stuff.

Except you find yourself proven wrong one night, when fresh from your shower and clad only in a fluffy white towel, you open the door to find a shirtless Osamu filling the space, one arm propped up on the doorframe.

“Anyone ever tell ya yer a bit of a bathroom hog?” he asks, smirking down at you.

And you’re so taken aback, utterly confused as to why he’s standing there half dressed, why it matters how long you take in the bathroom – never mind that the only thing covering you from complete nakedness is your towel – that you can only stand there, gaping like a fish as he laughs, takes you by the shoulders and physically shifts you out of the way as he slides on past.

It takes you until the following morning – Osamu’s sole day off – to ask him about it, clutching nervously at your cup of coffee while he busies himself making breakfast for the two of you.

“Samu, um, about last night…” you timidly begin.

He glances up at you from the stove, a single eyebrow raised. “What about it?”

Your cheeks are already burning, eyes darting between his face and the mug in your hands as you struggle to find the right words to bring it up without making things weird. “Well, I-I was just wondering… um, why you were using my bathroom?”

You’re not sure what kind of reaction that you’re expecting, but the dark look that flashes across his face isn’t it. For a split second, your insides clench, terrified that you’ve said the wrong thing–

But as quickly as it appeared, Osamu’s expression smooths over. He exhales heavily, setting down the spoon in his hand as he turns to face you properly, and when your eyes flicker up once more, you realise with a start that it’s pity that’s taken its place.

And a second too late, the pieces inside your head fall into place.

“Oh.”

Osamu nods only once. “I can’t go in without seeing her lyin’ there… I thought ya knew.”

And it’s like all the air’s been sucked out of the room. She’d died in their bathroom – slipped on the wet tiles and cracked her head open on the edge of their bath, and Samu had been the one to find her.

Weakly your eyes flutter shut, bitter nausea churning in your gut. How could he stay here, sleep in the next room when–

“Hey, hey, calm down, I gotcha,” Samu’s voice is at your ear, and your head’s spinning, pounding, and you can’t breathe. The mug in your hand tumbles to the floor, your coffee spilling across the wooden floorboards as weak fingers clutch at empty air, and then those arms are around you once more and Osamu’s trying to soothe you.

Breakfast is forgotten as he tugs you towards the couch to sit. And as he holds you, speaks to you in that calm, unwavering voice you try to focus on the scent of him (masculine and earthy, a hint of spice and cedar), the fabric of his shirt under your cheek and the gentle, almost lazy circles he rubs into your side and not the mental image of your sister, lying broken and bleeding on the bathroom floor.

—

It doesn’t take much effort to find the stash of your sister’s things that Samu set aside in your room. You lose hours flicking through pictures of her, smiling through your tears as they dredge up old, happy memories of the two of you.

Even the ones of her and Samu, his arms looped around her waist, resting his chin on the top of her head; she’s always wearing that bright grin that makes your heart ache.

There are a few of the three of you – one from the last time they’d come to visit you in Tokyo and you’d dragged them off to Disneyland. You’re standing between the two of them, beaming at the camera while Samu’s arm hangs off your shoulder and your sister, grinning widely and wearing the minnie mouse ears she’d bought at the first opportunity, tosses up a peace sign.

Softly wiping away your tears, you set it aside. You’ll have to ask Samu if you can take that one home with you.

—

“What’re ya doin’ tomorrow?”

It’s late, and the two of you are sprawled out on the couch, watching TV with a bowl of snacks between you like the old days when he asks.

“Not much,” you reply. “I was going to go to the markets at some point in the morning and maybe head to the beach after that, why?”

Grey-ish brown eyes flicker across to you, “A few of my old teammates are in town, we’re meetin’ up for some drinks. I want ya to come with me.”

“Oh,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. “Um, yeah… if you want?”

It ends up sounding more like a question, a fact that doesn’t slip past Osamu if the amused little snort he gives in response is any indication. And it’s not that you don’t want to give up your plans in favour of going with him; you get along pretty well with Atsumu and you’ve met most of his old teammates at least once or twice, it’s just that you’re a little confused as to why he’d want you there to begin with.

They’re all at least twelve years older than you, and while it occurs to you that maybe he’s just inviting you along to be polite (not that that’s ever been his style before) the last thing you want is to be stuck feeling like an afterthought, all but ignored as he and his friends catch up.

“I said I wanted ya there, didn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for a response, “‘sides, Tsumu already asked if you were comin’.”

Which is how you find yourself dressed up for the first time in months, fingers smoothing out the hem of your dress as Samu tosses you a lazy grin from the driver’s seat. “Relax, wouldja? They ain’t gonna bite.”

You know that. They’re good guys, but no matter how much rationalising you try to do, you can’t seem to quell the anxiety eating you up, and the frustrating thing is that you don’t know why you’re feeling it.

He’d neglected to tell you that they weren’t meeting at some bar or restaurant, but at Atsumu’s condo in the city (‘Showy fuckin’ bastard’ Samu’d huffed as he’d pulled up in front of the building), but you suppose it really doesn’t make much of a difference.

“Ya look good,” he compliments, eyeing you for a moment while the two of you wait for the elevator.

Cheeks warming, you drop your gaze and stutter out a quiet thank you. Apparently unsatisfied, he leans closer, reaching one large hand up to gently ruffle your hair – grinning in satisfaction when you shriek and try to pry it away. “Relax,” he whispers again, the warmth of his breath tickling the bare skin of your neck. “Yer too wound up.”

Distracted by the arrival of the elevator, you fail to notice that instead of returning back to his side, his hand drops to your shoulder.

And it should be easier to do just that once you have a drink in hand. Atsumu greets you with a one armed hug, the only hint of anything out of the ordinary being the way his gaze lingers a beat too long as he studies your face, his eyes sharp and missing nothing. But whatever he sees (or doesn’t see) his expression softens into a smile, “Glad ya came.”

But even as you’re greeted by the others, falling into an easy conversation with Kita and Aran you can’t seem to shift the uneasiness in your stomach. There’s something in the air, a tension nobody really wants to admit to.

And you can’t quite tell if the others are surprised that Samu brought you at all, or if it’s just because you’re a living reminder of a tragedy that’s still fresh and raw, and everyone’s trying to pretend that it’s not. You don’t blame them for it, of course, they only mean the best. But you can see it in the way Suna side eyes you every now and then, how skilfully Akagi skirts anything that could touch a nerve when he comes up to chat.

It’s like they’re all walking on eggshells – though whether it’s for your benefit or Osamu’s, you’re not entirely sure. For his part, Samu sticks close, keeping your drink topped up, an arm slung over your shoulders as the afternoon wears into the evening.

Yet despite that, the alcohol you’re drinking far too quickly starts to work its magic, filling your body with a warm, pleasant little buzz, and you actually start to enjoy yourself. You laugh easier, giggling when the twins start to bicker, gasping in wicked delight when Suna offers to show you certain embarrassing photos of both of them on his phone (he has quite the collection), even letting Gin and Tsumu drag you into taking shots with them.

And all the while, Samu watches you, a soft smirk playing at his lips.

—

By the time he unlocks the front door and you stumble back inside, you’re absolutely plastered, giggling at nothing and tripping over your own feet.

As always, Samu’s there to catch you, strong, muscular arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. “Careful there, princess,” he laughs.

You grin up at him, carefree and heartbreakingly beautiful. For the first time in months you feel light, you feel amazing and you don’t want this to end. Kicking your heels off, you skip inside, leading him by the hand. “Samu,” you call back over your shoulder. “I wanna dance.”

“Nobody’s stopping ya.”

“But there’s no music,” you pout, and once again he chuckles, letting you go to settle back into the leather couch as he pulls out his phone. A moment later a familiar, lively melody floods the living room, and you let yourself become lost to it. It doesn’t matter that you’re drunk and dancing alone, Samu’s dark eyes following your every move, you’ve never felt so free.

Arms raised in the air, hips swaying hypnotically to the beat, you lose track of time. It could’ve been minutes or seconds or a whole hour, but suddenly you’re not alone anymore – Samu’s there with you. His cologne invades your senses, why does he always smell so good? His body’s warm, almost hot as he slots himself behind you, caging you against him.

“Fuck, baby,” he growls, his voice sending shivers running down your spine. “Yer a little tease, ya know that?”

And there’s something wrong with that, you know there is, but you can’t seem to think of what it is – not when the weight of his hold’s impeding your movement. A pout adorns your face, a soft, almost petulant whine escaping your lips as you try in vain to untangle yourself, “Samu, lemme go. I wanna dance.”

He huffs out a laugh, but that doesn’t sound right either. “Don’t wanna dance with you, pretty girl.”

There’s something hard pressing against your lower back, and his hot breath ghosts over your neck a moment before lips descend to suck on the sensitive flesh.

In a split second, all that blissful, warm, drunken happiness evaporates. Samu groans lowly, his chest rumbling at your back, but there’s a pit of something cold and urgent that’s seeping through your veins, distant, foggy alarm bells tolling inside of your head and you don’t understand what’s happening, but you know that you don’t like it.

You want it to stop.

“S-Samu,” you whine, shifting uncomfortably against his hold.

This time he listens, drawing back just enough that he can turn you around to face him. And those familiar eyes are hooded and dark, burning with an intensity that makes you want to recoil even as he stares down at you, taking your cheek in hand.

You don’t even realise that you’re crying until his thumb’s brushing away your tears. There’s nothing comforting or pleasant (nothing of the Samu you know) on his face as he studies your fearful expression, but eventually he lets out a heavy sigh.

“She was positive I was cheatin’ on her,” he admits. “Did she ever tell ya that?” He pauses for a beat waiting for a reply, but when it’s clear that you don’t have one for him, he just scoffs, “No, ‘course not. That’d be admitting that not everything about our life was picture perfect, and heaven fuckin’ forbid we do that. Y’know, that's why she wanted ya back here so bad. She needed a buffer.”

Bitterness clings to every word like poison and you flinch, renewing your struggles to get away. Not that he lets you – the moment you start to squirm the arm around your waist tugs you closer, anchoring you against him. The tears come faster, followed by soft, hiccuping sobs, but Samu seems beyond caring at that point.

“Stupid bitch never could see what was right in front of her face. That’s what we were fightin’ about that night; she said she was gonna leave me.”

Your heart clenches, fear pooling in your gut, but Samu just smiles at you, a mockery of sweet tenderness, reaching back to tuck a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “But you know I’d never hurt my pretty girl, don’t ya, baby?” he asks. “Just want a taste tonight.”

You don’t even have time to suck in a breath before he’s kissing you, cradling the back of your head as his mouth moves hungrily against yours.

And all you can taste is the whiskey on his tongue.

—

You can’t tear your eyes away from your reflection in the mirror, the faint, reddish blemish colouring your neck.

A hickey.

Tentatively, as if trying to prove that it’s real and not a figment of your imagination, you prod at the mark, only to wince at the tenderness. Definitely real.

You’d woken up to an empty house – unsurprising considering it was well past ten and you knew Osamu had work today – with your head pounding and your mouth uncomfortably dry. Wracking your brain, you can’t seem to conjure up a rational explanation for the bruise. Granted, you can’t really remember much of last night, only fragments of being at Atsumu’s place, and certainly nothing after you’d started taking those shots.

Which doesn’t make the uneasiness sitting heavy in your stomach any easier to take, because you know that you hadn’t been cosying up to anybody before you’d lost track of the night, and if it had happened after, then surely Samu or one of the others would have stepped in and put a stop to it.

And that should’ve been more of a comforting thought than it was, because if it didn’t happen at Atsumu’s then that meant it happened afterwards, when you were here with Samu.

Your heart thumps unevenly against your ribs.

Osamu. Your dead sister’s husband, your brother in law.

A hickey on your neck isn’t just a kiss. It’s not a simple, drunken peck against your lips, it meant that somebody had sucked on the skin, bitten at it, kissed until blood vessels broke – it’s not the kind of thing that happens accidentally.

A wave of nausea threatens to overtake you, and you barely manage to make it to the bathroom before you’re violently emptying the contents of your stomach into the porcelain bowl. And you know as you collapse onto the cool tiled floor, shaking just a little, that this time at least, the alcohol isn’t to blame.

You know Samu; you trust him implicitly. Whatever happened, it must have been a mistake or something. You’d both been drinking, and he’s still grieving and–

There’s no point jumping to conclusions or working yourself up any more than you already have. You’ll just bring it up with him when he gets home, you decide.

Yet anxiety and guilt gnaw at you as the hours crawl by, you’re half tempted to pick up your phone and just call him to ask point blank. The clock feels like it’s mocking you every time you glance up, and while you try your best to distract yourself with household chores and then busying yourself with dinner, none of it works for long.

By the time he does stride through the door, a little before ten, you’re an anxious wreck, all but wringing your fingers as you sit rigid and tense at the table. Most nights you eat before he gets home, hunger getting the better of you, but tonight you don’t seem to have much of an appetite.

“Smells good,” he comments with an easy grin, toeing off his shoes and dropping his wallet and keys by the door.

You open your mouth, but the words seem to get stuck in your throat as he drops a kiss down on the top of your head and walks on past to grab a bowl from the kitchen.

“I’m starving.”

Instead, you just swallow nervously as he pulls out the seat next to you and sits, not wasting another second before digging in. Your eyes quickly dart over to study him, but you don’t see any hint of guilt or unease on his face. He just looks like the same old Samu, a little tired maybe, but otherwise totally normal, and so you force yourself to pick up your spoon and follow suit.

And he’s never been one to fill silences with meaningless chatter, but tonight the quiet between the two of you feels oppressive, every clink of metal against ceramic echoing too loudly, every chew, every swallow setting you on edge. You can’t even taste the food, your stomach too twisted in knots for you to feel anything but nauseous after a few bites.

“… Is everything okay?” he asks after a few minutes, and it’s so sudden amongst the tense silence that you visibly jerk, almost dropping the spoon you’d been toying with.

You glance up to find him staring, brows furrowed in concern, and once again your stomach flips. It’s now or never.

“Um… did anything happen last night?” you ask, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Osamu’s frown deepens fractionally, and he tilts his head as your fingers twist in your lap, “What d’ya mean?”

Did we kiss? The words dangle on the tip of your tongue, but as you nervously meet his eyes, you find nothing but confusion and concern there. And for a moment, you almost speak them, but then Samu’s reaching across the table to take your hand in his, and as his warm palm swallows up yours, you lose your nerve.

“You sure yer okay?”

Whatever happened, he doesn’t remember it and neither do you.

Smiling tightly, you nod. “Yeah, it’s nothing. Nevermind.”

There’s no reason for you to drag him through the mud for this, you’re already feeling enough guilt and shame for the both of you.

—

You try to put it out of your mind, but it’s not that easy.

Lying awake in bed at night, your brain unwittingly turns over possibilities of what else could’ve caused the mark if not Osamu. Guilt gnaws at you every second that you’re around him and all the while he’s painfully oblivious to it all.

He’s always been affectionate with you, but all those stray, unthinking touches now carry a different weight with them. You find yourself ducking away from them more often than not, pretending that you don’t see the almost wounded look in those greyish-brown eyes when you do. You start to avoid him, finding other places to be whenever he’s home.

And you hate yourself for it, because Osamu’s been nothing but faithful to your sister for as long as you’ve known him. You’re the one acting like there’s something wrong between the two of you, like he’s treating you any differently than he always has when you know that’s not the case.

You know that, but when you catch sight of the fading bruise in the mirror, your stomach twists into knots all the same.

There are excuses and justifications aplenty, but none of them make you feel any better. You still find yourself sniffling into your pillow, swallowed up by your guilt when you imagine how devastated your sister would be if she knew.

You’d let her husband kiss you. Being drunk and miserable and grieving didn’t change that. Whether he knew it was you or mistook you for her; it doesn’t matter. Maybe it was a mistake, letting him talk you into coming.

Things were still too raw, too fresh. You’d thought that coming here would help, but so far it’s only made everything worse, and unintentionally or not, you can’t kid yourself that your presence is doing anything to help Osamu anymore.

You need to go back to Tokyo.

Somewhat selfishly, you’re tempted to put it off until the weekend, because you know that Onigiri Miya has a stall for the beginning of the summer festival and he’ll be too preoccupied with that to think about anything else – but you just can’t bring yourself to do that to him.

No, it’s better to rip it off like a bandaid; nice and quick.

You’d planned on breaking the news over dinner, but as you pick your way through your noodles, you notice that Samu’s quieter than he usually is. Every time you risk a glance up he’s staring at the table, looking entirely lost in thought, and it just doesn’t feel like the right time to bring it up.

Tomorrow, you decide, you’ll cook his favourite for dinner and tell him then.

—

The knocking startles you from your sleep with a jolt. It’s quiet, hesitant almost, but you’ve always been a light sleeper.

“Samu?” you croak out, fumbling blindly for the phone at your bedside to see what time it is.

The door opens, a crack of light from the hallway spilling into your room as Osamu looks in. “Sorry,” he murmurs, “I know it’s late, but I need to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’.”

He’s shirtless, clad only in a pair of cotton pyjama pants, but he doesn’t look to be in any immediate kind of trouble. Still, he wouldn’t have disturbed you in the middle of the night if it wasn’t something important, so you blearily wipe the sleep from your eyes and force yourself to sit up as he slips into your room and shuts the door behind him.

“What’s wrong?”

He hasn’t bothered to turn on the light, and even with the moonlight streaming in through your window, his face is cast in shadow as he takes a seat on the edge of your bed. And it’s silly, especially considering he’s the one who’s shirtless right now but it’s hard not to flush at the realisation that you’re only wearing a thin, satiny slip. You feel almost naked – he’s seen you in bikinis before, but it feels different here, when he’s the one in your bedroom.

“You asked me the other day about what happened the night we went to Tsumu’s,” he begins, his voice quiet and soft in the early hours of the morning, and suddenly your state of dress is the last thing on your mind.

Swallowing tightly, your pulse quickens and you still, waiting for him to continue.

And you feel, rather than see, the way he stares at you, inching a fraction closer when you don’t immediately answer. “And I lied. Or I didn’t exactly tell ya the full truth.”

“Which is?” you force out.

Samu’s shoulders rise and fall as he takes a deep, slow breath in and exhales heavily. “You were drunk and ya came onto me, tried to kiss me.” You flinch, a choked sound escaping your throat at the blunt admission, but he’s quick to reach for you, his hand coming to rest on your knee, squeezing it reassuringly. “And in the heat of the moment, I let ya.”

Hot tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but the moment you try to turn away from him, biting your lip and trying to blink back the tears, he stops you.

“Osamu–”

“‘Cause I’ve spent years waiting to kiss those lips, an’ I’m tired of pretending we both don’t want this.”

And he’s kissing you; soft and sweet and gentle, his lips molding to yours as he cups the back of your neck. You wonder if he can feel your pulse racing under his fingertips as he draws himself closer, groaning into your mouth.

It doesn’t matter that your hands are on his bare chest, pushing at him, hitting him – those muscles aren’t just for show; he’s immovable. The more you squirm, trying to extricate yourself so that you can plead with him to stop–

This is a mistake. A horrible, awful misunderstanding. He’s upset and grieving and not thinking clearly and you have to stop this.

He doesn’t know what he’s saying.

– the more his grip tightens until it starts to hurt and you’re whimpering into the kiss. Your tears are wetting his cheeks, but he doesn’t care, won’t stop and there’s a panic that rises within you every second that you’re entangled with him.

“Don’t do this,” he mutters, breaking the kiss as a sob rips its way free from your throat, “Don’t pretend ya don’t want this, baby. I know ya do. Stop being a little fuckin’ tease.”

He leans back in, intent on capturing your lips again, and in an act of desperation you reach for his face, cradling his cheek in your hand. “Samu, please,” you beg, wide, imploring eyes searching his face for any hint of a reprieve. “You’re scaring me. Stop, please, j-just for a second.”

Just a second, that’s all you need to try and snap him out of whatever the hell this is. One second.

Osamu stills, his face mere inches from your own, his body hovering atop yours. His breath, ragged and uneven, ghosts over your skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake, but you don’t dare move as he leans into the touch, grey eyes fluttering shut.

He sighs, the sound almost like a shiver. “Ya don’t need to be scared, ‘m gonna take good care of my girl.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to say anything else, not as he forces himself onto you once more. You used to marvel a little at Osamu. Tall, handsome and strong, even in his mid thirties; Samu was fit. Now, straddling your waist, pinning your wrists to the wall with one hand, the other palming at your tits, he dwarfs you entirely. He isn’t impatient, not as he kisses you languidly, not as he slides the soft, satin up your thigh, revealing your underwear.

Your hiccuping sniffles aren’t enough to move him, you’re not strong enough to physically fight him off. He doesn’t pay the tearful, breathless pleas sobbed out between kisses any mind.

Osamu grabs you by the waist and flips you onto your front, lips brushing at the nape of your neck as he smooths your hair back, and you’re utterly helpless to stop him.

And as his hand runs down your side and he coaxes your hips up into the air, you almost wish that he was rough. Because this pretense of gentleness, glinting steel masquerading as silk – it’s too intimate, and you feel complicit.

Like you’re willing.

Like you want this with him.

An act of love as he tugs your panties down to your knees and hums in quiet satisfaction at the sight of your bare cunt, glistening just for him.

There’s a voice in your head telling you you should be screaming and kicking and snarling like a wild, feral thing, but Osamu’s grabbing at your ass, spreading it to get a better look, his thumb gliding along your slit and all you can think about is the picture he’d packed away, the one of the three of you at Disneyland.

Samu’s arm slung over your shoulder, and your sister’s bright smile.

He spits; a warm, fat glob of saliva hitting your pussy, and as it slowly dribbles down the only sound that leaves your lips is a soft, broken whine. You don’t fight him when he takes his cock in hand and guides the flushed head, pre-cum already oozing at the tip, along your cunt, you just lie there, a toy for him to move and manipulate however he wants.

“You’ll forgive me for this, I know ya will,” he murmurs, softly squeezing your hip just once as something thick and blunt presses at your entrance.

But it doesn’t matter, not as his cock sheaths itself inside of you with one hard, brutal thrust, because you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to forgive yourself.

#yandere haikyuu #yandere osamu miya #yandere osamu x reader #yandere osamu #yandere osamu miya x reader #tw: noncon #tw: dubcon #tw: infidelity #angst #drunk reader #manipulation and gaslighting ahead y'all #dilf osamu

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scumbagg · 3 years ago

Text

NSFT/18+

Space Ghost Coast to Coast

A/N: I purely wrote this as Bell instead of Y/N since I can’t bring myself to write Y/N fics 😂

I recently finished MW2 and needed some Ghost food to heal my broken heart after the traumatic betrayal I witnessed. Also maybe a bit of DadPrice! giving a lecture. Here goes nothing..

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem Bell

Word count: 3252

Warnings: smut, injury (gunshot), blood, swearing.

“Eyes up, scouts patrolling up ahead.”

Price’s voice in your earpiece came through at the exact moment the two men appeared in your line of vision 40 metres in front of you.

“Dropped him.”

Aiming your sniper, the guard trailing slightly behind fell to the ground before you’d even had time to place your finger on the trigger. Taking aim at the other man’s head, your rifle made almost no sound as you took him out a second later.

“Nice shot. Move up.”

“Thanks.” You whispered back. You turned back for a moment to the place you knew Price was laying hidden almost 90 metres behind you.

“Move, Bell. We won’t have much time before more patrols come along and find those bodies.” Soap’s whispered voice now, also in your earpiece - but you knew he was somewhere to the right of you hidden in the long grass. You crawled quietly through the grass. You heard the brush whispering slightly either side of you as the bodies of Soap and Ghost moved up to flank with you.

“Hold up, two more tangoes patrolling the fence line.” Price murmured a moment later. “Take ‘em out, or let ‘em move on. Your call Bell”

“No stragglers.” You whispered back. You heard the pops from Ghost’s and Soap’s suppressed guns as they took out the two guards ahead.

“Good call.” Price confirmed. “Can’t see anymore inbound. You’re in the clear. House up ahead is empty. We’ll regroup inside.”

“Roger.”

Standing up, you scanned the area out of precaution for more enemies. Satisfied, you nodded to the other two men to move up. The three of you passed the fence line and had almost made it to the back door of the house when it happened.

You heard it before you felt it. The sound of a pistol being fired in your direction had you spinning to face the direction it came from, when suddenly you felt white hot pain erupt in your left shoulder. Dropping to the ground, the sound was over almost as quickly as it started, but your eyesight went black as you squeezed your eyes shut in pain and gripped your shoulder as blood poured through your fingers.

“Bell!” The scream came from within your earpiece at the same time Ghost shouted your name, making your ear throb in pain. You hardly noticed with the burning coming from your shoulder, but you still flinched.

“What the fuck was that?!” You gritted through your teeth.

“One of the guards back there wasn’t as dead as we thought. He fucking is now. Don’t worry darlin’, you’re gonna be alright.” Ghost pried your hand away from your shoulder and replace them with his own. “Soap, get me the medi-kit from your pack, quick!”

“Darlin’?!” Soap laughed as he handed Ghost the pack. Frowning, he looked down at the two of you.

“He’s taking the piss.. it’s an inside joke.. had to be there.” You said through gritted teeth, glaring into Ghost’s glasses. Ghost said nothing as he worked on stopping the bleeding, but the minimal supplies in the kit weren’t doing much.

“Fuck!” Ghost said in a panicked voice. You were starting to feel drowsy, and the sight of all the blood was making you queasy. You could feel your head starting to spin, threatening to send you into unconsciousness.

“Ghost, she’s gonna be fine. Look, the bullet went straight through.” Soap said calmly, pointing at the bullet lodged in the brick in the wall just behind where you’d been standing. “It’s a clean wound, it’ll just need stitches.”

“Fine. We’ve gotta get her back ASAP. I’ll take her, you and Price grab the intel.”

“No, I’ll take her.” Price came into view, rifle slung over his back. “You’re the one that’s better with technology, you’ll get the intel quicker from the computer. Someone’s bound to have heard those gunshots, we’re sure to have company soon. C’mon Bell.” Price hoisted you up under your uninjured arm, replacing Ghost’s hands with one of his. Stumbling, you gripped Price’s arm for support. Looking over at Ghost, you noticed his eyes tighten behind his sunglasses, but he nodded in assent.

“Let’s get moving,” Price commanded, nodding at the other two. “Soap, Ghost, I’ll send for another chopper to pick you up. See you boys at home.”

*****

Fourteen stitches and a bandaged shoulder later, the infirmary staff finally let you leave. Pushing open the exit door to the outside, you found Price leaning against a jeep waiting for you.

“What are you still doing here?” You asked suspiciously.

“Thought I’d give you a ride home. It’s a bit of a far walk and I assumed you’d be too hopped up on pain killers to drive yourself.” He replied, opening the passenger door courteously.

“Oh… thanks.” You said, taken aback by the display of kindness. It’s not that Captain Price was unkind; he’d just never shown any outward kindness outside of the field. You were surprised that he’d thought to even come back for you.

The two of you drove in silence for a few moments, before the question you were burning to ask broke its way out of your control.

“Did the other two make it back okay?” You tried to sound casual, but your insides were turning with worry.

“Yeah, they got back about an hour ago, no issues.” Price answered, concentrating on the road.

“And the intel?”

‘Acquired.” Price gruffed.

“Hmm, very good.” You stared straight ahead, watching the sun settle in the west. This was the first time in a non-formal environment you’d ever spent a moment alone with the Captain, and you weren’t sure how to make small talk with him. You sat in silence as Price drove you through the city. You wondered how he knew where you lived when it occurred to you that being a member of his team, he’d know where everyone lived. Not that you spent much time in your own house these nights. You thought back to a few nights ago...

The sound of Price clearing his throat awkwardly pulled you out of your reverie. Looking over at him, you watched as he shifted in his seat and waited for him to speak.

“What is it?”

Price sighed. “Look, I really don’t want to have this conversation. But I’ve told him the same thing I’m telling you now. This is one of the best task forces I’ve ever worked with, and I don’t want anything fucking that up. Understood?”

You felt your calm composure slip through the cracks as your eyes widened in panic. You glanced over to see him still staring straight ahead, his mouth set in a hard line.

“Wait, you know about-”

“Of course I fucking know.” Price snapped, watching you out of the corner of his eyes. Shit, so maybe he did know where you actually slept after all. “I know everything that goes on in my team. Look,” he said calmly. “I don’t give a fuck what you get up to in your spare time. It’s like I told him, I’m not going to report it. It’s not been an issue yet. Just don’t let it affect you on the job.”

“I haven’t! I’ve been so careful about trying to keep it professional while we’re on a mission!” Your heart raced at the fact you had been caught out.

“I know you have, Bell. But that man is head over heels for you, in case you hadn’t realised. I’m concerned he’ll let his feelings for you get in the way of the job. Look at today – he’s the best man on our team for tech, and he was willing to throw the whole job, just out of pure panic for you.” Price sighed again. “I’m not sending either of you away. I just needed to remind you of the main reason we are here. If you two can’t handle that, I’ll be forced to find someone to take your place on the team.”

“Does anyone else know?” You asked quietly.

“I don’t think so, but if Simon continues on the way he was today, I doubt it’ll be long until Soap catches on.” Price grimaced, then looked over at you. “Darlin’,” he grinned.

“Ughhh,” you groaned as Price pulled up outside what you now realised wasn’t your house. “I can’t believe he let that slip out.” You unbuckled your seatbelt, careful not to move too much that it pulled at your stitches. Opening your door, you looked back at Price. “Thanks for the ride, I appreciate it.”

Price smiled and nodded in response. “Don’t be too harsh on him about today,” he said, looking over your shoulder as you heard the front door open behind you. You closed the door and waved as the jeep drove away.

*****

All your anxiety from the conversation with Price suddenly turned to irritation as you turned to face the man in the doorway. You stormed towards him, your uninjured shoulder hitting his lower abdomen as you barged your way past him into the hallway.

“Bell-” he began.

“Get out of my way, Simon. I need a fucking shower.” You snapped irritably.

“Here, let me help-”

“No.”

“Bell!” Simon pleaded.

“What the fuck was that today?!” You snarled. “You might as well just fucking announce to the whole place that we’re together!” You began climbing the stairs towards the bathroom, but stopped halfway there. Staying angry wasn’t one of your strong suits, and seeing him standing pleadingly in the hallway washed away your irritation. “Look,” you sighed heavily, coming back down the stairs so you were eye level with him. “I just had the lecture of a lifetime from Price. I can’t lose what we have here Simon, and he warned if we couldn’t keep it professional out there, then one of us would be replaced.” You stepped towards him, reaching for him in both apology and forgiveness. You placed a hand on his masked jaw, your thumb stroking along his hard cheekbone.

“I’m sorry for today,” he said apologetically, leaning his cheek into your hand. “Seeing you injured and in pain, all that blood… I panicked.”

“It’s okay,” you soothed. Smiling up at him, you smacked his arm playfully. “You’re silly, you know that right. Even I knew it wasn’t bad, and you’ve seen way more injuries than I have. I can’t imagine how you would’ve been if Soap hadn’t been there to pull your head in.”

Simon wrapped his arm around your head, resting his hand at the base of your skull and pulled you in for a hug. You lifted your other arm to place it around his waist and winced. It didn’t go unnoticed.

“How are you feeling anyway, darlin’?” He stepped back to survey you.

“Rubbish. These pain killers are doing their job, but I feel disgusting. I really do need a shower.” You looked over your shoulder towards the bathroom. “I uh... might need a hand actually,” you said awkwardly, wondering how you were going to manage without getting your stitches wet. Surprisingly, this was your first major injury, given your line of work.

“C’mon,” he said, pulling you towards the bathroom.

Simon turned on the shower and helped you undress, helping remove your shoes, pants and underwear, aware of your fresh wound as he carefully pulled the shirt from your arms and over your head. His eyes filled with remorse as they fell on your injured shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, darlin’,” he whispered. “That guy that shot you… that’s the one I took down. I didn’t know he wasn’t dead.” He looked away sadly.

“Hey,” you grabbed his chin gently and turned his head so he was looking you squarely in the eyes. “It’s not your fault. Stop blaming yourself, no one else does. I’m fine.”

“But what if it had been worse? What if that bullet had landed here?” Simon touched your forehead. “Or here,” he said, touching the base of your throat. “What if-”

“Don’t think about it,” you said firmly, pulling his hand from your neck. “Simon, I said I’m fine.” Still holding his hand, you pulled it up to your lips. “There is one thing I am annoyed about, though,” you smirked as you kissed his fingers.

Simon looked at you quizzically. “Why am I the only one naked right now? Surely you’re not gonna shower in your clothes.” You stepped inside the shower, letting the water run over your head, careful to avoid letting it hit your left shoulder.

Simon’s eyes squinted, and you knew he was smirking behind his mask as he removed the rest of his gear and dumped it on the ground next to yours. As always, his mask was the very last thing he removed. No matter how comfortable Simon was with you, and no matter how many times you’d seen him without it, there were certain insecurities that were too deeply ingrained. The last piece of Ghost removed, and only Simon stood in front of you.

Simon stepped in the large shower with you. Grabbing a face washer and pouring body wash on it, he gently helped scrub off the dried blood that had made its way down your torso. He shampooed, conditioned and brushed your hair, knowing you couldn’t lift your arm to wash any dried blood that had knotted in there. Once you were clean, you grabbed the other face wash and carefully, with your good arm, moved it across his chest and abdomen. He watched as you gently made circles on his large shoulders and down his muscular arms.

You wrapped your good arm around the back of his neck and pulled him down for a kiss. “Don’t be too long,” you smiled as you stepped out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel.

Walking to the dresser, you pulled out some clothes and attempted to get dressed but you couldn’t pull the shirt over your head. You sighed, and sat on the bed resignedly, still in your towel. You heard the shower stop running, and Simon stepped out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Here,” you beckoned, reaching for him. Simon came to stand in front of you, standing in between your legs. You leaned forward and kissed his stomach, feeling the warm skin beneath your lips raise with goose bumps. You tugged on his arm, pulling him down towards the ground. He knelt, still between your legs, and leaned forward to bury his face in your neck. Almost a whole foot of height difference between the two of you, yet you were the only person who could bring Simon Riley to his knees.

Your good arm snaked its way around his broad back, tracing his spine, down to his hips to the edge of the towel. You heard Simon’s breath quicken, still lightly kissing your neck, when your fingers made their way around to the front of his towel and tugged it loose, letting it fall to the floor.

You lightly brushed your fingers down his stomach and over his navel, until you reached the base of his shaft. You felt Simon’s breath hitch as you gripped it in both hands.

“Bell..” he groaned.

“Mmm?”

He brought his mouth round to yours, kissing you deeply. His mouth trailed back along your jaw to your ear. “Why am I the only one that’s naked?” You felt his smirk against your cheek as he repeated your line back to you.

“Maybe you should fix that,” you whispered back.

Simon wasted no time in removing your towel and throwing it across the other side of the room. You laid back on the bed as he trailed kisses down your chest, taking a nipple in his mouth and thumbing circles around the other. Your hands threaded themselves through his thick hair as you massaged his head. Simon’s hands followed his head as he made his way down your stomach and down your navel, his hands gliding over your hips and massaging up and down your thighs.

You threw your head back and moaned in pleasure as he buried his face between your legs, his mouth sucking and licking at your clit. You gasped as you felt one of Simon’s fingers enter you, then two, and he slowly picked up a rhythm as his mouth and fingers worked in synch. You could feel your walls begin to tighten as you got closer to your orgasm.

“Stop,” you gasped. Simon looked up quickly.

“Did I hurt you?” He asked worriedly.

“Not at all,” you tugged at his arm so he pulled himself so he was hovered above you. “I need you in me right now,” you purred as you pulled his head down, his lips crashing to meet yours.

You reached down and grabbed his length firmly, stroking it. Simon’s eyes glazed over with lust as he moved his head back to your neck. Guiding him, you positioned him at your entrance.

“You sure?” he asked huskily. You knew he was teasing. He knew exactly what you wanted.

“Yes,” you breathed.

You both groaned with pleasure as he entered you, filling and stretching you out. Simon set a slow pace at first, until he was sure you had adjusted to him, then quickened the pace. His hands moved to your waist as he slammed into you, holding you in place so you didn’t move around too much. He pulled your legs over his shoulders and you gripped his forearms, lost in pleasure.

Simon leaned forward and your legs dropped to his waist. He took one of your breasts in his mouth. You moaned in ecstasy as he hit the sweet spot inside of you.

“Simon.. I think I’m gonna-” you gasped.

Still inside of you, Simon pulled you on top of him as he rolled onto his back. “Not yet, you’re not.”

“Owwwww!” You winced as the action pulled tightly at your left shoulder.

“Fuck! Sorry! You okay?” He asked worriedly.

“Yeah,” you moaned as you picked up the pace again. You brought your legs either side of his waist and pulled his hands to your breasts as you lowered yourself onto him, taking him completely. Now in control, you could feel every movement and every angle as you took him deep inside you.

Simon gripped your breasts firmly as he felt your walls begin to tighten. “C’mon, darlin’,” he groaned. “I’m not far off, myself.”

“I’m gonna come,” you whined. You rocked your hips back and forth and threw your head back as your walls clenched around him. You rode your orgasm out, and heard Simon groan as his own orgasm erupted into you. You fell on top of him, exhausted and satisfied.

Simon gently rolled you off him and onto the bed as he got up to get some water. Your eyes followed him, appreciating his finely sculpted body as he walked to the sink in the ensuite, grabbing a glass off the nightstand and filling it with water. He met your eyes as he walked back to the bed.

“What?” He asked bashfully as he handed you the water, aware of his nakedness.

“You’re beautiful,” you smiled drowsily, taking the glass.

Simon chuckled. “Are you sure you’re okay? They must be some strong drugs they gave you.”

“Hmmm... never better” you sighed as you handed the water back to him. Despite what you said, sleep was already pulling you under.

Simon leaned in and kissed your forehead.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#simon ghost riley #ghost x f reader #ghost x fem bell #ghost modern warfare

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raineydays411 · 4 years ago

Text

So warm and tender

Tony Stark x Daughter!reader

A/n: Hello! finally the last part of Ember. I hope you guys like it and sorry for making y’all wait so long for the confrontation lol)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n’s POV

“Aunt Pam?!” you say in shock as you stop struggling against the vine wrapped around your body.

“Y/n, is it really you?” your aunt said as the vine loosened its grip and gently lowered you on the ground. “ Where have you been? Everyone has been going crazy looking for you”

You don’t answer as you look at your aunt. You didn’t realise you missed her as much as you did but now all you want to do is throw yourself in her arms. So you did.Pam, sensing you needed comfort rather than an interrogation, wrapped her arms around you. “I missed so much my Petal.”

With those five words, all the hurt and pain you bottled up came out. and you cried.

As you cried, your aunt looked at the girl she hasn’t seen in eight years, and wondered what she’s been going through and if she did the right thing by giving you to your father all those years ago.

“Petal, I think you need to explain what’s going on”

You look up and sniff, “ Yeah, i think an explanation is well in order.” and you tell her everything. From the years of being ignored by your father, your last argument, the two weeks you spent in captivity, and your new powers.

“ And that’s when I found you.” You finish looking at the grim faces of Pam and the other woman, who now that you think about it looks really familiar.

“Oh, you poor puddin’!” you found your face being squished between two ands and then you were comically pressed against a body in a tight hug.

“Don’tcha worry bout a thing, me and Pammy will take care of everything, you just sit here and---” This seems familiar...

“ Harley, I don’t think she can breathe.” “Oh right, now you remember, it the blonde woman who used to sneak into the apartment”. You think to yourself as you struggle to get loose from her grip. You hear someone snicker and see Danny looking at the commotion.

“ Shut up Danny, where have you been?” You say, forgetting that you’re the only one who can see him.

“Exploring, do you thing she could hug me like that too?”

“ If you weren’t already dead, I’m sure they would kill you for that comment”

Pam and Harley look at each other in concern as it seems like you’re talking to yourself.

“ Hey kid, if you’re gonna talk to yourself, try an’ do it when other people can’t see you, like me.” The blonde says as if someone talking to themselves was a daily occurrence for her. You explain that with your powers, you were basically dead and can speak and see other dead people. Hearing that, Pam’s expression darkened

“He let you die?” she said in a grim tone. All the vines and plants in the room started whipping around angrily as if they were looking for the person who wronged you. It was then when you realized it wasn’t your Auntie Pam who taught you how to plant petunias you were looking at, this was Poison Ivy.

“ Men, you can never trust em’. Well, whadda say little flower, ya up for a little premeditated murder?” and that was the infamous Harley Quinn.

“ It would’ve been nice to know that you’re related to scary criminals y/n....” Danny said in a fearful voice. And if you were being honest you just found out that your aunt Pam was also the Poison Ivy but to be fair you haven’t seen her since you were like eight.

“I don’t want to kill him” you finally say. “ I don’t want anything to do with him. Nor his precious Spiderling.” The plants calm down as Ivy calmed down and was your aunt Pam again. “ What do you want to do?” she asks.

You think to yourself and say,” I want him to know how he made me feel, and then I want to stay with you.” Your aunt and Harley froze when you said that.

“Petal, there is nothing I want more than for you to stay with me again,” She started, “ But it isn’t safe for you to stay.” Your eyes started to water

“But I-I have powers now, I can defend myself! I won’t be any trouble, it’ll be like I’m not even here” At this point, anything was better than going back to being invisible. “Please...I don’t want to go back...”

Hearing the desperation in your voice broke Pams, Harleys, and Danny's heart. Pam because this was the daughter of her closest friend. She vowed to protect you from anything the day you came to her after losing your mother. Seeing you like this just reminded her how she, in her mind, has failed you. Seeing you so desperate to get away from the man who broke your heart reminded Harley of herself. The nights she would sneak into the tiny apartment you shared with Pammy, in hopes of escape only to get drawn back with empty promises. So yeah, she had a small soft spot for you. And Danny, you were the only person who saw him after months of being invisible. He felt like he needed to help you in your mission to get your father regret ignoring you.

“Hey Pammy...maybe we should call him...” Harley started to suggest.

“NO, I’d rather drink weed killer than go to that...orphan collector for help.” the red head spat. “ No. We’ll figure it out but she can stay here for now.”

Hearing that you had a place to call home now, gave you the motivation to go and confront your father. Not only for ignoring you, but for leaving you in that..cell for two weeks. He didn’t even attempt to look for you as far as you knew. You’d have thought at least one of the other Avengers would have came to save you. But no one came. After all those years, no one came.

“Y/n.. your eyes” Danny whispered, his cold hand touching your arm snapped you out of your mind. The neon glow of your eyes faded to your normal e/c.

“ Aunt Pam, Harley is there any way you guys can get me to New York and back?” You ask, finally ready to confront your father.

“ Well....” Harley say as with a smirk

~~~~~~~~~one terrifying ride on a stolen batplane later~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Upon arriving to New York you made Pam and Harley wait a few blocks away from the tower, as you really didn’t want the Avengers to find out your aunt was a wanted criminal. You “went ghost” as Danny like to call it and snuck into the Tower with ease. You then snuck into your room, seeing everything covered in a layer of dust as no one has been in there for over two weeks. You packed a bag and filled it with some clothes, books and a picture of you and your mother. You took that bag and walked to the door, looking around at the room that was both you prison and safe space. It was decorated with multiple trophies, medals, and ribbons all from the multiple sports and clubs you joined to impress your father. Not like that ever happened. Danny wander around looking at the multiple teams photos you had hung up.

“ You’re a volleyball girl?” he said, “ Huh. I’d never have had guessed.”

You rolled your eyes as you finished packing. “ Hey I have a job for you.” you say turning to him. “ I need you to go to the control room and turn off the power for thirty minutes. Then turn it back on and come find me in the common room.”

“ Yes ma’am” Danny says, saluting and disappearing through the wall before he comes back. “Ummm, wheres the control room?”

You roll your eyes and explain how to get to the control room and wait. When the lights go out and you’ll make your move. Your father would have to pass through the common room to get to the control room from his lab, which you assume he’ll be. There you’ll be waiting for him.

The lights go out. It’s showtime.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tony's POV

The team spent three more days searching for you. They followed every lead and half of the team even flew out to the building that collapsed an hour ago. Tony, Steve, and Natasha stood behind to look at more clues. It was a little past midnight, and both Steve and Natasha went to bed leaving Tony to tinker in his lab. Tony was making improvements to a certain spider suit as he thought about what his daughter said to him before she went missing.

“Sir, there seems to be someone in Y/--” FRIDAY started to say when the power cut out.

“FRIDAY??” Tony questioned as he walked out to check the control room, making sure to get his nano bracelet just incase. As he walked down the hallway he thought about waking up Steve and if he was brave enough to wake Natasha when he heard it.

“Hi daddy.”

Tony stopped dead in his tracks as he looked up in disbelief. The lights turned back on to reveal his daughter. Wearing a black halter top, spandex leggings, grey boots with elbow length gloves. She looked skinny, as if she hadn’t had a proper meal in the weeks she was gone. And for some reason the air was cold in the room. But there she stood.

‘Y/n” Tony said breathlessly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/n pov

As you wait for Tony to walk in,you look around the common room and reminisce. You think about the time when you first moved in, and you got lost trying to find the bathroom and accidently walked into Natashas room. YOu thought she was going to kill you but ended up walking you to the restroom and back to your room. Or when you made the volleyball team way back in eighth grade, and you ran home to tell your dad but ended up telling the whole team, who were rarely all together, and they all took you out to get ice cream, minus Tony. You had to admit, even though your dad didn’t pay attention to you, Nat and Steve did. As well as the whole team, but those two really became the parental figures in your life. That’s why it hurt when not even they came for you. Even they had forgotten you.

“Hi daddy” you said in a mocking voice. Your father stopped dead in his tracks, as he looked you over in disbelief.

“Y/n”, he said in a breathless voice.

“Oh, you remember my name?” You say in an sarcastic tone. “ Didn’t seem like you did when you left me in a hydra cell for two weeks.”

Hearing that you were a prisoner of Hydra made Tony’s blood freeze.

“Hydra? Oh Y/N are you okay? What did they do to you?” He asked frantically as he walk towards you with the intent of checking if you were injured. You jerk away from him, avoiding his touch and say

“ Oh, I’m wonderful. Just so fucking fantastic. I was just experimented on and injected with various liquids that caused excruciating pain. No big deal”

“ Y/n..we spent days trying to look for you. Me and the team--”

“You and the team what Tony? I was there for two weeks. TWO WEEKS I WAS POKED AND PRODDED. I THOUGHT I WAS GOING TO DIE.” You scream, anger filling your heart as you remember the agony you went through. You think about the scratches on the wall of the cells, the taunts from the guards, and screams of the undead.

“ You have no idea what I went through. What I’m going through.” You say, feeling your body grow colder as you lose control and start to shift. “ You don’t care about me. If I were Parker, you would have saved mem within SECONDS.”

“That's not true. Y/N you have no idea how much I love you.” Tony tries to say. He’s filled with the need to tell you everything he didn’t tell you before. “I know I haven’t always been the best father. Trust me I know that now. But if you give me a chance, I want to make everything right. Please.”

You didn’t think it would go like this. In fact you were not at all prepared for Tony to say this. You expected to walk in on him continuing his life as normal, tinkering in his lab and such. You had always yearned to hear him say those words to you. But now, they just fill you with anger.

“You think you could just tell me what I want to hear and what? I’ll just act like nothing happened?? I know you’re not that stupid.” You spit, the room growing colder as you get angrier. “ It’s too late for all that Tony. I’m not the same girl i was two weeks ago.i won;t take it any longer.”

“Y/n..your eyes” Tony says as he slowly starts to put his gauntlet bracelet on, realising that you are becoming a threat.

“ Oh do you like them?”, You ask “ This is what happened when they injected me. I can also do this.” You shift, shades of blue taking over brown skin. Tony stared at you in awe and a bit of fear.

“ Y/n this isn’t you. I know you’re angry but--” “ Isn’t me?” You interrupt.” You don’t know me. You don’t know what I’m like. And even if you did the old me died in that cell. Literally I died” You and Tony stared at each other. and that's when you heard the doors open. Two sets of footsteps started rushing to the commotion.

“Y/N some red head and beefy blonde are on their way” You hear Danny say as you realize you had to wrap it up. If anyone can convince you to stay, it’s Steve and Nat.

“ It doesn’t matter anymore Tony.” you say as you start walking to the window. “ I can’t stay here anymore. There’s nothing for me. You win. Peter can be the child you always wanted cause from now on, consider me dead.” and with that, you phase threw the window and let yourself fall, knowing that you won’t actually fall as you can fly.

Tony freaks out and calls for his suit, only to see a blue blur shoot up and across the sky. Then he just sits there and stares. The footsteps reach the common room and he hears someone ask

“ Stark..what was all the yelling. What's going on?”

“she's gone” He says, and that's when he truly realizes his mistake. He became what he never wanted to become. He became his father. And now you were gone.

Taglist: @vxidsti1es @big-galaxy-chaos

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dreamsmp-au-ideas · 3 years ago

Note

wooohooo MCU gremlins drabble

Thor and Bruce examined the burn patters swirling on the remains of a wall, as Tony and Steve chatted to themselves.

“It’s been a month since these so-called Four Warriors were summoned, and we still haven’t found them. And now we know they have energy-based weapons.”

“But don’t you think that’s strange? These Warriors have been in New York for a month, and this is the first we’ve seen of any sort of attack.”

“Ahem.” Thor stood up. “I’m afraid that you are incorrect, Man of Iron.”

Tony raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Bruce stepped in, data pad in hand, which he passed to Tony. “The burn patterns here are too sporadic to be man-made. They look like natural lightning- or the kind of stuff Thor can summon. If I didn’t know this came from the middle of the city, I’d say the wall was just struck in a storm.”

Tony hummed. “So, what are you saying? Instead of the Warriors running around my city with weapons, they’re running around with superpowers? That’s worse!”

“Tony, you have to calm down.”

The Thunder God shook his head. “Actually, I have seen this kind of lightning before. It was made by a child of the stars- your people do not have a name for their race.”

Steve blinked. “An alien?”

“Yes, but one forged in the heart of a star. That is not the concerning thing about these markings, however.”

“What is it?”

“They are powerful, but wildly inaccurate. Whoever shot these blasts was not trained to use them effectively.”

“Meaning?”

“They are either a non-combatant... or a juvenile. I would tend towards the latter, as a fully grown star child would have more power in their blasts.”

Tony’s eyes widened. “It’s a kid? You’re sure?” He stopped. “Fuck.”

“Language.”

“Shut it, Rodgers. I just remembered something.” He tapped the data pad. “When we fought that weirdo with the staff, we saw a bunch of teenagers.”

Steve made a noise of realisation, and his heart sank. “Four teenagers. I thought they’d been caught up in the blast, so I made sure they got out safely. I only saw two of their faces- but they were definitely just freaked-out kids in over their heads.”

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Are you saying he summoned teenagers to do his dirty work? Are you saying the dangerous Warriors SHIELD has been tracking are kids?”

“Most likely stranded kids, if they’re still in the city.”

“Fuck.”

Steve didn’t admonish him this time.

——————————————————————————

A good thing about a city that’s constantly under attack is that nobody looks at a beat-up teenager twice, except with pity. Tommy knew that from back in L’Manberg, and it still rang true in... wherever the fuck they were. New York? He kicked a rock. “Fuckin’ stupid name. I would have come up with a much cooler one.”

Purpled scoffed, but there was no malice in it. “Uh huh.” The Starborne kept an eye on the entrance to the alley, fingers flexing around a hidden knife. He wouldn’t be caught unawares again. “You’d have named it L’Yorkberg or something.”

“Like I said, a much cooler name.” Tommy shot his friend a grin, and the wall behind them promptly disappeared. A tall figure with a hood over his face beckoned them through, the wall clicking seamlessly back into place behind them.

Finally, safety. The house they’d found was abandoned, and if anyone had come across it they’d be... confused. Random chunks of soil, sand and marble in perfect cubes were scattered around the room, and every surface was covered with random bits and pieces of machinery.

Purpled swept some scrap metal off of a cube of granite, and emptied out the bag of food he’d snagged on top of it. “I got enough to last us the week. I don’t think they saw me, but we should go to a different store next time to be safe.” Tommy passed the hooded figure a handful of first-aid kits. “Did Tubbo get that fridge working?”

The hooded figure- Ranboo- nodded. “Yeah, put the meat and stuff in it so it doesn’t go bad.” That had been a shock- food in this world spoiling over time. They couldn’t get ill from it, just Hunger, but it was still unpleasant to eat. The worst part of it was that they couldn’t just stock up on bread and wait for someone to find them, they had to constantly go out to get food. At least the first-aid kits were just a precaution.

The ram hybrid in question leaned into the room. “Hey, guys! Did you run into any trouble?” Tommy shook his head emphatically, while Purpled looked sheepish. “No...”

Tubbo put his hands on his hips. “What happened?”

Purpled coughed, embarrassed. “We kind of got mugged. They wanted this green paper stuff we found.” Tommy puffed out his chest proudly, wings flicking mischievously under his hoodie. “Purpled kicked the shit out of them, you should have seen him! Zapped them right through a wall.”

The ram’s eyes lit up, radiation symbols dancing in his pupils. “Sick!”

Ranboo, on the other hand, looked slightly panicked. “Uhm, aren’t we trying to keep a low profile?”

Tommy shrugged. “Eh, we had our hoods up, plus there’s a fuckin’ million people in this city. It’ll be fine.”

Tubbo clapped his hands together twice, banishing the nervous air that had grown in the room. “Right. Ranboo, you’re still banned from the kitchen after the Spaghetti Incident, so Tommy, it’s your turn to cook.”

——————————————————————————

Tony Stark was not good at waiting. It took approximately seven seconds for JARVIS to illegally download the CCTV footage of the attack, and about sixty for everyone watching to see what had really happened. It was still too long for him.

Two teenagers were walking down an alleyway, one in a red hoodie and one in a purple one. They were talking together and laughing about something.

“Red has blond hair, blue eyes, about 6’3. I think he’s got a dyed white streak in his hair.” He’d roped Natasha in for this, her spy training making her excellent at spotting details others would miss. “Purple has lighter blond hair and... purple eyes? Huh. They could be blue too, just a trick of the light. He’s shorter than Red, maybe 5’11?”

One of the teenagers swung his bag at the other with a grin on his face. The other yelled at him. Two older men appeared at the other end of the alley.

The spy’s eyes narrowed. “Two adults, 20-25, Caucasian, wearing beanies and dark clothing. They’re armed, one of them is nervous but the other has done this before.”

One of the men pulled a gun, and the other cracked his knuckles. The teenagers scowled.

“Huh. Interesting. Red and Purple aren’t afraid of them. They look... annoyed, but not scared.”

The man with the gun lunged forward, and was promptly knocked through a wall with a blast of electricity. The other man froze, and the teenager in red hit him over the head with a bag, before bursting into nervous laughter.

Nat’s eyes widened. “Holy shit. Okay, now I get why you wanted me to see this.” She looked at Tony. “Mutants? Have you contacted Xavier yet?”

Tony shook his head. “Not just mutants. Thor thinks Purple is an alien. Called him ‘a child of the stars’ or something.”

Shadows appeared at the end of the alleyway. The teenager in red swore, the words clearly visible despite the silent recording. He tore off his hoodie to reveal a large pair of wings, and grabbed his purple-clad friend. The pair flew out of sight of the camera.

“Red might be a mutant, we don’t know. Neither of them are showing up on any databases. No birth records, schooling, missing persons reports, anything.”

Nat sat back in her chair. “Right. You got any idea where they went after this?”

He shook his head. “Not one. We can assume Red landed in a remote area and hid his wings, before meeting up with the other two.”

She rose an eyebrow. “Other two?”

“There were four teenagers at that battle, remember? Just after four great Warriors were supposedly summoned.”

Recognition flashed in the spy’s eyes. “You think they’re the Warriors? They’re a little young.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. Steve was pissed when we put two and two together and Bruce nearly Hulked out. Kids don’t belong on a battlefield.”

“What do we do now?”

“Look for patterns. Where we see them, and when. JARVIS is looking through all public cameras right now, and he’s already found Red and Purple stealing food from a nearby store a couple of times.”

“No sign of the other two?”

“Not yet. Although, they could just be better at hiding. Hell, one of ‘em could have invisibility powers or something. Hard to tell.”

She shook her head. “I doubt it.”

Tony recognised that calculating look in her eyes. “You’ve figured something out. Alright. What’ve you got for me?”

She steepled her fingers together. “Put it this way. You’re a kid, and let’s for argument’s sake say you’ve been summoned to an unknown city, possibly even an unknown planet. You’re lost, and you’re evidently not able to get money or food, if you’re stealing from stores regularly.”

“Right.”

“If one of you has invisibility, why risk the visible ones getting caught? Why not just send them instead? No, my money is on Red and Purple being the most inconspicuous.”

He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

“They’re the easiest to blend in- the most baseline human-looking. And considering one’s an alien and one has wings, that’s saying a lot. The other two might not be able to go out in public without causing a scene.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about it that way. But it makes sense.”

She shrugged. “Or the other two could be injured. Red was holding a bag full of medical supplies.”

“Shit. We need to find them, and fast.”

!!!!!

#dream smp #dream smp au #gremlins in mcu au #tommyinnit #tubbo #purpled #ranboo #ask #drabble #fanfic #long post #op i love it #i love it so much #also #starborne purpled my beloved #man i can't wait for them to just meet #that's going to be fun

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tails89 · 3 years ago

Note

Are you still taking prompts? I was thinking about a 5+1 Buddie or a domestic. Thank you so much 🏵️

Thanks for the ask! I went with domestic for this one 😄

Send me a bingo prompt

You can also read this on AO3

~~~

“Hey kiddo.” Eddie holds the door open while Chris climbs up into the car. “How was school?”

“It was good.” Chris settles in his seat and waits for his dad to climb in behind the steering wheel. “We all got seeds in science. We planted them to see how they grow. I can’t wait to see what my plants are.”

He goes quiet, and when Eddie glances up at the rear-view mirror he can see Chris's reflection, staring out the window, deep in thought.

“Hey, dad?”

“Yeah buddy?”

“Do you think we could have a garden at home?”

Eddie pulls a face remembering the plant Pepa had given him as a house warming gift when they first moved to LA. She’d called it low-maintenance, insisting that even Eddie couldn’t kill it but by the time he’d finished unpacking the plant had been black and crumbling.

“Dad?”

“I don’t have much of a green thumb,” he admits.

“Oh, yeah.” Chris frowns. “You kill everything.”

“Hey, not everything!”

Chris gives a little sigh and goes back to staring out his window.

“Oh.” He brightens, straightening in his seat. “Maybe Buck can help us.”

“You’ll have to ask him,” Eddie says. Knowing Buck, the answer will be a resounding yes. It seems he’ll take any excuse to come over and hang out with Chris, which works for Eddie because he’ll use any excuse to invite Buck over.

It’s almost embarrassing, to be crushing on someone this hard. Eddie’s an adult, not some lovesick teenager. He shouldn’t be getting butterflies at the thought of seeing Buck.

“Can we ring him when we get home?” Chris asks.

“Buck’s working kiddo, but I’ll send him a text and see if he’s free on the weekend.”

Buck is so completely in, because of course he is and Eddie falls just a little bit more in love with him.

Eddie is woken early on Saturday morning by the sounds of movement in the house and the loud beep of the coffee maker. He pads out to the kitchen to find Buck, pulling things from cupboards to make breakfast.

“I gave you a key for emergencies, Buck.”

“Your cooking is an emergency,” Buck calls back to him moving to the fridge and peering inside. “You have eggs, right?” His head disappears behind the door. “Found ‘em.”

Eddie leans against the doorframe and watches Buck move around the kitchen with ease. He doesn’t need to ask where everything is kept having spent enough time in there already.

He stands with his back to the doorway, cracking eggs into a bowl. Eddie wants to go to him, to wrap his arms around his waist and hook his chin over Buck’s shoulder.

He shakes off the mental image and steps into the room.

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Buck turns to look at him, rolling his eyes and fixing Eddie with a fond smile. “I’m making breakfast.”

Eddie has nothing to say to that. He’s certainly not going to try and argue when the alternative to Buck making breakfast is whatever cereal he can find in the cupboard.

He makes a vague ‘go ahead’ motion with his hand and sets about making coffee for them both, sliding one mug along the counter towards Buck before taking a seat at the table.

“Buck!” Chris appears in the doorway, one hand on the wall for balance. “What are you doing here?” He rushes up to Buck, wrapping his arms around the firefighter.

Eddie hides a snort behind his coffee mug at Buck’s over the top pout. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten.”

“Oh, the garden!” Chris’s face lights up in joy. “You’re still going to help right?”

“Of course I am,” Buck reassures him. “Our garden is going to be amazing. You just need to promise not to let your dad touch it.”

“Because it will die?”

Buck nods sagely. “Because it will die.”

“Hey.” Eddie reaches with his foot to poke Buck in the leg. “What is this? Roast Eddie day?”

“Are you going to deny it?” Buck asks, whipping back around to face Eddie. There’s an easy grin on his face and he’s laughing as he shoos Chris away from the stove top. It makes Eddie feel giddy with affection and he has to look away before he’s caught staring at Buck’s lips.

After breakfast Buck takes Chris outside. They stand side-by-side on the barren back lawn to check out what they’re working with.

Eddie watches shamelessly from the kitchen while he washes up. There’s something about the easy way Buck interacts with Chris that makes his heart pound in his chest. With the window open he can hear them both talking as they make their plans.

“What are you thinking, boss?” Buck has his phone out, tapping away as Chris makes suggestions.

“We should have a vegetable garden next to the house,” Chris says, pointing.

“Vegetable garden?” Buck teases. “Since when do you eat your vegetables?”

“I like some vegetables,” Chris argues.

“Yeah, like what?”

“Carrots—”

“That’s one.”

“And tomatoes.”

“Okay.” Buck taps his phone against his leg, brow knit in thought. “Oh, what about strawberries?”

Chris nods. “I like those.”

“It’s a start,” Buck tells him, writing it down. He glances up, meeting Eddie’s gaze through the window. “You want to come to the hardware store with us?”

“What for?” Eddie asks, opening the window fully.

“Well, do you own a shovel?” Buck asks. “And we’ll need a hose or watering can, soil--"

“There’s plenty of dirt out there,” Eddie says, waving his arm vaguely.

Buck laughs. “And that right there is why Chris is in charge of the garden,” he says. He ducks down to whisper something to Chris. Eddie doesn’t hear it but, judging from the smothered giggles, that’s probably for the best.

“Sure, I’ll come,” Eddie tells them, thinking at least if he goes with them, they can’t tease him behind his back.

They tease him to his face, loudly and with no remorse.

Eddie doesn’t mind. Their excitement is infectious and he can’t help getting swept up in it.

They leave the store with more tools than Eddie knows what to do with. He wouldn’t even know the names of half the things that end up in their cart, let alone what they’re used for. Still, Chris and Buck seem happy with their purchases and that’s enough for Eddie.

He leaves them to it once they get back to the house. It’s been made very clear that his help is not needed and Eddie has enough to do inside.

The life of a single parent means there are always chores to do around the house, but then Eddie will hear a laugh—Chris or Buck—and his attention will be pulled back out to the yard.

Eddie holds out for another hour before giving up the pretence of being busy inside. The day is warming up, so he stops by the kitchen to grab Chris's water bottle and fills another for Buck before heading out.

“How’s everything going out here?” He hands Chris his water and tosses the other bottle to Buck. “No ones chopped off any important body parts?”

“We’re making good progress, right Chris?” Buck takes a long drink. He caps the water bottle, dropping it in the grass. “Hopefully we’re done before it gets too hot.”

In one quick movement, Buck pulls his shirt up over his head, using it to wipe the sweat from his face before letting it drop to the ground.

Eddie should look away, should look anywhere other than at Buck. But with that one simple action Eddie has lost all capacity for rational thought.

“Uh...” He manages to tear his gaze away, but doesn’t miss the knowing smirk that tugs on Buck’s lips. He files that observation away to overthink about later. “You’re not overworking Buck are you?” He asks Chris, latching onto his son for a distraction.

“No.” Chris digs holes in the fresh dark soil. “Buck dug up the grass but I helped spread out the dirt and he said I could decide where the plants go.”

“Oh, so Buck is overworking you then?”

Chris grins and continues digging.

“I guess I’ll leave you both to it then,” Eddie tells them, but he doesn’t head back inside. It’s a nice day, and even if they don’t want his help Eddie is content to sit on the sideline and watch while Chris carefully decides where to put each plant they bought.

They spend most of the day outside, pausing only to eat lunch.

When they’re done, Eddie sends Chris to have a bath and then offers Buck the use of the shower. While the water is running, Eddie looks through his closet for a pair of shorts and a t-shirt that will fit Buck, leaving them outside the bathroom.

Once everyone is clean, Eddie orders pizza. It’s not quite dinner time, but he can see Chris probably isn’t going to last much longer.

He’s guesses correctly. Chris crashes out on the couch halfway through the movie he picked to watch while eating. There’s still a slice of pizza on his plate.

“I think you broke him,” Eddie teases. He pokes Chris gently on the arm but his kid doesn’t even stir. “You completely wore him out.”

“More like he wore me out.” Buck blinks sleepily across at Eddie. “This gardening business is hard work.”

“You can crash here if you want,” Eddie offers. “You can drive home in the morning when you’re not so tired.”

“Mm, thanks,” Buck mumbles around a yawn.

Standing, Eddie scoops Chris up into his arms. The boy is all limbs and he realises with a start that soon his kid is going to be too big for this.

“Give me a minute to put Chris to bed, and I’ll grab you a blanket from my room.”

Buck doesn’t say anything. His eyes are closed, his head tipped forward, chin propped on his hand.

Eddie quickly tucks Chris into bed then goes to his room, rifling around for the blanket Buck usually borrows when he stays the night.

Buck hasn’t moved from his spot when Eddie returns to the living room. He lingers in the doorway, his eyes drawn to Buck’s sleep rumpled hair then down to the sliver of skin revealed where his shirt is riding up.

“I can feel you staring.”

Eddie flinches in surprise.

“Sorry,” he mutters, moving over to the couch to hand Buck the blanket.

“’s okay.” A sleepy smile pulls at Buck’s lips. “You do it a lot.”

That stops Eddie in his tracks.

“You, uh, noticed that, did you?”

The smile pulls wider. “I always notice you Eddie.”

Eddie’s mouth goes dry. “You do?”

Buck opens his eyes, his gaze fixing on Eddie’s with an intensity that steals Eddies breath.

“Always.”

Eddie licks his lips, trying to draw some moisture back into his mouth. His heart pounds at the idea of what he’s about to say.

“You know, my bed is much more comfortable than the couch.” He offers Buck his hand to pull him to his feet. “Just sleep,” he adds quickly. “But maybe in the morning we could talk about... more...”

Buck nods slowly, more awake now. “I’d like that,” he says. “More. If that’s what you want?” He accepts Eddie’s hand, rising from the couch.

“I want everything with you.”

#911 #buddie #evan buckley x eddie diaz #eddie diaz #evan buckley #christopher diaz #911 bingo #911 fanfic #my911fanfic

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emilyshotchniss · 4 years ago

Text

What, Are You Like In Love With Me Or Something?

Summary: After crushing on each other for years, you and Emily finally pull your shit together:)

Pairing : Emily Prentiss x Fem Reader

Warnings: Minimal swearing

Word Count : 1675

4:27am. Are you fucking kidding me.

You reluctantly rolled out of bed and dragged yourself to the bathroom, turning the shower on. You love your job, but getting called in at four in the morning was a fucking pain in the ass. After standing under the hot water for a considerable length of time, you got out and chose your outfit. Once you were ready, you repacked your go bag, and dropped your cat Willow off at your neighbours apartment, before heading to the office.

When you arrived, it was 5:02am, and you were pretty sure that in your current mood, if you didn't get some coffee soon, you were going to go full on unsub on someone. That mood was suddenly lifted as soon as you entered the bullpen - you ducked out of view and watched as your best friend Emily walked silently through the nearly empty office, and placed a mug of coffee on your desk. She gently sat it on your favourite coaster, then tiptoed back over to her desk, grabbing a small bag and sitting it next to the mug on your desk. She adjusted everything until it was the way she wanted it, and smiled to herself before sitting back at her desk. You also smiled to yourself, before walking in fully, pretending you didn't just spend three minutes hidden behind a wall watching her.

"Morning, Em!" You smiled.

"Oh hey!" She replied, clearly trying to act chill as if she hadn't just spent five minutes fixing you breakfast.

"What's this?" You asked, opening the small bag she left you.

"Oh, uh, I, I picked you up a croissant from the Starbucks downtown on my way in," She said, smiling sheepishly.

Your heart nearly burst, and you felt an overwhelming rush of butterflies in your stomach. The gesture was lovely, but wasn't helping you get over the huge crush you'd been harbouring for a while now. You pushed your feelings into a tiny little box in the back of your mind, because there was no way she felt the same - she was just being a good friend.

"Thank you," You smiled, before taking a bite of the croissant. "For this, and the coffee. Lunch is on me,"

She smiled back, but you couldn't help but notice how her eyes lingered a little longer than they were supposed to. Your "moment" was interrupted by Morgan and Garcia barging through the doors, shortly followed by JJ, Rossi and Reid, prompting Hotch to call you all into the conference room. You took a quick sip of your coffee and one last mouthful of your croissant, before following the team upstairs.

***************************************

It was around 1:49pm when you walked back into the local PD, carrying two bags. You opened each door with your foot, and made your way to the conference room, finding Emily sitting alone with a file. The rest of the team were still away getting lunch.

"Hey, aren't you getting hungry?" You asked her.

"Uh, I'm fine, I'm nearly done with this-" She stopped rambling when she saw the bags of food. "You shouldn't have,"

"I told you, lunch was on me today. That coffee and croissant saved me from murdering someone this morning. I owe you," You said, earning a laugh from Emily. You felt a blush creep up your neck and across your cheeks, and you could've sworn you saw Emily's cheeks turn a faint pink - but it was probably nothing.

"What did you get?" She asked, as you continued to unpack.

"An italian BMT for the lady," You said, handing her her sandwich. "And a roast chicken sub for myself."

"Ugh, you're amazing," She said between mouthfuls.

You felt that same rush of heat in your cheeks again, and immediately got up to put the empty bags in the trash in a desperate attempt to hide your face.

"Seriously... thank you. I really needed this today..." She said, trailing off into a whisper almost. Her face had changed, and you could sense something was bothering her.

"Em, you okay?" You asked, concern lacing your tone.

"Oh, uh, yeah, yeah I'm good..." She lied.

"Don't lie to me. What's going on?" You said, matching your tone with hers.

"This doesn't leave this room-" She warned, your nerves making an appearance.

"This case- it, it's getting to me more than I care to admit..." She began shakily.

"In what way?" You asked.

"Regina- she said something to me, and it's kinda sticking with me," Emily said, taking a deep breath. You've known her long enough to know that that's her tell.

"She said that I have no idea what it's like when the monster from your nightmares comes back for you - that mine is dead, yet she still has to live with hers... it's stupid I know-" You cut her off.

"It's not stupid Emily. You went through a massive trauma, nobody expects you to magically be okay now that he's dead. You're still processing everything - that takes time, and we're all here to support you through it - I'm here to support you through it..." You told her, making sure she heard exactly what you were saying.

She let go of that breath, feeling a little calmer. "I have no idea what I'd do if you weren't my best friend..." She laughed nervously. Friend. That stung way more than it should've - but you put these feelings away in that little box at the back of your mind, attempting to compartmentalise it all.

"Seriously - thank you," She told you, grabbing your hand briefly, before getting up to put her napkins and stuff in the trash. Just at that, the rest of the team piled back into the station, ready to tie up the loose ends of the case before flying back that evening. You shook your head, laughing at your stupidity for falling for your best friend, before joining the rest of the team.

***********************

Back at Quantico, the team dragged themselves into the office to finish reports and grab their stuff before heading home for the night. Before you knew it, you looked up from your desk to find that most of the team had left, you Emily and Hotch being the only three remaining. You checked your watch, and decided that the reports could be finished in the morning. Throwing on your coat, you turned to look at Emily, still working away.

"Hey Em, we can finish those tomorrow, come on," You told her. She looked up at you anxiously, before reluctantly closing the file and grabbing her things. You both walked in silence to the elevator, but you could feel her eyes burning into your skull as you waited. After the silence had become just a little too uncomfortable, you turned to meet her, as she quickly diverted her gaze.

"What..." You asked with a smile.

"No, nothing- its nothing." She replied.

"You were staring at me- what, are you like in love with me or something?" You joked, not thinking anything of it - then your stomach suddenly dropped as her face turned a deep red - it was clear you'd correctly guessed her thoughts.

"Em-" You said, barely above a whisper. "Is that true?"

"I- uh- I um..." She began, her face turning a deeper red with each stutter.

"Emily look at me-" You told her, grabbing her wrists. She met your gaze, her eyes glassy.

"I love you too... I always have," You trembled, a single tear rolling down her face now.

"You have?" She cried ever so softly, her vulnerability catching you by surprise.

"Always... I- I never knew it was mutual," You smiled.

"I- I was going to tell you, but-"

"But then everything went to shit," You said, finishing her sentence.

"Yeah," She chuckled, sniffing back tears.

The elevator doors slid open and you squeezed in, taking her hand in yours as they closed behind you.

"Have you been sleeping?" You asked, not turning to face her, already knowing the answer.

"No..." She replied, barely loud enough to her - she was ashamed of being traumatised. You squeezed her hand tighter, before turning to face her.

"Come stay at my place tonight- we'll watch a movie, have hot chocolate, and maybe then you might be able to rest." You offered.

"Okay.." She smiled. "Thank you."

"Not necessary." You told her, interlacing your fingers with hers.

******************

As soon as you got home, you kicked off your shoes and headed straight to your bedroom, grabbing clothes for both yourself and Emily. After you both got comfy, you made two rather large mugs of hot chocolate, finishing them quicker than either of you would care to admit.

"Hey it's late, you coming?" You asked Emily, nodding towards your bedroom.

"Sure," She smiled, letting you lead the way. You pulled back the covers, letting Em slide in first as you followed. Lying in the darkness, your arms wrapped around her body, pulling her closer to you. As she met your eyes, no words had to be spoken- you leaned in to give her a gentle kiss that said everything you wanted to say, her returning it with equal passion. She stroked your cheekbone with her thumb, before speaking up.

"I love you - I wish I'd told you sooner." She whispered.

"I do too - but we're here now - that's all that matters." You replied.

She hummed in response, before tucking her head into your shoulder. You drew tiny shapes on her back until you heard soft snores coming from underneath your ear. It was in that moment that you realised you'd never felt love like this before - a love that consumed you. You kissed her forehead before succumbing to the slumber along with her, wondering just how you got so lucky.

#emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x female reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss fluff #criminal minds #bau team #wlw #fanfic

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i-have-a-wonky-eye-too · 4 years ago

Text

Devil in disguise... Part 6/?

Lee Bodecker x reader series

<Part 5<

Warnings: swearing, violence, fat shaming, use of the word whore as an insult

Part 6

"Oh, before they get here, I wanna talk to ya'." Mary whispered as the two of you took your seats at the movie theater.

You gave her a questioning look. "Before who gets here?"

Mary waved her hand, ignoring your question before she placed it on your arm with a soft sigh. "I think ya' oughtn't be seen with him so much."

You frowned in confusion at her, "Who? My grandpa?"

"No, silly, who'd ya' think." She huffed. "That fat shit. Bobby-Ray told us he ruined your date." Mary sighed. "Who'd he think he is?" She huffed.

"A loser fat shit." Your other friend, Sally, snickered from beside Mary making her laugh.

A scowl crept into your face as you realised who the two of them were talking about. "... You mean, Sheriff Bodecker?" You asked.

"Yes." Mary huffed. "Boy, does he get on my nerves."

"He's as crocked as they come. Pa says he killed a man before." Sally muttered around a mouthful of popcorn.

You glared at her and let out a frustrated sigh. "The Sheriff didn't ruin the date, Mary. I ain't wanna go on the damn thing in the first place." You huffed.

"You were just nervous, sweetie. Bobby-Ray said so himself."

"Bobby-Ray is a liar." You hissed.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't be so stupid." She scoffed. "Look, because I'm such a good friend, I thought I'd do ya' a favour." She grinned, nodding over your shoulder as she clapped her hands together.

You felt your stomach drop with dread as you looked behind you. "Why is he here?" You hissed at Mary quickly looking away from Bobby-Ray. He wore an almost sadistic smirk as he walked towards you.

"Because that loser of a sheriff ruined your date. Look... Bobby-Ray is mad about you, sweetie." She grinned as she leaned in, "Rumour has it he's gonna pop the question."

"Stop!" You stood up abruptly. "Excuse me... I need to use the powder room." You faked a smile before you quickly moved passed her and Sally, avoiding Bobby-Ray successfully.

God damn, you hated the way people spoke about Lee. He had his faults, every man and woman did. And so what if he killed someone, some people deserve to die, especially in the shit hole place you lived.

Before you had even realised your feet had taken you to the payphone that sat in the lobby of the movie theater and you held the candy wrapper with Lee's home number on. It put a smile on your face, thinking about his sweet tooth.

"Yeah, Bodecker residence." His deep voice sent shivers down your spine and caused a needy little whine to leave your mouth. "Hello?"

"Sheriff," You sniffled, quickly wiping your frustrated tears away. You hadn't even realised they were there.

"Sugar, that you?"

"Uh-huh," You whispered. "I need ya' to come save me, Lee."

"Sweetheart, what's wrong?" Lee's tone had shifted more towards a panicked one as he listened to you sniffle again.

"Bobby-Ray," You glanced over your shoulder making sure you weren't being watched, "He's here, and I'm scared. Mary set us up on a date."

"Okay, baby, on my way. Stay by the doors and stay in sight of people at all times, okay?" Lee ordered softly.

You hummed, "Yes, Sir."

You weren't sure how long you were waiting by the doors before you decided you'd be okay stepping outside. It was getting stuffy inside and you'd make sure to stay in sight. You instantly felt better being in the cool air, even though you knew Mary and Sally would be wondering where you'd gotten to. And most likely Bobby-Ray, who won't hesitate to come looking for you.

You tried to ignore what Mary had said, but you couldn't help thinking about it. Surely Bobby-Ray wasn't going to 'pop the question'? You couldn't stand him. And he most certainly wasn't the man you wanted to marry.

"Goin' somewhere, sweetness?" You jumped at the sound of Bobby-Ray's voice. He smirked at you even more as he began to move closer. "It ain't nice to ignore your date, Y/N."

You glared up at him. "Y'ain't my date."

"Sure I am. I had to do something after that fat fuck of a sheriff ruined our first one." He stood close to you, reaching up to touch your cheek.

"Don't fuckin' touch me!" You slapped his hand away from you.

He grabbed a hold of your hand in one hand and your jaw in the other, slamming you against the wall. "Watch your mouth, bitch." He spat. "Maybe I should force it shut, hmm."

"Screw you!" You raised your knee into his gut hard, trying to push him off you but it was no use, he was much bigger than you.

Bobby-Ray pushed you harder against the wall, pressing his face closer to your ear. "He only fucks whores, Y/N. Y'know that?" He snickered. "Must make you a whore too, hmm, like his sister."

"Don't fuckin' talk about Lee like that." You tried to push him away but he dropped his hand to your throat.

"So it's Lee now. You really are a whore, ain't ya'. That why ya' went to his office? You suck his cock for money? Hmm. So your grandpa don't borrow no more money from Ma. You a whore?" Bobby-Ray squeezed.

You gasped for air and your vision began to blur but Lee was behind Bobby-Ray ripping him off you before you knew it.

Lee's anger spilled out of him and he punched Bobby-Ray in the gut before landing one on the side of his jaw. "I warned ya'," Lee spat as he held Bobby-Ray by the collar.

He was about to open his mouth to say something else but stopped when he heard you crying behind him. He looked over his shoulder before pushing the younger man away from him.

"Sugar," Lee reached out for your hand, pulling you into his chest as you sobbed quietly. "Shh, I go'cha." Lee pressed a kiss to your forehead, his hard glare set on Bobby-Ray. "I warned ya', never to come near her again. Watch ya' back, Bobby-Ray, and tell your mother I'll be seein' her real soon. Ya' hear?"

The moment Lee was sat next to you in the cruiser he drove off not even bothering to put his seat belt on. "Lee, can-" You let out a shakey breath. "Can... I sit close to you?" You sniffled.

Lee's heart broke. He nodded, moving his arm to the back of the seat as he continued to drive. "Sure, Sugar, c'mere."

You quickly slipped over the seat and curled up into him, breathing in his scent with a soft smile. Lee placed his head on top of yours and continued to drive the two of you in silence.

Eventually he stopped on a dirt road that hardly ever got used but kept you where you were. He was enjoying having you pressed close to him and he wanted to be selfish for a little while.

You sat back from him and looked up at him. "Thank you, for coming for me."

Lee smiled a little at you. "Ya' really think I wouldn't?"

You blushed, shaking your head. "I wouldn't blame you if ya' didn't. Aren't you gettin' tired of me?"

"Oh, Sugar, sweetheart," Lee whispered as he reached out and lightly stroked your cheek with his thumb. "Ya' really got no idea do ya'?" He asked already knowing the answer as you looked at him with innocence swimming in your eyes.

"Of what?"

He smiled softly at you, using his thumb to wipe your tears from under your eyes. "Y'know you're the only person who ain't work at the station, who has my home number. Y'know why?" You shook your head. Lee smiled, "Cause ya' special to me, and I want ya' to be able to get hold of me, any time of the day. I'll always come get ya'."

You blushed and quickly looked down, trying to shy away. "Thank you..."

Lee hummed, tilting his head to the side as he noticed you frown, "What is it?"

"Bobby-Ray said... I was," You sat back from Lee taking a deep breath. "He said I was a-"

"I heard what he said." Lee huffed cutting you off, "He ain't know what he's talkin' 'bout, Sugar. You and I both know, y'ain't a whore." Lee placed his hand over your cheek. "Don't listen to a damn word he said."

You nodded with a soft smile as you placed your hand over his, pulling it into your lap. "He said something else... 'bout your sister,"

Lee frowned, "Sandy?" You nodded. "What he say?"

"The same thing about me..." You whispered. "He also said, that you, hmm... That I must be, a... A whore, because that's all, you-" Your face burned as you kept your eyes on your hand that still held Lee's.

Lee let out a long exhale through his nostrils, grinding his teeth in irritation. "What else he say?"

You shook your head, "Nothin', that's it." You lied. If you were being honest, you were a little scared to tell Lee what else was said.

"Don't lie to me, Sugar." Lee spoke in a commanding tone, moving to face you. "You can tell me." His voice softened as he lifted your hand in his as he pulled you closer to him.

You shook your head again, "Don't want ya' to be mad... Or upset." You whispered.

Lee sighed, "I won't be, promise." He gave you a soft smile.

You nodded taking a deep breath. "They said some things, that weren't nice... about you."

"They?"

"Bobby-Ray, and my friends, Mary and Sally... They called you a..." You trailed off, not wanting to say but Lee nodded for you to carry on. You let out a small sigh before continuing, "... They called you a fat shit... And, Sally said you were crocked... 'cause her father had said you'd killed a man." You frowned. "I don't care if you did, or didn't, but I can understand why you might... 'cause right now I wouldn't mind gettin' rid of 'em..." You huffed with a pout.

The corner of Lee's mouth twitched, threatening to break him as he thought about how cute you looked in that moment.

"Mary said, there's a rumor goin' round that, Bobby-Ray, is gonna pop the question to me. Why can't no one see, I ain't want nothin' to do with him..." You felt yourself tearing up again, "I try to tell 'em but they just don't listen."

"Shh, c'mere baby." Lee pulled you into his chest before you started crying and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "I go'cha." He let out a heavy sigh. "I know, y'ain't want nothin' to do with him... Y'ain't got nothin' to worry 'bout no more, ya' hear?"

You pulled back just enough to look up at him. "Y'ain't gotta get in trouble for me, Sheriff."

Lee began smiling, reaching up to brush a piece of your hair from your forehead. "I can get into trouble on my own, Sugar." He dropped your gaze momentarily. "Ya' really don't care if I've killed someone?"

You shook your head, "No, 'cause some people just have to die... And, I feel the same way 'bout you, as I do 'bout my mamma. She killed my daddy 'cause he was a bad man, but I still love her." You whispered, toying with the cuff of his shirt. Did you just admit you love the Sheriff? "Ya' know... I ain't think... Those things, about you, right?"

Lee stared at you in bewilderment. You were something else. "I'm no good, sweetheart. Ya' should believe those things."

Your eyes widened as you looked at him in horror. "Now who's lying."

Lee scoffed, "I ain't. I'm a bad man, Sugar. I ain't... Sweet, like you." He shook his head and looked out the window.

"You're kind, even if it is only to me and my grandpa, but that's all I care about. The rest of that shit hole of a town can go... To hell." You smiled at him. "If ya' didn't care, would ya' be here?"

Lee shook his head as he looked back at you. "Wanna get something to eat?"

You nodded, "... Can we share a milkshake?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @est19xxshit @acciosiriusblack @stucky-my-ship @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @greeneyedblondie44 @saphic-susperia @moonlacebeam @charmed-asylum

#lee bodecker x you #Lee Bodecker x reader #sheriff lee bodecker #lee bodecker x y/n #lee bodecker x reader #Sheriff Lee bodecker x reader #devil in disguise #devil all the time #Sebastian Stan

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shushiyuii · 3 years ago

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Adopt a Mortal

@smogs-0 Oh Smoggy~ Your angst is here, and only you can decide if there will be a part 2 or not~

Warnings: Zombies (which means this will contain mentions of death, injury, death and maybe other subjects. Be advised). Swearing. Apocalypse.

Words: 1.5K+

It’s been 3 weeks since the outbreak.

He didn’t know how he made it so far, he’s barely escaped any encounters with those monsters. Zombies as the others call them, which he honestly called bullshit on.

Not to mention but food had almost become rare at this point, so many had taken it for granted and themselves, hoping to be the only ones to survive. But a majority of the population was already gone, including his own parents so no doubt that food went somewhere.

His own group was fucked up, he ended up with them by chance. They almost killed him, to begin with, but decided they could use his agility and slim figure to their advantage of tight spaces and stuff. Which he hated but it was the only chance he had at survival.

He was now on his own in a world of Zombies. Trust nobody.

…

It’s been 3 months since the outbreak.

He was shoved to the floor, kicked by another member. “Little shit! You’re just dead weight!”, “It’d be better if we left him for dead”.

They took away his belongings, leaving him unarmed. He ran away and as he did, he heard their screams. Zombies were coming and his ‘group’ just died like complete idiots. His arms covered his stomach as he limped in pain, this was going to be a difficult situation to get out of.

…

He slammed his hand over his mouth, trying to be as silent as possible as a couple of Zombies wandered around aimlessly, hoping to catch their next piece of delicious prey. if he were to get into one of their sights. He’d be dead in an instant.

He was unarmed as stupid as it was.

Whatever he didn’t want to die here.

…

One month since the outbreak.

Hunger was all he felt for the longest time, he wondered. He didn’t remember who he was. Not that he cared, he had no control. He only wanted to eat, hunt. His reasoning. The thought of meat making in growl in excitement.

That all changed when he followed a horde of Zombies towards the humans. They shot and yelled, fearing for their lives. They were terrified, but that didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered to him and the others was that their hunger was satisfied.

…

He got shot, in the shoulder. He didn’t feel it but he did stumble. In the distance, he heard, “You imbecile! That was the prototype!”. Whatever it is afterwards the humans got away.

He slumped against the wall of a corner shop, feeling oddly tired and fell asleep.

…

He woke up, with thoughts screaming at him. He looked around in confusion as knowledge flowed through his newly working brain. He was confused, scared. What happened? He wasn’t like this before?

He stood up, stumbling. He looked to the shoulder of his trench coat, the shot of the clothing being there but his skin had almost regenerated as if it had never happened.

He ran into the crowd of nearby Zombies, he pushed into them. Getting no reaction, he was sentient, and the others weren’t. Had that bullet done something to him?

…

3 months since the outbreak.

He’s learnt that he’s become different to the other zombies, he’s come to the conclusion that he’s more aware than them, almost as if he were a human in a zombie’s body.

He learnt his name was Wilbur by the wallet and ID in his pocket. Which was good to know, not only that but he no longer felt that hunger, nothing actually. He felt no pain, sensation or anything.

But one thing he did feel was more powerful and stronger. He learnt he could easily flip over cars and change his size at will, which came in handy for hard-to-reach places. Not only that but any wound he sustained was easily recovered from, barely leaving a scar.

He hadn’t yet encountered humans, probably because there weren’t many left.

He had managed to create a place of his own in an apartment with a broken mirror, it did him good with a desk to write on, a guitar he could surprisingly play, a comfortable bed, everything he needed.

He looked in the mirror, he was outrageously pale, but not that green colour other zombies had, he was missing an eye that his hair easily covered, and his beanie covered up parts of his exposed skull. Which left him looking rather human.

…

He wandered the streets a while since he really had nothing better to do. That was until something caught his attention, zombies were crowding around a particular shop with curiosity. It made him curious as to what was going on.

He followed them inside and wandered for a while, then he saw them. What had caught the zombies interest but had not been picked up by them yet. It seems that the human had managed to narrowly getaway and was now narrowly avoiding them.

The human stared at him in horror, his bright blue eyes striking Wilbur. His hair was blonde but covered in dirt, not to mention that the boy himself was covered in dust, dirt and dried blood. The human was barely covered in protection with just a red and white t-shirt, trousers and recked shoes. How had he gotten this far?

He crouched down to the human, “Hey…”. He whispered, “What are you doing here kid?”. The human’s eyes furrowed at the nickname. “Trying to get away here! Dickhead!”. The boy whisper-yelled. “Well, you aren’t doing a very good job at it!”. He whisper-yelled back.

He pinched his nose and sighed, “Get to the back room as soon as you hear a sound, I’ll distract them.”, “What? That’s a death sentence!”, “Don’t worry about me! Worry about yourself!”.

Wilbur then crawled his way to the other side of the shop, not wanting to get suspicion from the human. He then grabbed a pan from a nearby shelf and threw it to a nearby shelf, which caused enough noise to gain the zombie's attention, making their way over there.

He then saw the backroom door open, he then made his way over there quietly. Once he made it and shut the door. The boy was already barricading it, making sure no zombies made their way in.

“Thanks, man, had no idea how I’d get outta that one. Names, Tommy”. Interesting, the human's name was Tommy, “Nice to meet you, I’m Wilbur. What are you doing out in a place like this? You look a bit young to be on your own if I’m honest”.

“Hey! I’m a grown man! And uh- my group left me to die”. The boy seemed upset by that fact, looking away. “Well, they’re assholes. Don’t worry about em’ you can stick with me for now if you want.”. Wait- he didn’t mean- “Really?”.

“Yeah, don’t mind helping for a little bit”. Great, why did he agree? Now he was stuck with a child.

…

The human then began to rummage through what seemed to be boxes of already looted stuff. He managed to find an old backpack with some small tins of food and water left in a small crate. Not only that but a small dagger to defend himself with, he seemed quite exciting when he found it.

“So, Wil. How’d you end up in the outbreak?”, he asked as he continued to rummage through crates. Wilbur took a minute to answer, one thing was he the human- Tommy didn’t know he was a zombie, not only that but even himself didn’t know how he became a zombie.

“Uhh, kinda just ended up in the place?”. “Oh, you didn’t have family or anything”, “No?”. “Ah, well for me my parents died in a car crash when the outbreak hit, now I’m on my own since my group left me”.

“Why did they leave you?”, “said I was deadweight, which wasn’t true. I did most of the shit they wanted”. “Forget em’ they aren’t worth it”. “I realised that thanks again, for the save.”. “It’s nothing don’t worry about it”.

The two then made their way out of the building, then got stuck by a wall. “Give me a hand will you?” he asked as he clumsily tried to climb the wall. Wilbur then gave him a boost and he climbed over, not without giving Wilbur his own hand to help him up.

Wilbur grabbed his hand, “Woah! You got a good grip!”. “I- yeah. Guess so”. He then helped Wilbur up the wall and the two continued their way to safety…

…

The two ran as fast as they could from the racing zombies, perhaps the two were a little bit too reckless with noise and were now getting chased down by a horde of Zombies. They ran into alleyways, alley after alley.

Eventually, though, they got cornered. Tommy brought his knife, prepared to defend his life. “Stay behind me!”, “What? Are you crazy?!”, “STAY BEHIND ME!”. He growled as he kept the boy behind him.

#mcyt g/t #mcytg/t #dsmp g/t #sizeshifter!Wilbur #tiny!tommy #Shushi's writings

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shofics · 3 years ago

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So tumblr ate the ask (thanks! I hate it!) but @knifemartin sent the prompt 13. pirate au but make it... sky pirates with Earhart, Zolf, Sasha, and Wilde! This got frighteningly long so I had to put it under a cut, I hope you enjoy my ramblings. <3 They’re going to kill a dragon!!

I think I genuinely might clean this up and make it into a proper fic. Watch this space.

Zolf Smith is a miner. Zolf Smith dreams of the sky. Zolf Smith kills his brother. Zolf Smith takes flight.

The Meritocracy doesn't have air forces- don’t really need ‘em when you’re a huge fuck-off dragon who can fly- but they’re worried about the increased presence the separatists are having in the skies above their lands, so they’re building one. Zolf leaps upon it like a life raft.

When the ship goes down, there are two reasons he doesn’t die; his past, and his god.

The Reliant answers the emergency call, and that surprises Zolf- a known separatist vessel, making an attempt to save the crew of a ship in the Meritocratic Air Force- but a lot of things surprise him about Captain Earhart. It’s not the Reliant’s fault that he is the only survivor. It is due to the Reliant that there is an only survivor at all.

His family were Harlequins. Captain Earhart recognises him, visits him in the sick bay as her medics do their best to save his legs, asks after his father, asks after his brother. Gives an understanding nod when he refuses to speak about them. Offers him a job, because he desperately needs one.

It’s a lot all at once, and they can’t save his legs, but he finds he doesn’t need them. Dwarves don’t have the build that most of the Hermes lot have, but he’s never let not fitting in stop him. The feeling of the wind in the rigging is like wings on ankles he doesn’t have anymore. He’s freer than he’s been his entire life.

When he is thirteen years old, Brock Rackett successfully makes it out of Other London and out of the clutches of the Rackett clan by chopping off his ring finger and escaping on the first air vessel that will take him. At least, this is what Sasha believes. She’s sad he left without her, but she knows well that when an opportunity comes, you take it. She hopes he made it out safe.

Nine years later, at twenty-two, Sasha’s opportunity finally comes. She heads for the aeroport. Maybe she’ll be able to find him.

Barrett’s men are following her, she can feel them on her tail all through the crowd like a bad smell; she needs a cover, needs somewhere to hide. There’s a drunk in the corner of the bar, some once-foppish-looking dandy, and Sasha decides to make him her cover.

She slides into the seat next to him and tries to be as inconspicuous as possible, but the drunkard starts and leaps to his feet, swaying. “Keep your trousers on,” she hisses, jumping up to pull him back down in front of her- he’s tall enough, he should provide good cover.

The man staggers out of her grip and produces a dagger from nowhere. He tries to fend her off with it- poorly- and then his eyes roll up and he collapses. Sasha just barely manages to catch him before he hits the ground.

Wilde knows the Meritocracy is crumbling. He can feel it in the air; something big is coming, something very bad, and he really doesn’t want to be here when it finally arrives.

Though maybe the sense of impending doom he’s getting is just from lack of sleep. But he’s sure that’s fine. It’s fine. He’s fine.

So he puts his bardic talents and his espionage training to work, following the trail of the odd orders and the disappearing agents, and realises quickly that if he stays, he’ll probably end up disappearing as well- or worse, become one of the people giving the odd, conflicting orders. He doesn’t know what that’s about. He doesn’t want to find out.

Wilde fakes his own death in the hopes it will throw off the scent, and decides, like so many others seeking the separatists, to head for the Americas.

In a bar at the aeroport he is accosted by a mugger, and he knew he was being conspicuous, but with everything blurring and the ringing in his ears he’s in no shape to properly defend himself. Instead of killing him, though, the dark figure hauls him up and runs.

He’s not lucid enough to take in the scene of the room she drags him into, and so he doesn’t resist as someone snaps something cold around his wrist, and he at long last sinks into a deep and dreamless sleep.

Earhart knew the look of people like Zolf Smith- lost, angry, needing. She’s seen plenty of it, in her years as an airship captain, because there are only a few reasons why people set out for the skies. And so she took him on, and he proved a fantastic first mate, knew his stuff inside and out and indulged her more reckless tendencies.

Plus, he’d been fleeing the Meritocracy. That automatically put him in Earhart’s good books.

Famous (and infamous) Harlequin airship captain Amelia Earhart was, by that point, becoming famous and infamous enough to become a thorn in the Meritocrats’ sides. They decided to target her. The fact that they tried to take down the Reliant was not her fault. The fact that she turned the whole ship around to attack back, causing a wreck that killed almost all of her crew and blew the Reliant into unsalvageable bits… that was.

The only reason she hasn’t drunk herself to death by this point is her ‘fantastic’ first mate (she’s regretting that now, in an angry way), who for some unknowable reason is unwilling to let the guilt swallow her whole.

Zolf Smith was an airman. Zolf Smith dreams of gods and wings and roads not taken. Zolf Smith is given a choice. Zolf Smith chooses no.

Zolf Smith loses his magic.

Earhart is trying to die, and he’s doing his best without access to his healing magic, but it won’t work forever, not when she’s this determined to let herself waste into nothing. He’s not good at talking, and that’s what she really needs- someone to talk to. Someone to listen. But he’s got no legs, and he’s got no magic, and he’s got almost no hope left, and nowhere to go.

They take refuge in a seedy bar in the closest aeroport and report the crash; two survivors, him and Earhart. They’ve been there a month and a half when the door to their room bursts open and a terrified kid with dark shaggy hair and an enormous jacket practically falls through the doorway, lugging an unconscious man in a blue and green waistcoat.

For a split second they all just stare at each other- everyone except for the unconscious man, of course, being as he is unconscious (and bleeding, from the nose and from the ears, and Zolf may not have magical healing but he has medical training and he knows that’s bad)- and then the kid drops her charge like a sack of potatoes, slams the door closed, and dives under the bed.

“Are you in trouble?” is all Zolf asks, and the kid nods, petrified and utterly silent. “Fine. Stay there.”

The unconscious man begins to shake and cry out as Zolf manhandles him into his bed, as though having a nightmare. He wakes with a scream, eyes wide and terrified. Someone bangs on the door. “Do you mind?” Zolf yells. “Little busy in here!”

The door bursts open a second time- those poor hinges- and two men of the kind who aren’t holding knives until you look at them from the right angle, and then they definitely are, and they’re pointed right at you, appear in the doorway. They take in the sickroom and the man with the two prosthetic legs, look nonplussed for a second, and then one nudges the other and tells him to “get a move on, she’s in here somewhere,” and they disappear down the hall.

Zolf pulls the door shut behind them and goes back over to the man in the waistcoat. It takes a bit of figuring out, but eventually, in desperation- the man is obviously dying- Zolf fishes out the anti-magical handcuffs issued to him as soldier and medic in the Meritocratic Air Forces, and clips one around his wrist. He goes limp.

He turns around to find the dark haired kid staring at him with eyes as wide as saucers. “Were they lookin’ for you?” he asks, and her eyes narrow.

“Why do you want to know?” she asks defensively- as though they could be looking for anyone else. The kid has ‘runaway’ written all over her.

“‘Cause I’m tryin’ to save your life,” Zolf snaps, and that seems to shock her, “so if you could work with me here, that’d be great, I’ve got enough on my plate tryin’ to save her life-” jerks a thumb to Earhart- “and apparently this one’s as well-” to the now asleep man taking up his bed. “Who are you? Who’s he?”

“I dunno,” says the kid, “he just kind of fell over.”

Sasha does not make the decision to trust him then. She doesn’t even tell him her name. She makes the decision to trust him when he tells her, a day later, as they sit against the wall and watch the man in the waistcoat mumble in his sleep, that he used to work on an airship.

“I’m Sasha,” she says. “Can I come with you?”

The white-haired dwarf named Zolf Smith- he looks too young to have white hair, but Sasha knows not to judge from appearances- grimaces. “I mean,” he says. “Dunno why you’d want to.”

“I want to see the sky,” says Sasha, who has spent her entire life underground. Zolf looks at her and seems to see something in her that pains him.

“I dunno where I’m goin’,” he warns her mournfully, looking back at Earhart, who is also sleeping. “But you can come with if you want. ‘S your choice.”

He doesn’t ask Sasha’s surname. She decides to trust him.

The name of the man in the bed next to her is Oscar Wilde, and Earhart starts frantically reaching for a gun, any gun, forgetting in her automatic fury that Zolf had taken them all off her weeks ago. A Meritocratic agent-

“Ex-agent,” says Wilde politely. “Please don’t shoot me, Captain, I’ve almost died once this week and I’m not really eager to repeat the experience.”

Earhart feels more lucid than she has in ages as she listens to him describe the strange series of events that brought him there, how sure he is that something is brewing within the Meritocracy’s upper ranks, the disaster that is coming. She can feel Zolf’s eyes on her as all her grief and guilt and despair and boiling anger calcify inside of her.

Wilde is like her, like Zolf, like Sasha- lost, angry, needing.

Wilde has information she can use.

“Mr. Wilde,” Earhart says, her voice hoarse with disuse but filled with more fire than she’s felt since the crash, “you are going to help me kill a dragon.”

She didn’t like him at first- he talked down to her, and his posh affectations grated on principle- but Sasha has to admit that Wilde is smart. She stares in disbelieving wonder as he produces a bag of holding full to the brim with more gold pieces than she’s ever seen in her life. His Meritocratic funding, he tells the spellbound group, because he can spellbind even without his magic. He liquified as many assets as he felt he could get away with before leaving.

“Pick a ship,” he says, “any ship. We can buy it. No need to steal.”

“We’ll need elementals,” Earhart says. “At least two.”

Wilde turns to Zolf. “You’re a cleric, aren’t you?” he says. “You can summon elementals.”

“Not anymore,” Zolf bites.

“Why?”

Zolf makes a face. “I don’t- when- okay.” He sighs. “Look-” and casts Spark into the fireplace. He jumps back in shock.

“I… don’t see the problem?” Wilde says after a good minute of silence, looking from the roaring flames back to Zolf. Sasha gets up and goes to dry her hair by the fire; the weather around the ports has been awful lately. Zolf stares into the flames in surprise.

Zolf Smith was a cleric. Zolf Smith dreams of a new ship. Zolf Smith finds a team, full of people who need healing, the kind he can now provide. Zolf Smith has hope.

#my post #answered #prompt fill #my writing #knifemartin #rqg #rqg fic #rusty quill gaming #rqgaming #sasha rackett #zolf smith #rqg wilde #wilde rqg #rqg earhart #earhart rqg

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wayward-dreamer · 4 years ago

Text

Something Unexpected

Pairing: Dean x Female!Reader (Enemies to Lovers)

Word Count: 7,580 (This really got away from me! Lol)

Warnings: Some angst: fighting, Dean gets slapped. A WHOLE LOT OF SMUT. Rough Sex. Vaginal Fingering, Oral sex (Male and Female receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it, people!), Dirty Talk, Biting, Some hair pulling, Swearing (there’s sex, so naturally there’s swearing lol). Fluffy ending. 18+ ONLY!

Summary: Jody needs back up on the hunt she’s on, and Sam and Dean aren’t going to be enough. She calls in Y/N Y/L/N, without knowing that Dean and Y/N can’t stand each other. Things come to a head during the hunt, words are said, and feelings are hurt, but something unexpected occurs. Something new with the promise of more, if they only give in to how they actually feel for each other. Based on this request: “Enemies to lovers. Jody calls in another hunter for back up. Her and Dean butt heads, can end however you want :)”

A/N: This was a request from @flamencodiva! I hope you guys enjoy it and please let me know what you think! :)

Dean pressed harder on the accelerator, the Impala flying down the highway. They were a few minutes away from the main part of town and would soon be meeting up with Jody. Sam was talking to her on the phone, before he hung up.

“Jody there already?” he asked, looking between Sam’s phone and the road.

“Yeah, she’s at the diner on Main Street. Apparently, she’s calling someone else in, too” Sam replied, putting his phone back in his pocket.

Dean frowned. “She say who?”

“No. Does it really matter?” Sam shrugged.

“Guess not” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

Soon, they pulled up and parked outside the diner. Dean led the way across the sidewalk into the diner. He glanced around the room, before they landed on Jody in a booth near the window. She smiled wide when she saw them, getting up.

“Jody” Dean smiled, as he hugged her tight.

“Good to see you boys” she said as she hugged Sam next.

“You didn’t bring the girls?” Sam asked.

“No, they’re at home working on their training with Donna. I would’ve called them in, but Patience isn’t quite there yet. Hence why I called you boys” Jody explained as she slid back into the booth.

Sam was next to the window opposite her, as Dean sat next to him.

“So, vamps, huh?” Dean said, as he glanced over the menu.

Jody nodded. “Whole lot of ‘em, too. Had to call for another hunter.”

“What, we’re not enough?” Dean grinned, jokingly.

Jody rolled her eyes playfully. “She’s good, saved our necks on a Vetala case two months ago.”

“Who is it?” Sam asked.

“Y/N Y/L/N” Jody replied, simply.

Dean dropped his menu and looked up at Jody. She didn’t just say Y/N Y/L/N did she? Jody noticed him staring at her and raised an eyebrow in question.

“What?” she asked.

“You’ve gotta be freaking kidding me” Dean muttered, shutting his eyes.

Jody looked at Sam and shrugged. Sam shook his head. “It’s no big deal, Jody. Dean and Y/N just have a bad history with each other. She’s a great hunter-” Sam explained but Dean cut him off.

“Yeah, if a great hunter steals your kill right from under your nose” he huffed.

Sam glared at him. “Man, would you cut it out? She saved your ass.”

Dean rolled his eyes but said nothing.

“Well, you better act civil because she’s here” Jody said, and jerked her head towards the door.

Dean turned back and saw Y/N walk in. She wore a purple shirt and dark blue skinny jeans, a dark brown leather jacket and her brown, scuffed up hunting boots. She may have annoyed him but damn, she was beautiful. She noticed Jody first and smiled, walking over. As she got closer, her smiled dropped.

Dean freaking Winchester was sitting at the booth, along with Sam. Jody mentioned other hunters coming in for this but failed to mention who they were. Just her luck.

She hugged Jody before she smiled at Sam. Looking at Dean, she watched as his green eyes stared at her intently, somehow angry and hot at the same time.

“Hey, Dean. How’s that leg of yours? You know, I never heard you say “thanks” for getting that wolf off you” she said, rubbing it in.

Dean huffed a bitter laugh. “I could’ve handled it, sweetheart.”

“Geez, I’m regretting this already” Jody mumbled. She clapped her hands once to get their attention. “Guys, can we focus.”

“Sure thing, Jody” Y/N said and sat down next to her, across from Dean.

“Alright, so I tracked the Alpha from Sioux Falls, to here. I followed him to a barn, 20 minutes outside of town. There’s ten in there; more than I can handle. They only hunt when things are busy in town, but tonight’s a curfew because of the killings. So, they’re not going to be heading out to feed. That’s when we get ‘em” Jody explained.

“Sounds like a plan” Y/N smiled.

Later that night, the hunters drove out to where the vampire nest was. They had checked into their motel earlier, except for Jody who said she would drive home that night back to Sioux Falls. As they were prepping, Y/N had felt Dean’s eyes on her the whole time. Every now and then, she’d look over and he’d look away. He was absolutely infuriating, and she just wanted to get this over and done with.

They parked their cars on the main road. There was a forested area that came before the barn, which would shield their cars from being seen. Y/N took out her machete, already sharpened. They walked through the dark forest, Jody and her at the front, with Sam and Dean behind them. They could hear rock music blaring from the barn. Stopping outside, Jody turned to them.

“Alright, Dean you’re with me. We’ll go through the back. Sam and Y/N will go through the front. We good?” she looked between them, especially Y/N and Dean.

“Yeah” Dean nodded, wanting to get this over with.

Jody and Dean went left and walked towards the back of the barn. Y/N followed behind Sam as they walked to the front. Sam looked back at her, a smile playing at his face.

“What?” she asked, quietly as they walked towards the entrance.

“Nothing” he shrugged. “Just wondering why you’re always trying to get under Dean’s skin when you could just admit you like him.”

Y/N scoffed. “You know, you may be a nerd about you’ve never been more wrong about this.”

“Yeah, sure” Sam chuckled to himself.

Y/N ignored as they reached the entrance. She peaked through the crack in the door and saw some of the vampires drinking and dancing to the music.

“Ready?” she asked, looking at him.

Sam nodded, raising his machete.

Jody and Dean rushed towards the back of the barn. Dean clenched his jaw, steeling himself. Jody looked over at him and smiled, slightly. Dean noticed out of the corner of his eye, and looked at her.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing” she shrugged. “It’s just… if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you have feelings for Y/N, but you’d rather repel her with your anger than tell her how you feel.”

“Feeling okay there, Jody?” Dean asked, sarcastically.

“Hey, I’m just sayin’… you’re both dancing around these feelings, trying to piss each other off and being angry for no reason. There’s nothing wrong with how you feel, Dean” she said, as she took out her machete.

Dean shook his head and said nothing. “Ready?” he asked.

“Yeah” Jody said, as she stood near the back door.

Dean and Jody burst through the back door as Sam and Y/N did from the front. The vampires saw them and split up, half of them heading each way. Y/N raised her machete and beheaded the first male, but the second one, a woman, grabbed her and threw her. She groaned as she landed but scrambled up quickly as it came for her. Sam took the heads off two male vamps and saw that Y/N was down. Before he could get there, she got up and swung her machete, killing the one that threw her into the wall.

Jody killed one and then another, both men. Dean beheaded one female but was now trapped against a pole, as a male tried to choke him out. Sam ran towards the other two and beheaded one, but the other male grabbed him. Jody noticed and ran over, swinging hard and taking it’s head off. Y/N ran towards the other one, and swung, its head fell to the floor as its body let go of Dean and fell.

She breathed heavily as she looked around the barn, before she looked at him. “You okay?”

She put her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged it off, roughly.

“Like you care” he muttered.

“Everyone okay?” Jody asked.

They all nodded.

They walked back to the cars and cleaned up. Jody smiled at Y/N, as they hugged first.

“You sure you can’t stay and have a drink?” she asked.

“No, I should really get back” Jody replied. “Plus, it leaves your night for some other kind of fun.”

Y/N shook her head. “Not you too.”

“Just give it a chance. What’s the worst that could happen?” Jody asked.

“We could kill each other” Y/N said, not so sarcastically.

“Just try” Jody said, as she smiled knowingly.

“You don’t what you’re talking about” Y/N told her, firmly.

“Yeah, sure” Jody laughed.

She walked over to the boys and hugged them.

Y/N watched as they interacted, they were close. She never realised it. She heard Dean tell her to give the girls their best. He could be sweet with he wanted to be. They were a family. And what he had with Sam… that was something special.

Jody drove off, leaving Y/N with the boys. She walked over to them and smiled, tentatively. Sam smiled at her as he packed up the machetes in the trunk.

“You okay? That vamp really threw you” Sam asked, concerned.

“Oh, yeah, I’ve had worse” she said, shrugging. It was true, she had much worse than being thrown.

Dean sipped his beer as he leaned against the car, ignoring her. He was really starting to get on her nerves.

“Hey, you know I saved your ass. Again. Maybe you could look at me and say something good for a change” she said, her eyebrow raised.

“I didn’t ask you to” he huffed, sipping his beer.

“Yeah, and now I’m regretting it” she scoffed.

“Guys” Sam sighed.

Dean turned to her, jaw clenched, and shoulders tensed. “Fuck, Y/N. What are you even doing here? Maybe go find your own hunt for a change instead of weaselling your way into others.”

Y/N saw red. That was total bullshit. “Not that I owe you an explanation, Dean, but I do find my own hunts. When other people need me, then I help them. I don’t let them down.”

“We never asked you for help with that wolf” Dean recalled.

Y/N rolled her eyes and growled. “Are you seriously bringing that up again? I was in town, passing through! I saw you guys and helped. End of story. If I hadn’t, that wolf would’ve kept your leg as a souvenir!” she yelled.

“Guys, just stop” Sam warned. “Enough.”

Y/N didn’t say anything as she shook her head. She glared at Dean as she walked past him. “Fuck you, Winchester.”

She walked to her car and got in, revving the engine as she drove off, speeding down the highway. Dean looked at Sam for a brief second but when he received a glare from him too, he looked the other way.

“When we get back to the motel, you better stop being an ass and apologise to her” Sam said, as he sat in the car, waiting for Dean to finish his beer.

A sinking feeling made its way into Dean’s stomach. He had really stepped in it this time.

--X--

Y/N stared at herself in the mirror. Despite washing her face to try to cool down, she was still angry. She couldn’t stop thinking about the things they said to each other. Sometimes she just wanted punch him in his perfect face. But then that would ruin said perfect face, Y/N she thought to herself as she walked out of the bathroom. She shook her head, damn him for being so goddamn hot.

Why? Why did she secretly have to be attracted to the older Winchester? Most of the time, it was easy to be angry at him because of his compulsive need to take over everything and run the show. She would channel that anger into hating him, but she had to admit it was just a front, because sometimes Dean was actually sweet. She saw that tonight, with Jody.

Y/N picked up the bottle of whiskey and poured some into a glass. As she stared down at the amber liquid, she thought about how those qualities make Dean who he is. He wouldn’t be Dean without them, and therefore, she wouldn’t be drawn to him. She brought the glass to her lips and gulped down the whiskey. A sharp knock at the door shook her from her musings, as she nearly dropped the glass in her hand. She put the glass down and walked slowly to the door, once again in hunter mode. She didn’t need any surprises tonight. Slightly pushing herself up on her tip-toes, she looked through the peephole.

Dean was waiting on the other side of the door, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Fuck” she quietly cursed, as she moved away from the door. Why was he here?

“Y/N” his voice came booming from the other side of the door. “Open up, we gotta talk.”

Dean waited as patiently as he could on the other side. After his drink and the guilt of what he said weighing on him, he knew he had to come and talk to her. While she annoyed him sometimes, she was a good person and didn’t deserve to live with what he said. He knew he had pissed her off, and he didn’t want to let the night go by without them talking.

Y/N sighed heavily. Throwing her shoulders back, she took a hold of the doorknob. When she opened it, Dean was struck by her beauty once again.

“What do you want?” she asked, pointedly. She needed this to be over and done with.

Dean gestured towards the room. “Can I come in?”

She rolled her eyes and stood aside. Dean walked in and she closed the door behind him.

“So, um…” he trailed off, not knowing how to start.

“Can you say what you need to say and then leave?” She said, harshly. She was taken aback by her tone, as was Dean.

Dean’s eyebrows furrowed as he blinked a couple of times. “I just came here to apologise for what I said, but if you’re gonna be a bitch about it-”

Y/N scoffed and laughed bitterly. “I think I’ve earned the right to be a bitch, Dean.”

“Wow” Dean shook his head as he looked at her. “Clearly this was a waste of time.”

Dean turned around and headed for the door. She wasn’t going to let him just leave without understanding why he said what he said.

“You had no right to say that to me” she said, taking a step closer to him.

Dean turned around, now it was his turn to scoff. “I know. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. You’d know that if you’d open your mind for one fucking second.”

Y/N glared at him but gave him nothing. She was quiet and Dean took his chance to open his mouth again.

“Listen, I-” Dean cleared his throat and took a step closer to her. “What I said… there’s no excuse for it. I crossed a line and I shouldn’t have. I shouldn’t have gotten pissed at you for stepping in and killing the damn vamp.”

Y/N crossed arms as her jaw clenched. She was trying to keep herself from exploding. “And saving your ass in the process. I’m fucking good at what I do, Dean. I don’t need you questioning me or insulting me!”

“I know” Dean said, trying to keep his cool. “And I’m sorry.”

“Are you really sorry? Maybe this is just another way for you to undermine me. Try to make me believe you so that you can just say whatever the fuck you want to me again!” Y/N stepped closer to him as she stared into his eyes.

“You’re insane” Dean whispered. He closed his eyes. This wasn’t going to end well, and he had no idea how to try and diffuse the situation. He had to think of something quick, though.

“Did you really think I’d be here, trying to make things right, if that’s what I wanted to do?” he asked, as he took a step closer to her. They were close to each other now, so close that he could see her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

She was quiet again. Dean felt like that was almost scarier than her yelling at him.

“Fuck, Y/N” he sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I hated the fact that I said that, and you were mad at me.”

“You’ve never cared about making me mad before, Dean. Why is it different this time?” Y/N asked, but she didn’t really know if she wanted an answer.

Dean shook his head, not knowing how to answer. He knew that if he said something now, he would say too much, and then everything would change.

It was different this time because he had genuinely hurt her feelings and didn’t like that he did that. He had doubted her as a hunter, and that was something you just never do. It made him feel the dirt on the bottom of her shoe and needed to fix that.

“I just-” Dean dropped his head and scratched behind his neck, nervously. “It just is.”

Y/N tried to process what he was saying. He was keeping from her. He looked nervous, like there was something else he wanted to say but he couldn’t.

“You’re lying” Y/N said, firmly. “And I’m done now. So please leave.”

Dean shook his head. If there was one thing he wasn’t, it was a liar. “I’m not lying.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line. Why couldn’t he just let it go?

“Just go, Dean” she said, staring at him. Her expression was blank. She had nothing left to say.

“No.” Dean didn’t move an inch.

Y/N lifted her hands and pressed them against his torso. Even through his shirt, she could feel the hard wall of muscle underneath. She shoved him back slightly, but he didn’t move far. “Leave. Now.”

“I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart” Dean said, staring into her eyes. His eyes were fiery, holding something she couldn’t quite figure out.

She pushed at him harder. “Damn it, Dean. Just go!” She pushed him again. And again. And again. He kept moving back, but he wasn’t leaving.

“Get out!” she yelled as she started to hit her fists against his chest.

Dean tried to calm her down. “Y/N, hey, look at me.”

Dean tried to grab Y/N’s hands, but she kept hitting him, yelling at him to go, to leave her alone. She raised her fist, ready to strike him but in his quick thinking, he grabbed her wrist. She tried to get out of his hold but couldn’t. She raised her other fist, but he grabbed that too, refusing to let go.

“Let go of me” she said, struggling against of his hold.

“Not until you calm down, sweetheart” he said, his gravelly and deep.

She stared up at him as she continued to try and get away from his hold. His eyes were dark, and something about the way he was looking at her lit a fire within her.

“Let me go, Dean” she gasped, trying to get her fists out of his hands.

In that moment, if she had been honest with herself, she really wasn’t trying to get away from him but away from what she was beginning to feel. His gaze never left her, and it caused a fluttering deep in her core, something that she hadn’t expected to feel around Dean Winchester. Yes, she was attracted to him and had been since the first time they met, but she never thought she would feel anything more than annoyance towards him.

Dean looked down at Y/N, the urge to take her in his arms overwhelmed him. He never thought he would feel this way about her. The girl who had pissed him off on several occasions, as recent as a few hours ago. However, in that moment, with her Y/H/C hair floating down her back and a few strands in her face, her perfect lips inciting him, her incredible body so close he could smell her perfume… she was beautiful.

Without thinking, he let the instinct of that moment take over. He leaned down quickly, pressing his lips to hers. Y/N was shocked at first. His lips were soft and perfect. She had to pull away. This couldn’t happen. In the haste of the kiss, Dean had dropped her hands. With them now free, she pushed him away. Not knowing what possessed her to do it, her hand rose and slapped him across the face. Dean’s head turned sharply to the side with the impact. She breathed heavily, the energy from hitting and pushing him, from trying to get away from him, had taken it out of her. Dean looked down at her, his eyes darkened even more, and Y/N felt a heat begin to rise in her core.

Without a second thought, she pushed herself up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. Dean’s hands landed softly on her hips, hesitant at first. When she lifted her hands and placed them on his jaw, pulling him closer, he brought her body closer to his. He deepened the kiss, softly biting her bottom lip. She gasped into his mouth and wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing herself even closer to him. His hands roamed up her back, tangling in the ends of her Y/C/H hair. Their lips still joined, their kisses became harder and rougher, both of them fighting for dominance. She pressed herself harder into him, which caused him to walk backwards a few steps. His back hit the wall as he pulled her even tighter, his arms hard around her waist.

Y/N’s hands roamed his chest and disappeared under his jacket and flannel shirt. She pushed them off his shoulders and helped him take them off his arms, all while their lips never left each other. Her fingers played with the edge of his black t-shirt, pushing it up, she placed her hands against the warm, soft but strong muscle of his stomach. She reluctantly pulled away from his lips and lifted the shirt off him when he raised his arms. She threw the shirt behind her and turned back to him, taking in the smooth lines and hard muscle of his chest and torso. She leaned in and kissed his neck, biting softly. Her lips trailed down his collarbone, biting and sucking near his anti-possession tattoo.

Dean’s hand found its way to her hair and tugged slightly, pulling her mouth away from his collarbone. He leaned and kissed her, roughly. His entire body felt like fire, burning for her and the things she was doing to him. He was painfully hard already, and all they had done was kiss.

He pulled her away from him, his hands still in her hair. “Shit, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

“I think I do” she smiled, biting her lip. Her hand ran down his body, before she slowly rubbed it along the crotch of his jeans. She hummed as she felt him, hard just for her.

With a cheeky grin, she quickly started on jeans. She leaned in and kissed the middle of his chest. She slowly started to lower herself and kissed down his body. Her knees landed on the floor as her hands unzipped and pulled his jeans down. His cock sprung free, causing her to moan at the sight.

“Fuck” she whispered, as she took his cock in her hand.

Y/N leaned in and licked the tip of his cock, tasting the salty pre-cum on her tongue. She pressed her lips to the tip before trailing them down his shaft, heading straight for his balls as she began to stroke him with her hand. Her tongue ran over each ball, causing a sigh from Dean. She continued to do that for a few more strokes before she flattened her tongue, travelling all the way up his cock once more. Dean’s hands slipped into her hair as she took the tip in her mouth. She bobbed her head back and forth, sucking softly.

“Fuck, Y/N, just like that,” he urged her on. He clamped his eyes shut and threw his head back against the wall. He breathed in erratically as he looked down at her. “Shit, you look so good with my cock in your mouth, sweetheart.”

She took him deeper, trying to reach the base of his cock. Considering his size, she used her hand to stroke what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. She pulled back and sucked the tip, her pumping along his length. Her other hand stroked and cupped his balls, as he gripped her hair tighter.

“Your cock is so big, Dean. I love the way you taste, so fucking good” she breathed out as she stared up at him and licked a long strip from his balls to the tip.

“Fuck” he groaned. Now she was talking dirty. How did they get from hating each other to this point? It felt surreal.

She went to take him in her mouth again, but Dean stopped her. He pulled her head back by her hair as he stared down at her.

“You’re wearing too many clothes, Y/N” he said, letting go of her hair and taking her hands.

Dean was completely naked as Y/N took in his form. An Adonis stood in front of her and she couldn’t believe she got to have him. If one night was all she got, then she was going to take it. She quickly got rid of her shirt and jeans, but then he stopped her when he saw her black and red lace bra, and matching panties. He leaned down and kissed each breast, her hands coming up and holding his head to her chest. She gripped the short spikes as he reached around and unclasped her bra, throwing it across the room. He gazed at her breasts, her nipples hard from the cool air of the room. He leaned in and kissed her nipple, taking it into his mouth. He nipped at it, causing a moan from her.

“Dean” she gasped, as she felt his hands travel down.

He grabbed her thighs and lifted her up, turning around and pressing her against the wall. He moved one hand around and teased the front of her panties, feeling how wet she was.

“So wet, baby. It’s all for me, isn’t?” he smirked as he looked at her.

“Yeah” she whispered, leaning her head back against the wall.

He rubbed his fingers along the crotch of her panties, feeling her get wetter. She moaned at the feeling, her eyes shut tightly.

“What do you want, sweetheart? You want my fingers inside you? Fucking you, getting you ready for my cock?” he asked, kissing her jaw.

“Yes” she moaned. “Yes, Dean, I want your fingers inside me.”

Dean leaned in and kissed her, hard. He reached down and pulled her panties away from her body, stretching them until the band snapped. He threw the ripped fabric over his shoulder.

“Dean” she scolded him, but the feel of his lips biting her jaw was overwhelming. She didn’t really care about him ruining her underwear.

Dean chuckled deep in his throat, his fingers rubbing the slit. His fingers became slick from how wet she was, and he inserted two fingers into her warm core. Her walls clenched around his fingers, as he continued to push them in and out of her.

“Shit, Y/N. Your pussy’s so fucking wet, my fingers are soaked, baby. God, you’re so damn hot” he said, smirking as he continued to bite at her jaw.

“Fuck, Dean, that feels so good. Yeah, right there” she moaned. She gripped the hair at the back of his head tightly, her hips thrusting hard against his fingers.

“So impatient” he laughed, as he curled his fingers inside her, rubbing against her g-spot.

“Fuck me” she whispered, incoherently.

“What was that, sweetheart?” he asked, smirking as he teased her.

“Fuck me, Dean. I want you to fuck me with that big cock of yours” she said, louder as she stared into his eyes.

Dean pulled his fingers out of her as she sighed at the loss. He lifted her legs, wrapped them around his waist and gripped her hips, tightly. She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He moaned as he tasted her, his hand taking hold of his cock, sensitive with how hard it was.

Dean pressed the head of his cock against her slit. As he felt her tug on his hair, he pushed into the cavern of her pussy. He groaned at the feeling of her wet, warm folds against his hard dick and started to thrust into her. She moaned as she threw her head back, her hips thrusting up to meet his. Y/N had never felt so good. He was stretching her walls so perfectly, making her feel so full.

“Dean… you feel so fucking good” she gasped.

“Your pussy feels so fucking perfect around my cock” he grunted, as he gripped her thighs.

The rhythm of his thrusts was good, but she needed more.

“Fuck me harder, Dean. I want you deep inside me” she moaned. “Fuck me hard.”

Dean groaned and obliged her, his thrusts becoming harder and faster.

“Oh fuck, yeah!” she moaned loudly. “Dean… oh god…” she gasped, gripping his shoulders tight, her fingernails making little dents in his skin.

Dean leaned in and kissed her neck, nipping roughly at her pulse. “Fuck, Y/N…” he moaned into her neck.

Dean lifted Y/N away from the wall and carried her over the bed. He pulled out of her and dropped her down on the bed. He turned her onto her stomach, admiring the curve of her ass.

“Hands and knees” he commanded, his voice deep and rough.

Y/N shivered as she did what she was told. The same tone she would get angry at and argue with was now turning her on so much.

She got into position, the anticipation for what was about to come exciting her.

Dean ran his knuckles along her slit, humming at the wetness. He leaned down and pressed his mouth to her entrance, his tongue licking her folds as he grabbed her ass and pulled her closer to his mouth.

“Fuck… Dean, oh fuck yes” her voice hitched, as her hands fisted the sheets.

He thrust his tongue in and out of her, moaning at the taste of her.

“Your pussy tastes so fucking good, sweetheart” he growled, his breath hot against her pussy.

“Dean… I…” she was unable to finish what she was saying. She leaned her head down and bit into her wrist, too overwhelmed by what he was doing to her.

“You what, Y/N?” he mumbled against her folds, before he drove his tongue in deeper.

“Oh please, Dean. Please just fuck me. Fuck me!” she begged. She couldn’t believe the things he was doing to her and how badly she needed even more.

Dean moved away from her and kissed the right cheek of her ass, as he stood upright. “So desperate for my cock. How bad do you want it, Y/N?” he teased.

“I want it so much, Dean. Please, just give me your big cock” she replied, looking back at him.

Dean’s hands gripped Y/N’s hips as he lined his cock up with her entrance. In one swift thrust, he entered her. She moaned, practically screaming as he began a fast pace, his hips thrusting deep as he pulled hers repeatedly onto his cock.

“Shit” he hissed. “So fucking tight, baby.”

The sounds of his hips slapping against her ass, their moans and harsh breaths filled the room. The entire motel could probably hear them, but they didn’t care. All that mattered in that moment was them.

Dean lifted one hand off her hip and slipped it into her hair. He pulled her up, her back flush against his chest as he continued to fuck her.

Y/N gasped as her hand reached up and grasped his short hair. “Fuck.”

Dean turned his head to look her in the eyes, her pupils blown wide with arousal.

“You like what I’m doing, don’t you, sweetheart? You like my cock inside you? Tell me how good it feels” he murmured against her lips.

YN bit her lip as she gazed into his green, lust filled eyes. “Fuck, Dean. Your cock feels so good inside me. So fucking big, fills me so good” she cried out. She took his other hand in hers, taking it off her hip and guided it towards her swollen nub.

“Play with my clit, Dean” she moaned. “Fucking make me cum hard on your cock.”

God, that nearly made him cum right there, but he had to hold on. She was way too good at that. His fingers circled her clit, adding to the pleasure that coursed through her body.

Dean continued to thrust into her hard and fast. He grunted loudly as she clenched around him. “Your pussy takes my cock so good, baby, so fucking perfect.”

With her head still resting on his shoulder and her eyes still looking into his, Y/N gripped his sweaty short spikes in her hand, roughly. “Make me cum on that perfect cock, Dean. Make me yours.”

Dean felt her walls clenching him tighter, and he knew that she was close.

Dean pulled out of her reluctantly. Before Y/N could protest, he flipped her onto her back and climbed on top of her. She automatically wrapped her arms around his neck as he pulled her legs around his waist. He wanted to see her face when she came, he wanted to see what he did to her. Dean looked down at Y/N, her face open and something unspoken in her eyes. Suddenly, the air in the room changed. Something between them changed.

Make me yours. That’s what she had said. She wanted him, he wanted her and not just in this way, but in every other way possible, too.

Dean entered her again, as she gazed up at him, never breaking eye contact. Y/N could feel something change between them. It was quick and it scared her, but she invited the feeling in. His thrusts were deep and hard like before, but the speed became more languid.

Dean took her hands in his, placing them on either side of her head. He pressed his body closer to hers, without crushing her. He leaned in and kissed her, passionately. He pulled away and pressed his forehead to hers, their eyes locked on each other. The energy in the room was charged with something new, something exciting that should’ve been terrifying but wasn’t.

She squeezed his fingers tight, gasping for breath. “Dean, I’m so close.”

“I know, sweetheart” he nodded, “me too.”

His thrusts get slightly faster, wanting them to come at the same time.

“Dean, I-” she started but cut herself off as she moaned at the pressure building inside her.

“Cum with me, Y/N. Cum with me” he groaned.

Dean’s thrusts became erratic, as Y/N moaned loudly, her walls clenching tight around his cock. She looked into his eyes as the coil in her stomach snapped.

“Dean, oh fuck, Dean! Dean!” she moaned his name over and over loudly as she came hard on his cock.

“Fuck, Y/N… I, fuck” Dean muttered as he reached his peak, spilling inside of her.

They stared at each other as they came down from their high, breathing heavily. Dean’s hand came up and softly brushed her hair out of her face. He cupped her cheek in his hand and watched as she leaned into his touch, her eyes closed. He leaned down and kissed her softly. Y/N slowly dropped her legs to the bed as he pulled out of her. She hissed as the loss and the empty feeling, knowing she was going to feel the burn in the morning. She smiled at the thought; she didn’t really mind.

Dean slowly lifted her up and reached for the sheets. He pulled them down and laid her down, her head lying on the pillow. He got up and Y/N frowned, taking his hand in hers. Dean looked at her, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

“One sec…” he whispered, as he walked to the bathroom.

Y/N felt the cool air of the room against her sweaty body and shivered. Before she could pull the sheet up, Dean walked out of the bathroom with a damp cloth. He sat down beside her and reached between her legs, cleaning her. She closed her eyes as the effects of their lengthy activities started to take over. She felt him leave, probably to clean himself and then throw the cloth in the hamper, but she ultimately didn’t care. The next thing she felt was Dean slide in beside her and pull the covers over them. She rolled into him, her head resting on his chest.

Dean looked down at Y/N and smirked. She was so blissed out as she rested on him. He wrapped his arm around her and listened as her breath evened out, falling asleep. He stared up at the ceiling, thinking about everything that had happened on the hunt and how it all ended up; with them having sex. Sex that started off as pure adrenaline and tension release, before it became… something more.

He didn’t know what it was; just something that he couldn’t explain. He wasn’t used to this feeling of wanting to be close to someone in the most intimate way. It scared him. Wanting that for more than one night was also a foreign feeling, but as he looked down at Y/N those worries went away. He never thought he would feel this way towards her, but if he was being honest, he always did. He just covered it up and acted out to push away what he felt. Clearly it was the same for her. He could see it in her eyes tonight.

Dean pulled Y/N closer and shut his eyes. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t have any nightmares.

--X--

The morning sun shone through the gap between the curtains. Y/N snuggled further into the pillow, as she felt the rays hit her face. She turned away to avoid the heat on her face and cuddled into the other pillow. Her brows furrowed and her eyes slowly blinked open, adjusting to the light in the room. The space next to her was empty. The sheets were thrown back and only slightly warm, as she smoothed her hand over the sheet. She sat up, holding the sheet to her body. She looked around the room and only saw her own clothes on the floor.

Her stomach sank. There was no sign of Dean. He had left her there, and most likely on his way to whatever was next with Sam. She thought that last night had meant something, something new. Something unexpected, but amazing, nonetheless. She should’ve known this would happen. She took last night for granted and now she was paying for it.

Y/N’s head turned towards the door when she heard keys jingling in the lock. The door opened and to her surprise, Dean walked through holding a coffee holder with two coffees and a small, white paper bag. He tossed her room keys on the table and turned. He smirked when he saw that she was awake. Her hair was a mess and there were small hickeys forming on her neck; he felt a sense of pride as he remembered what occurred the night before.

“Mornin’ gorgeous” he said, walking over to her.

Y/N smiled. She doubted him when she shouldn’t have. It was better he didn’t know that; she didn’t want to hurt him by thinking ill of him for a split second.

“Morning” she sighed.

Dean sat down beside her, the coffee and bag still in hand. He placed them on the bedside table, then slowly moved in, kissing her lips softly. She smiled against his lips. She liked this new side to him.

“I got you those powdered donuts you like and coffee, hint of cream, just the way you like it” he said, when he pulled away. He handed her the cup and smiled.

“Thanks” she couldn’t wipe the giddiness from her face. This was so new, and it should’ve been weird, but all she could think about was how much she actually did care for him. He remembered how she liked her coffee from the one time she ordered in front of him, on that witch hunt. He was so freaking cute.

“So, last night was… uh, unexpected” he mumbled, trying to hide his smirk.

“Yeah, it was” she agreed. “But… god, Dean, it was amazing.”

He smirked. “Fuck yeah, it was.” He leaned in and pecked her lips. He couldn’t stop kissing her and touching her.

The room was quiet before she spoke again.

“So… what now?” she asked, looking him in the eyes. She asked the big question. Someone had to.

Dean took a deep breath, thinking it over. “I don’t know.”

She nodded but waited for him to say something else.

Dean took her coffee-free hand in his and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. He smiled softly as he looked at her. “All I know is, after last night… I don’t think I can let you go.”

She bit her lip as her heart skipped a beat at his words. “Me neither.”

Y/N leaned in and kissed him, passionately. Dean deepened the kiss, nipping slightly at her bottom lip.

She pulled away, smiling again. “Who would’ve thought all that arguing and pissing each other off would lead to this.”

“Not me” he said, shaking his head. “If the result of that is more of what happened last night, maybe we should piss each other off more often.”

“You better not, if you know what’s good for you, Winchester” she said, as she playfully glared at him.

“I solemnly swear that I’ll try not to” he chuckled.

She laughed. “That’s all I ask.”

She leaned in and kissed him. She smiled as he immediately deepened the kiss once again. Their lips moved against each other’s slowly, but she frowned as he pulled away too soon.

Dean rolled his eyes and didn’t look happy to cut things short. “I wish I could start something up again, but I gotta go. Sam called while I was on my way back here. We gotta head back to the Bunker. Something about Cas needing our help.”

“It’s okay, I understand” she smiled softly, cupping his cheek and grazing her thumb over his stubble.

He leaned into her touch before turning his head and kissing her hand. “Come to the Bunker.”

She nodded. “I will. I just have to do some things for a friend, but I can be there next week.”

“Really?” he asked, trying to not sound too hopeful. It was adorable.

“Of course. I’ve been hearing about it from Jody for so long, I can’t wait to see it myself” she replied, still stroking his cheek.

“I can’t wait to show you” he said, quietly.

She beamed as she leaned in and kissed him.

“Y/N… I really am sorry about what I said. You’re a damn good hunter and I shouldn’t have doubted you-” he started but she covered his mouth with her hand.

She shook her head as she looked into his confused eyes. “You don’t need to apologize anymore, Dean. Clean slate, okay?”

He nodded. She dropped her hand from his mouth. “Clean slate.”

They gazed at each other for a little too long, feeling the same heat from last night rise within themselves.

“You better go. Sam’s waiting for you” she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

Dean groaned. “Yeah.”

Dean reluctantly stood up from the bed and picked up his coffee. He opened the bag and took out one donut, leaving the other two for her. He took a bite and she giggled as the powder stuck to his mouth. She sat up on her knees, hugging the sheet to her body. He cupped her face and kissed her. It was soft and brief but held everything she needed to know behind it.

“You taste good” she smiled, licking her lips and tasting the powder.

He winked. “You taste better.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “See you soon.”

He nodded and kissed her again, once, twice.

Dean winked at her as he walked to the door, before he was gone. She could pinch herself at how everything played out last night. She couldn’t believe it but damn it, she was excited to see what happened next for her and Dean.

Walking towards the Impala, he bit back a smirk. Sam wondered where he had been all night, but Dean didn’t say anything. He probably wouldn’t; at least not for the next hundred miles. It gave him time to think over how everything changed between him and Y/N. They went from hating each other to something much, much better.

He suddenly couldn’t wait for the next week to arrive, and neither could she. They still had a lot to talk about and work out, but one thing was for sure.

They really owed Jody big time.

Tags: @flamencodiva @hobby27

#dean x female!reader #dean x female!reader one shot #dean x female!reader smut #dean winchester #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester smut #supernatural one shot #supernatural smut #supernatural fanfiction

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lost-in-fanfic · 4 years ago

Text

The Woman - Thomas Shelby x reader (Part 4)

A/N: Here is Part 4, I hope you enjoy. I just want to say thank you for the kind messages, comments and the likes i have received for the series so far. They mean so much. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list. Not my Gif and please don’t post my work on other websites.

Warnings: Strong Violence and swearing

A brief summary: Y/N is heading home to London and is doing her best to put Birmingham and Tommy out of her mind. Tommy on the other hand is determined to track her down.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Word Count: 1939

Tommy leaned against the wall of the warehouse, casually smoking, staring coldly at the two Ricci brothers sat in front of him. The Ricci’s were small time criminals compared to the notoriety of the Peaky Blinder’s and when they had realised that Tommy would be out for revenge for trying have him killed, they had been quick to try and flee. Not quick enough though, a couple of Peaky boys had brought them to an empty warehouse where the Shelby brothers had been waiting. The two men were already bloody from the punches they had taken on the way here, but they both did their best to hold their nerve under the three pairs of dangerous eyes looking at them.

“You cowardly fuckers put out a hit on my brother.” Arthur said, his voice dripping with menace. He slowly circled the Ricci’s, like a lion evaluating its pray, waiting for Tommy to give him the order to pounce. “Don’t even have the balls to try and take us on yourselves.” John spat in the face of the younger of the two, although both men were considerably older than he was. “Maybe we should take off what balls they have got? Clearly don’t know how to use them.” Arthur moved in front of the older brother, holding his cap in his hand, bending the peak of it back to show of the razor blades sewn inside. “Bastardo!” the man shouted. In less time than it takes to blink Arthurs fist smashed into the side of his head knocking him off the chair on to the floor. He covered his head as Arthur kicked him repeatedly. “Who. Said. You. Could. Fucking. Speak!” He shouted between kicks. John had started punching the younger brother, who had tried to make a move when Arthur had thrown the first punch. Tommy dropped his cigarette, stepping on it to put it out, he slowly walked over to his brothers who were mercilessly beating the men in front of them. “That’s enough.” Tommy’s voice was deep and calm, despite the scene in front of him, instantly halting his brother’s onslaught.

The older of the men simply laid on the floor moaning quietly, his brother pushed himself up and spat out a mouthful of blood which landed straight on John’s shoes. Tommy’s hand grabbed John’s arm as he moved forward, questions needed to be answered, meaning one of the Ricci’s had to still be able to speak. “Now, tell me” Tommy began, taking one of the chairs and sitting in front of the man knelt before him. “how did you contact the person you hired to kill me?” Tommy was leaning into the mans face. “Why should I tell you anything?” Ricci asked, “will you just let us go if I tell you?” Arthur let out a cold laugh, John smiled while chewing on a toothpick and Tommy leaned even closer. “You tried to have me killed Mr Ricci, if I let you go what sort of example would that set?” Tommy’s voice was so steady and relaxed he could easily have been discussing a small business deal, not the fates of the two men in front of him. “But I’ll tell you what, you tell me what I want to know, and Arthur and John here won’t go to pay your family a visit.” Leaning back in his chair Tommy took out his pocket watch and examined it, before letting his eyes lift to meet the wide eyed, panicked man before him. “They will be about halfway to the house you sent them to now wont they. You see Mr Ricci, the taxi driver is on our payroll, so I know the exact address they will be staying at.” Tommy couldn’t help but relish in the look of realisation dawning over Ricci’s face, it was the look of a man who knew he had been cornered and had no way out.

“Fine. There is an address in London, you tie a red ribbon around the metal railings there. You must write your name on it, with the address of where you are staying, then you will be contacted.” Mr Ricci’s eyes were down to the floor in defeat, his brother was still whimpering on the floor next to him, but he could feel the icy daggers of Tommy Shelby’s eyes piercing his flesh. Tommy held out a piece of paper and a pen, “Write it down.” He ordered, watching as the address was noted and the paper handed back to him. “Good.” Tommy said simply, standing up and putting the paper carefully in his pocket, he waved his hand and in a flash Arthur and John brought down their caps and took the eyes of both Ricci brothers. Turning and walking out he barely registered the dying cry’s behind him, to wrapped up in the excitement of being one step closer to Y/N.

Tommy inhaled on his cigarette, a victorious smile played across his lips, it was remarkably bright compared to the dingy warehouse. He stood their basking in the afternoon sun and in his triumph as Arthur and John came out to join him. “Get rid of ‘em.” Arthur said to the two Blinders who had been waiting on orders. “What next Tom?” John asked, his blood pumping with adrenaline and excitement. Tommy looked at his brothers, seeing the love they had for this life dancing in their wild eyes. “I’m going to London. Alone.” He added quickly as Arthur went to speak. “I’ll drive down from here and stay with Ada and Freddie tonight, they aren’t far from this address.” Tommy patted the pocket where he had safely stored the paper. “Ring Ada for me John, let her know I’m coming, and ask her to go out and buy me a bit of red ribbon.” Tommy flicked the ash from his cigarette and began to walk away. “What about me Tom?” Arthur called after him. “Do whatever you want Arthur.” Tommy called back over his shoulder, he was too excited to stop, he hadn’t felt this exhilarated in what felt to him like a lifetime.

Y/N looked out of the train window at the passing countryside, she was now far from the dirt and smoke of Birmingham and was enjoying the bright colours and clear skies before the inevitable return to dirt and smoke that awaited her in London. She knew that each mile being put between her and Tommy should make her feel calmer, but instead she had an overwhelming desire to get off this train at the next station and go straight back to Birmingham. Being near to Tommy had been like standing at the very edge of a cliff looking out at the most beautiful view she had ever seen and even though she knew the ground could fall from beneath her feet at any second, there was still a voice in her head telling her to jump over and into the sea below. Y/N spent the rest of the journey having a fierce internal battle, half of her was committed to forgetting Thomas Shelby even existed and thinking it ridiculous that he had any effect on her at all in such a short amount of time. The other half of her was able to offer no coherent argument or firm reasoning but instead longed desperately to be back under the gaze of his eyes.

When she got off the train in London it was already nearing dinner time and hunger had overtaken all other emotions. Y/N moved quickly through the busy London streets, listening to the calls of the stallholders who were trying to sell at least one last thing before packing up for the night, and after stopping briefly to grab some bits for dinner she was finally home. She lived on the middle floor of a shared tenement house, it wasn’t much and with her savings she could certainly afford more, but this was the world she felt comfortable in. The back door was just for her use, it meant she could come and go without drawing attention and the neighbours were less likely to notice if she were away for days at a time. Y/N tried not to get to attached to people or places, but this was the house she had lived in the longest, and despite her best efforts she had grown to care for some, if not all, of her neighbours. The family upstairs consisted of a father, who was either at work or drinking his wages at the pub, a mother who gambled away what little money made it home and their four children. Most of the food on their table was thanks to the money the older children earned running errands for Y/N. She never asked anything dangerous of them, but she paid them good money to keep a look out for red ribbons tied to a gate three streets away. Downstairs, there was a nice couple with a young baby who mostly kept to themselves, Y/N wasn’t even sure of their names, but still the wife was pleasant enough speak to when their paths crossed.

After unpacking and having a quick dinner Y/N was ready for bed, it wasn’t particularly late, but the events of the past few days had taken their toll, she was just about to change for bed when someone knocked at her door. Y/N grabbed a knife and made her way downstairs, she didn’t get visitors and it was to late to be one of the children from upstairs. Slowly she opened the door revealing the face of the woman from downstairs. “Oh, good evening, everything alright?” Y/N asked, carefully keeping the knife hidden behind the door as she held it open. “Yeah, I’m sorry to bother you, it’s just I was wondering if you had a bit of ribbon going spare?” The woman was young and had thick Birmingham accent that Y/N had never taken much notice of before. “Ribbon.” It was the only word Y/N could manage, it was more of a statement then a question and she was trying hard not to panic. “Yeah,” her neighbour continued “red if you’ve got it. My bloody brother has invited himself down and wants me to get him some ribbon. God knows why he wants it and why it has to be red, but I left it to late to get the shop. Karl hasn’t been very well today, so I had to wait for my Freddie to get home and watch him. You don’t look to well yourself.” Y/N had been frozen as she listened, a cold sweat beginning to form on her brow. “No. I haven’t.” again she had to fight with herself to get words to come out “Night.” She muttered as she pushed the door shut. Y/N felt her legs begin to wobble beneath her, so she sunk to the floor, listening to the footsteps moving away on the other side of the door.

“Fuck.” Y/N whispered, holding her head in her hands. How could she have been so stupid? Why had she never bothered to remember what her neighbours name was? She had done her research in Birmingham and knew that the Shelby brothers had a sister named Ada who had moved to London, but when she learned that the sister was nowhere near, she hadn’t looked any further into her. Y/N had thought her irrelevant to her job. If she had dug a bit deeper in Birmingham, if she had gotten to know her neighbour better, she would have realised sooner than this, that Ada Shelby lived downstairs from her. “Fuck!”

@comebackjessica @nemesis729 @spacenijntje @hinagiku0 @fruitloopzzz

#Tommy Shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fic #Peaky Blinders #by order of the peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #Cilian Murphy

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ajokeformur-ray · 4 years ago

Note

hey, lovey! could you maybe write a fluffy j x pat x reader hc where the reader's got stomach flu & they take care of her w lots of cuddles, holding her hair back when she gets sick, watching movies, etc. you don't have to if you don't want to :)

Hello, nonnie!💜🌸💙

Oooooh I love this idea, it's so sweet 🥺💗 I hope that you're feeling better, my love! Be sure to stay hydrated and get lots of rest!🤗💖 I hope that you enjoy this!✨

TW; Reader has stomach flu, mentions of nausea and descriptions of vomiting (nothing too bad because I'm a sympathetic vomiter!), general ickiness, mentions of medicinal drugs.

Word count: 1, 403.

You had woken up in the morning feeling off.

Nothing was wrong, as such, but something was most definitely wrong.

As the day progressed and you felt increasingly worse, you were met with the dawning realisation that you were ill.

You had been with Patrick and J for a long time, but you hadn't been sick like this for an even longer time and you were almost unsure of how to approach the situation.

Would they take care of you? A part of you hoped that they would, but the larger part of you didn't want to make a fuss. You could take care of yourself well enough - it was one of the things they both loved about you.

With your stomach churning and your mind beginning to resign itself to your body's fate over the next 24 to 48 hours, your decision was made for you as J walked into your home just as you made a dash to the bathroom.

J's gaze was sharp as he watched you disappear from the room. He had never seen you move so fast and it was with careful and measured steps that he followed you to the bathroom.

The door slammed shut behind you so hard that the walls seemed to shake and J leaned against the opposite wall as the sounds of you retching echoed from the bathroom.

He sighed impatiently and slid his hand into his royal purple trench coat.

As he pulled the burner phone out of his pocket, J flipped the lid of the device and typed Pat a quick text, his dark eyes barely leaving the bathroom door.

Y/N sick. Vomiting. Get 'em somethin' on the way home, would'ya? And some pop tarts. Gonna be a long night, kid.

Pat's reply was immediate and J wondered if Pat would have reacted that quickly if J had been the one who was ill. Something in his chest twinged and J rubbed at the spot absentmindedly as he read Pat's text.

Shit. There's a stomach flu going around. I'll get us some supplies - if Y/N has it then we might too. Thanks, J.

J didn't bother responding to Pat - the message had been conveyed to the third party in the relationship and now J's focus was wholly yours once more.

When you came out of the bathroom minutes later, J was ready to steady you as you stumbled through the doorway.

"All right, I got'cha," J's arm wrapped around your shoulders and he held you into his side as he walked with you to the bed. "How ya' feeling, doll?"

You groaned in discomfort and J chuckled quietly, some part of him enjoying how vulnerable you were allowing yourself to be in front of him. The other part of him was just concerned and he wanted to help you. It was a strange feeling but he was used to that when it came to you. "That bad, huh?"

Slowly and methodically did J get you to the bed and you got yourself under the covers while J disappeared from the room and came back in only moments later with a glass of water, some Pepto-Bismol, a bin and several liner bags.

At your skeptical look, J said, "best ta' be prepared, hm?"

You were no stranger to how J's preparations always ended up being exactly what you needed and so you acquiesced and got yourself more comfortable in bed.

You had always enjoyed how thoroughly J took care of you and you knew that you were in good hands. Idly did you wonder if J was going to get out his nurse's outfit - you really hoped so. It strangely looked good on him and it made him seem much smaller and less menacing than his every day wear made him look.

Your stomach was churning and aching uncomfortably but you did your best to ignore it, knowing that at some point your illness was going to hit you at its highest peak without warning.

Worrying about what was to come would only mean that you would suffer twice and with stomach flu, once was always enough.

"Wh - where's P - " You were unprepared for the next bout of sickness as you hurriedly sat up but J was ready. He grabbed the bin in time to catch your illness and with his other hand did he hold your hair back.

When you were done, J set the bin in your lap and rubbed your back in fluid motions, his hand firm and warm upon your clothed skin. His other hand grabbed the glass of water and helped you to take a drink, your body considerably weakened by the flu.

"Take it sl-ow, toots, tha-at's it." J's gentle encouragements kept you calm - you hated being ill like this - as he helped you to lay back down before he disposed of the bin contents and replaced the liner.

He wasn't bothered in the slightest by any of what was occurring. Illness was a normal part of life and he knew you would recover.

You were developing a bit of a fever, though it was nothing to be concerned about yet. J would keep an eye on it, however, for he took care of what was his.

"The kid's, ah, getting some things we're need. Should be home soon."

As if a string existed between your body, J's and Pat's did the front door open and close. You could hear rapid, almost panicked boot steps upon the carpeted floor as Pat came busting into the room.

"What'd I miss?" The swinging carrier bag in his grip was thrust out to J, who took it wordlessly and began to rifle through it, throwing packets and receipts over his shoulder and muttering to himself before he found what he had been looking for -

"Pop tarts, J? Really?" Pat's look was incredulous.

"Uhh, yeah."

"How can you eat at a time like this? Y/N's sick and - "

J rolled his eyes to the ceiling and tongued the scars on his inner cheek. "Yeah, and they'll be fine. They've been sick twice. I got it taken care of. Re-lax, hm?"

Pat huffed in irritation and you saw that it took a concerted effort to not rise to J's bait as instead did he turn to you.

Pat put a hand on your forehead and began to do his own investigation on how you were feeling. He could have just asked you but you understood how important it was to Pat that he could feel that you were okay.

As you were too distracted to tell him otherwise, J ripped open the Pop tarts and began to eat them straight out of the packet.

With his investigation done, Pat began to collect the items J had thrown around in his hunt for what he called food (and Pat called a "heart attack in a box") and stacked them up neatly on the bedside table.

"We'll get you better in no time, love. You tired?"

You shrugged, feeling too sick to even communicate. It was a state you didn't handle very well and you were so grateful to have Pat and J by your side.

You only hoped that they wouldn't argue so loud that it woke you up from your nap.

Pat made a decision for you and clambered in next to you, dropping a kiss to your temple.

"Pat, you can't kiss me, you'll get sick too."

The humour in Pat's eyes died as he looked at you dead in the eyes. "I'll take my chances, Y/N. You're sick and you deserve comfort, right?"

It took you a moment to realise that Pat wanted an answer, so you nodded.

"Well then," Pat grinned and the mischief came back into his eyes, "What's the problem?" His smirk widened and then he said, "It's not like J doesn't have a nurse's outfit in the wardrobe..."

J let out a displeased noise, though you all knew that it was only a matter of time before he put it on, if only to hear your laughter ringing off the walls and reverberating inside his mind and Pat's like it was now.

Even now, in moments like this when you felt like hell warmed up, you were still so beautiful and the other two occupants in the room would never find you to be anything less than that.

Beautiful, and wholly theirs.

HL OT3: @1-800-dead-inside @scaredclowncat @hotpacino @call-me-harley-quinn

#nonnie #ledger joker #patrick verona #ledger joker x reader x patrick verona #J x Patrick x reader #ledger 0t3 #heath ledger #tdk #10tihay

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justletmeplayminecraft · 4 years ago

Text

xisuma doesn’t smooth over a server glitch fast enough. the others have to save him from the consequences.

in this fic, i play loosely with minecraft mechanics to create angst. very loosely. don’t think too much about ‘em. you can also date how long i’ve spent on this by the projects they’re working on.

featuring: being an admin gives you a connection to the server, xisuma has a less than stellar day, angst/comfort, zed is an ender hybrid, false & tango are minor admins, getting stuck in blocks is not a fun experience, the hermits care a lot about each other.

warnings: sensory deprivation, starvation, suffocation, its a death loop babyyy, a fair amount of panic, fighting code, glitches, helplessness, it’s pretty whumpy before the comfort. let me know if something’s missing here.

also on ao3. link in replies.

Xisuma sighs as the sun beats down on him. It's barely let up, even on the outskirts of the jungle. He enjoys the brief stints in the shadow of the giant quartz walls. Even then, waves of heat come off them. All of the structures in his base are a heat trap. Clearing out several layers of dirt and stone is a necessity he should've left for another day. With a click, he tugs his helmet off his head. The humidity outside is worse than his filtered air. He tucks the helmet under his arm, pushing sweat slicked hair from his face.

He's made good progress levelling this arena space. He leaves his helmet on his bed and heads to the temporary storage chests. They're filling up quickly, he notices, as he starts emptying his inventory into them. Except, something's broken. The stacks of blocks aren't all moving. He tries a few times before sighing, ruffling his hair. When he turns to the area he's been mining, it's still empty. It's been a long time since they've had desync this bad. He's not even sure when it started.

Stepping gently across the stone, he can feel the heat rising from them. He'll rollback the world and then he'll relax by Keralis's river. The farm is delightfully cool. Anything will be better than this oppressive heat.

He's almost reached his bed when something takes hold in his chest and pulls.

He stumbles forward with a gasp. Of course, the server decides to fix itself this time. He forces his feet forward, trying to reach his helmet so he can smooth things over. He only makes it two steps until his eyes are forced shut as the server reloads. For a split second, all he feels is the chill of the void as chunks reload around him.

He opens his eyes to darkness. It feels like he's suspended in space, unable to move. There's a suffocating pressure around him. Though it's with shallow breaths, he can still breathe. Did something go wrong? He blinks hard. All of his limbs are accounted for, he's certainly present. Even when he's working in the void there are still particles around him. His attempt to raise his arm fails, finding it impossible to open his back up admin panel. His helmet is- where even is his helmet?

His breath hitches, a feeling of panic escaping his controlled calm. He feels like he can't breathe. He can't move. He's trapped in his own body.

What's happening?

[MumboJumbo] anybody else just experience some major desync?

[Keralis1] Oh, is that what that was?

[Zedaph] I had nearly finished my redstone! All of that work, gone!

[FalseSymmetry] didn't you notice you weren't actually... losing anything from your inventory?

[Tango] he was probably too caught up in his supposed mastery

[FalseSymmetry] everybody okay though?

[Grian] all good here!

[Zedaph] Only my pride's wounded.

False looks down at the bedrock layer at her base. Like half an hour spent placing glass, all gone to waste. She groans, closing her chat as it pings away. Sure, she can rib Zedaph, but that doesn't change the fact she just did the exact same thing. She kicks off the sidewalk, gliding to the bedrock layer. She can feel the cold of the void float up with specks of grey.

"Good going, False," she murmurs. Some patches of glass survived. It's almost worse, that's going to be so much less satisfying to fill in. She takes her goggles off, tugging her hair loose to tie it in a low ponytail. Usually Xisuma gives them a warning before the server resets like that. It always messes up her hair, leaves it floaty and static.

She adjusts her goggles on her head, opening the player menu. Xisuma's currently online. She checks chat. He hasn't said anything. She considers it strange, but it's not unusual. Maybe he's been at a farm and isn't AFKing. She types out a private message, sending it across to him.

[FalseSymmetry to Xisuma] hey x, server blipped, might need to check it when you get back.

She'll see if he returns her message. She's got glass to place.

Iskall looks through his in-progress sorting system with a frown. It's broken somewhere. The stupid server reload has glitched it out and he can't find how. He's checked the redstone, he's checked the hoppers and he's checked the chests! Which means it's glitched. Either Xisuma reloads the chunk for him, or he's going to have to tear it down.

Actually, he'll probably have to tear it down anyway. Reloading the chunk will only roll it back.

At least he's not the only person who's redstone has been ruined. The thought brings some comfort. If he has to be miserable, somebody else should be too. He opens his communicator, checking who's around at the moment. That might take his mind off it.

He notices that Xisuma's online. Their admin has been quiet in chat since the reload. Maybe there's something going on behind the scenes he's having to sort out. He'll reach out to Mumbo and Grian, but first, he sends a message X's way.

[iskall85 to Xisuma] hey is everything alright? nothing broke?

[iskall85 to Xisuma] don't forget you can reach out to us if you need help.

He has no idea how much time has passed. Usually he's connected intrinsically to the server. It helps him keep track of the world, dig out any errors or mishaps - sometimes before his suit alerts him. It's essential for his job in order to keep things running smoothly. The server is always there, at the edges of his consciousness.

In this nothing, he can't even keep track of his internal clock. Perhaps it's his own panic, but the code he tries to reach out to feels fuzzy. It feels like it's glitching, sending shooting pains through his head if he focuses too hard. He couldn't take a guess how long he's been trapped. His breathing still comes too fast and shallow, ignoring his attempts to calm down.

He's completely helpless here. And he doesn't even know where here is.

Tango stares up at the stars on his ceiling. He checks his inventory again, counting aloud. He flicks it off with a frown. Yeah, he's definitely missing some. It's not a massive deal, Impulse will be happy to help out. But if he's having problems then some of the other hermits might be. Perhaps they fell and despawned in the reload. Either way.

"Tangoooooo!" The cry is accompanied by several rockets, something hitting the ground and the sound of damage. He chuckles, stepping away as Zed soars over the edge, stumbling forward with a flutter of his elytra. Tango straightens him up with his free hand.

"No, I'm not doing your redstone for you." Zedaph gasps, dusting off his jeans. He bounces up with a grin.

"You really think I'd come all this way for that?" Zed questions.

"So why have you come all the way here?"

"I'm bored," Zed replies. "And it still stings too much to do my redstone again." Tango laughs, opening up his chat. Xisuma's online, though Tango doesn't expect an immediate response.

"How do you feel about some wither grinding?" He types a message to Xisuma, Zedaph attempting to peer over his shoulder.

"Mmm, I don't see why not."

[Tango to Xisuma] Hey, seem to have lost some stars when the server reset

[Tango to Xisuma] might wanna check nothing important got eaten.

"Right, let's go."

Keralis hums, staring at the plot he was about to start building on. The area has been a bit... Funny. He'll break and replace a block, only to have it switch again. He might have to work on another area until it sorts itself out. His attempts at working here started after the reload, so he doesn't know if that caused it. He's not been able to spot Xisuma nearby either. He's been online, but Keralis hasn't spotted him in chat for a while.

He sighs as he watches the last blocks he placed switch back as if nothing happened. Crossing his arms, he examines the area. He wonders how big this is. Definitely more than one chunk. His new house is going to have to wait. He was excited to show Xisuma around, too.

With a glance at the sky, he realises it's late afternoon. He yawns, stretching his back out. Perhaps it'll be best to settle in his office and work on some future designs. He'll drop a message in chat first, in case this is affecting anyone else. It might give him an excuse to hunt down Shishwamy. He always feels guilty bothering him about things. Their admin takes far too much responsibility on his shoulders. They’re all adults. Keralis wishes he’d ask for help sometimes.

[Keralis1] Has anyone else been having glitchy blocks?

[iskall85] some of my redstone is broken but it's no biggie

[Tango] lost some of my nether stars with the reload but it's been fine since.

[FalseSymmetry] been placing glass without any problems since the reset

[MumboJumbo] I haven't had any problems either.

[Keralis1] A bunch of chunks around our bases are glitching

[Keralis1] but it seems like Shishwamy is busy :(

[Grian] well it looks like he just went afk

[iskall85] that answers that lol

His mind is becoming blurry. It's hard to focus on... Anything. He can't tell if it's because he's struggling to breathe, or something further, tugging him down and away. He tries to fight against it but there's nothing he can do to stay present. He can't hear anything, barely even his shallow breaths. He can only feel the consistent pressure on every inch of his body, the wet tears on his cheeks. He tries pulling on every one of his senses, but nothing comes up.

He slips under.

False empties the last of this glass stack, stepping back at a job well done. She smiles, rubbing her aching hands. It's nice to finally work on this part of her base. Even better now it's not going to pick itself up. At least she hopes so. She'll be right annoyed if it happens again. Something's been tingling at the back of her head, though. She wonders if it's because of the reset.

She looks up at the late afternoon sky. That's enough work for today. As she stretches, she can feel each and every ache in her body. She brushes away her hair, already falling loose. Maybe she'll have something nice for dinner. Some steak, potatoes and pumpkin pie. If she has pumpkin, of course. Xisuma was planning to build a pumpkin farm, wasn't he? His traditional pumpkin and melon combination. She chuckles to herself as she pulls out her rockets.

No matter how things change from season to season, there will always be things that don't. Hermits might come and go, but they'll always be her family.

She launches up, shooting through the water barrier. It's fast enough it doesn't stick. She lands gracefully, making her way to the kitchen. She hopes this nudging in her head doesn't get worse. She just wants to enjoy a nice meal. That's all.

"Well, I think we have a plan," Grian declares, grinning from his perch. His legs are crossed, hands resting in his lap.

"I mean, we didn't exactly need a plan to fix our redstone," Mumbo replies, slouched in his chair the way he only ever does in front of them. Iskall chuckles, resting his hands behind his head. They've really helped take his mind off the broken redstone. Mumbo had a similar problem, so tomorrow they'll meet up again and attempt some fixes.

"Always helps," Iskall says, shrugging. "Especially when one of us spends so much time in the Nether depths, now." Grian laughs, his legs kicking.

"Hey, I'm doing good work out there!" Mumbo yawns, looking between them.

"Well I don't know about you two, but I'm exhausted."

"Food then sleep?" Grian suggests. Iskall nods. It's been a long day.

It's dark as Zedaph and Tango return from The End. Zedaph yawns, running a hand through his hair, messing it up. Tango rubs the side of his own hair. Something's been bothering him, but he can't tell what. Like there's something just not... Right. Zedaph is chatting beside him, a bounce in his step. It's like he doesn't feel it at all.

"Do you want to have dinner together?" Zed asks, twirling his sword by his side. They've repaired their tools, done everything properly. It's been a hard day's work, but they've achieved a lot, even with the setback.

"Yeah, dinner sounds good." He looks at the night sky, squinting his eyes. Zedaph tilts his head at him. The purple eyes are concerned, particles floating up in his worry.

"Tango, are you okay? You seem... Off." Tango sighs, waving Zedaph's worry away.

"Something's nagging me. It's not a big deal." Zedaph's still frowning, but the particles die down.

"Let's just get you something to eat, yeah?" Tango nods, leaning into Zedaph when he squeezes his shoulder.

"Sounds good to me."

Keralis watches the night sky overhead. He's sat in the doorway to his office, a blanket around his shoulders. The stars are always a beautiful sight. It's the perfect way to relax after such a, hm, busy day. Not busy in a conventional sense, no, but still busy. His specially commissioned noteblock song plays in the background, a perfect accompaniment in the peaceful night. He thinks it's strange how the stars always seem the same no matter what world they're in. Maybe he should ask Xisuma about it in the future.

He pops up his screens open. Xisuma is still afk. He misses seeing his neighbour out and about. Xisuma often spends time at his farms, it's nothing new. But Keralis enjoys saying hello to him! Especially after missing well... Years of his life. He tries not to think about that.

With a sigh, he lies against the doorway. Time for bed soon. He laughs at the sound of Bubbles' voice in his head. His communicator beeps and he glances over to it.

Huh. That's interesting.

Xisuma is thrown into full consciousness. His stomach is still cramping with phantom hunger. He opens his eyes and finds...

Black.

No, no, he died. He died. Why has he respawned here? He chokes on his sob, realising no air is entering his lungs. His cheeks are still wet with tears, more leaking out as he gasps at nothing. His lungs burn, unable to take the shallow breaths he needs to. Would it even help? He wants to curl up, clutch at the growing pain in his chest. But he can't move an inch. Heaviness sinks into his limbs and head.

He wakes again in the same place. He doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry. There's not enough air for him to scream, anyway.

[Xisuma starved to death]

[MumboJumbo] X?? mate?

[Tango] X?

[FalseSymmetry] do we need to get your stuff?

[Keralis1] I'm by his base.

[Tango] he's not afk anymore

[Grian] x???????

[iskall85] maybe he's getting his stuff rn

[Keralis1] Shishwammmmyyyyyyy

[MumboJumbo] starving isn't a nice way to go

[Zedaph] It really isn't.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[iskall85] oh no

[FalseSymmetry] x???? im going over

[Keralis1] so am i

[Tango] this isn't right, this really isn't right

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Grian] what's going on???

False shimmies back into her elytra, reaching for the one jacket potato that finished cooking. So much for having a sit-down meal. She rubs her head, pushing away the fear that has something to do with this. Her communicator continues beeping as she grabs her rockets. She runs to the entrance, kicking off and launching into the air.

"We should go and help," Iskall decides, already picking up his armour.

"Thought you'd never say." Mumbo straps his elytra on, grabbing a spare shulker box and an ender chest. Grian nods with a seriousness that doesn't fit on his face.

"Let's go."

"We're going?" Zed asks. He's already stuffing food into his mouth. Tango rubs his temples, nodding. He takes the elytra that's thrusted into his hand.

"Yeah. We're definitely going." He watches the particles floating off Zed in waves, glowing the same purple as his pupils. Tango presses his eyes shut against another spike of pain as their communicators beep. "C'mon."

Keralis scrabbles until he balances on the tower roof. He's searched each one and not found X anywhere. Tapping his foot, he meddles with his communicator to turn some settings on. He has no minor admin powers - that he has to leave to False and Tango - but he can at least try this.

"Ah-hah!" He grins as hitboxes light up beneath him, hopefully a better clue where his currently red coloured friend may be. He scans the towers closely, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary. There are a few mobs, especially as night sets in. Then he sees Xisuma's new build.

He has to take a step back at the sight. The chunks look- a mess. The outline of the blocks are overlapped or flickering. It hurts to look at. Blocks aren't meant to highlight like that. He glides across the treetops. It not only covers the area he was trying to work earlier but spreads into Xisuma's current build. Yeah that's- that's bad. That's not good. His communicator has continued to beep with messages as he searched. He goes to read it, and spots different colours in the mess. The red of an eyeline. He stands on his toes, leaning off the leaves. The outline flickers in and out, accompanied by a beep.

He thinks he's found X.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Keralis1] he's in his new build!

[Keralis1] I think I can see him in the ground

[Keralis1] it is very very broken

[FalseSymmetry] tango? you on your way?

[Tango] as we speak

[Tango] been a long time since we've had to use these powers

[FalseSymmetry] not long enough

Tango and Zedaph are the first to land by Keralis's side. They kick up loose powder from the road, taking in the massive structure in front of them. Tango's shoulders raise, cringing at the sight.

"That's definitely broken," he agrees, his eyes twisting as they focus.

"And Xisuma's in the middle of it?" Zedaph looks at Keralis. He nods, usually big eyes sharply focused. He points beyond the walls.

"You can just see his name tag. I think the glitched blocks have got him stuck. I tried to build there earlier but nothing would stay." Tango presses his lips together in thought as False lands. They nod to each other in acknowledgement.

"How long does it take until the blocks pop back?"

Keralis hums, tapping his chin before answering, "About ten seconds, I think."

"That's not going to be enough time to reach him," Zed says. "Can't you just teleport him?" He looks at Tango and False. Tango opens his console menu, typing something in. Zed can tell the answer before Tango says it.

"What ideas do we have?" Keralis asks. "We can't just leave him there!"

"Of course not!" Tango replies, sounding shocked at the suggestion. "We just- need a plan." False nods.

"We're not as powerful as X," she explains, "Together we should be able to roll back these chunks but- I have no idea what that would mean for Xisuma. We don't really work with player code." She brushes her hair back. The conversation is paused as the trio of Grian, Iskall and Mumbo land beside them. The three slot in, listening as they're caught up.

"There has to be something that's making him spawn there." Iskall points out, his hand held towards the structure. False searches through the control panel, whilst Keralis and Tango simply examine the messed up blocks.

"He has a bed in there," Tango answers. False taps where Xisuma's spawn is tied to on her screen.

"Since the blocks are glitched, it must mean the bed isn't like... Registering them. Since they don't fully exist." She thinks about it carefully, putting the pieces together as she explains.

"So if we break the bed, he'll respawn at the world spawn?" Grian suggests.

"But how do we get down there?" Mumbo turns to look. It's pretty far down in the ground. They'd have to move quick to get near where Xisuma is.

"There's a few of us." Iskall waves at the gathered group. "I say with enough TNT and manpower, we could do it."

"Wait-" Zedaph holds his hand up, "-Get me close enough and I can teleport in there, get the bed. Less blocks to destroy."

"Zed." Tango turns to him, glaring at the blond. "That's a stupid idea, don't you get how dangerous that is-"

"Xisuma is stuck in a death loop, Tango!" Zed cuts in, raising his voice. The others fall silent, not sure how to handle this exchange. "Sure, I might die a bit! That's nothing compared to what Xisuma's currently experiencing."

"TNT will destroy a fair amount, but it already puts us on a time limit," Grian adds, a sideways agreement.

"I'm willing to do it. Either we reach the bed, or I teleport in." Zed says it with finality. The others don't argue. False checks his spawn point. Zedaph will respawn back in his cave, safe and sound. Even if it goes wrong, it'll be recoverable.

"We need to be ready to roll back the chunks," False says, focusing on Tango. "If I have this headache for much longer I'm going to go insane." Tango smiles tiredly.

"Fine. Let's try this." He shrugs. "I don't think we have a better idea."

"Well, come on! Let's go!" Keralis claps, placing an ender chest. Tango sighs, typing in a command.

"I think I'm allowed this time," he says, a stack of TNT appearing in his hand.

"And other times?" Grian asks. Even through the teasing, they can hear the fear in his voice.

"Don't push it."

There's noises. He blinks his eyes open into the unending darkness. He tries to focus past his burning chest and the weight of his body. There's... Definitely noises up above him. It sounds like explosions. The space he's stuck in shakes slightly. After another lapse, he gasps back to life in the same position. He wants to scream, tell somebody he's down here. This opportunity might not come again.

Then he feels a sharp stab of pain. Something is there, near him. Everything hurts and he still can't breathe. For a moment, he thinks he hears the trill of an Enderman. His tired mind can't figure out how as he runs out of air.

He wakes up to a chill. He slightly opens his eyes, spotting yellow sand as he falls, blacking out.

[Xisuma suffocated]

[Zedaph suffocated]

[Grian] have we done it?

[Keralis1] he's at worldspawn! got him!

[iskall85] YES!!!

[Zedaph] Oh thank goodness I don't want to do that again

[World reloaded]

[Tango] Z, you okay?

[Zedaph] I'm good. Bring my stuff? I'm going to worldspawn

[FalseSymmetry] will do

"Keralis!" Zedaph's elytra beats as he lands, feet digging into the sand. "Is he okay?" Keralis nods. Xisuma's head is resting in his lap. The admin's eyes are closed as he breathes slowly. His expression is relaxed. It's a good sight to see. The spawn island is lit up well, but Keralis keeps his eye on the surrounding oceans.

"He's sleeping," Keralis says, messing with strands of brown hair. "I don't think I'm strong enough to move him on my own." Zedaph drops onto the sand next to them, crossing his legs. There are still bright particles floating off him, his eyes fully purple. "What about you, Zee?" Zedaph seems to notice Keralis's focus, ducking away to hide his eyes.

"Um, not the best. That kind of sucked. But, it worked, and that's what matters!"

"Make sure you look after yourself, too," Keralis tells him. "Fighting the server's code isn't easy." Zedaph laughs, resting on his hands.

"Can say that again. Forgot we have anti-enderman griefing." Keralis cringes, realising why Zed looks so much like he might collapse. It'll pass, but it's never fun to go against programming like that. The architech trio arrives next. All of them look relieved to see the three on the island.

"Oh, Zedaph, I have your stuff." Mumbo starts emptying it out, the few things Zedaph couldn't fit in an ender chest. Zedaph smiles, tugging his helmet on and feeling a lot more comfortable. He tries not to meet anybody's eyes.

"Tango and False will be on their way. They're just checking everything's good," Grian tells them, hands moving quickly as he talks.

"Should we try moving X somewhere safer?" Iskall suggests. "The shopping district isn't that far."

"If you're willing to boat him." Keralis is firm. "I don't want him dropped in the ocean."

"I swear nothing will happen to him under our watch." Grian puts his hand on his heart. Iskall and Mumbo nod in agreement.

"It'll be the safest boat journey on the server." Iskall's hands are on his hips. Keralis tilts his head up.

"Look into my eyes and nothing but my eyes, if anything happens to my Shishwamy, I will not hold back." The architechs look suitably threatened.

"Can I boat with someone?" Zedaph asks. "I nearly crashed so many times flying over here."

"Hop in the back of mine!" Iskall calls, placing one in the water. Grian plucks Xisuma into his arms, carrying him to the edge of the water. He sets the admin in the boat before climbing in himself. Keralis checks him over before nodding and allowing Grian to keep him.

"I've told the others to meet us there," Mumbo says. "I'm going to fly across and see where's best to bunker down. I think we could all use some sleep."

Zedaph looks at the moon hanging overhead, "Yeah, I think we could."

[MumboJumbo] we're heading to the shopping district.

[FalseSymmetry] thats a good plan

[MumboJumbo] any idea who's shop we could stay in?

[FalseSymmetry] my dimension shop is pretty empty

[FalseSymmetry] plenty of room for some beds. pretty warm.

[Tango] we'll get it set up for you

[MumboJumbo] ok. ill protect the others

[Keralis1] so will I.

The first thing Xisuma picks up on is the talking. He stays still, trying to tell if his brain is playing tricks on him after so long in the nothing. His body is like a rock. He's barely able to move. His lungs still ache and it takes some conscious effort to continue breathing. He blinks his eyes open, wincing at bright lights. Light. There's light. He rolls forward, a sob leaving his lips before he can catch it.

"Xisuma, hey, hey." The voice is soft, casting a shadow over him. Xisuma forces his eyes open now the worst of the brightness is blocked out. Keralis is crouching in front of the bed. His fingers gently brush across Xisuma's cheek. For once, Xisuma doesn't feel the dried tears that had become his constant. "You're okay, you're safe. We got you." Xisuma takes a shaking breath in, squeezing his arms to feel the pressure of his own touch.

"Do you want your helmet?" He flits to look at False. The mere sight of his helmet is overwhelming. He reaches out and wraps it close to his chest. Keralis laughs gently, scratching through Xisuma's hair. The admin sighs, his eyes slipping closed once more.

"There you go." He can hear the smile in Keralis's voice. "We've got you, right here." The sound of movement. Cracking his eyes open reveals False sitting in front of the bed, weaving her hand into Xisuma's. He squeezes it gently.

"You're in my shop, in the shopping district," she tells him. "It's past midnight. You're completely safe here. We've got things sorted, there's nothing you need to worry about." A tear slips from his eye. Keralis wipes it away.

"What happened?" He can't make his voice louder than a whisper, and even that hurts.

"Something went wrong with the world reload," False tells him. He can trust her not to sugarcoat things. "We all had a few bugs, but the chunks around you glitched out badly. Created a bunch of like... Invisible blocks, but they were visible, if you get what I mean? They weren't fully there. Ugh, Tango's better at all this technical stuff." Xisuma tries to peer around for him, but the light still hurts if he looks for too long.

"You were stuck in a bunch of them," Keralis finishes. "We didn't realise until you starved and got stuck in a death loop. I'm really sorry, Xisuma."

"We broke your bed to get you out. Well, Zedaph did. The others got him close enough then Tango and I fixed the area. It's all sorted." Xisuma forces his sluggish brain to put the pieces together. He didn't dream up that enderman sound. That was-

"He's over there, sleeping. Tango's with him." Keralis points at a bed nearby. Tango's back blocks any sight of their part Ender friend, but Xisuma can see purple particles floating into the air. A concerning amount of them.

"What did Zed do?" He asks, the vice around his lungs tightening in concern.

"Um," Keralis answers, False looking at him. "He mentioned fighting the anti-enderman griefing code? So I think he picked the bed up." Xisuma's stomach drops. He tries to push himself up but collapses onto his back again.

"Hey, X, careful," False warns. Her voice is stern but Xisuma shakes his head.

"No- I-" He shuts his eyes, fighting off disorientation. "The server's going to keep fighting him. I've got to reset it." False helps him sit up, but she still watches him with concern. He picks up his helmet, pulling it on and relaxing slightly as all the displays flicker to life. Now when he looks at Zedaph he can see the extent of the damage. His very code seems to be fighting itself. "Help me up?"

False gets an arm around his chest. He ends up leaning his weight against her to stand, his legs shaking. She's firm, grip only tightening to accommodate his need. Keralis hovers nearby, ready to jump in if he has to. They take slow steps across the room. Xisuma strains to see under the light, but the tint of his helmet helps. He can see the architechs sat nearby, watching without any attempt at discretion.

Tango looks up as they approach. Xisuma can see the resignation on his face.

"This isn't going to fix itself, is it?" He asks. His hand in clasped tightly in Zedaph's, whose usually bright expression is twisted in pain. His skin is all too pale, black freckles spreading into larger patches across his face. He doesn't open his eyes, not even as Tango moves so Xisuma can sit down. The grip on each other's hand remains tight.

"I need to reset the code that's attacking him," Xisuma explains. His words have a tired slur he can't quite hide. "I'm gonna write an exception, I can't believe I haven't already just- not right now. Don't wanna do it wrong."

"Xisuma, it's okay." Tango smiles, pinched but genuine. "I'm sorry you need to do this." Xisuma shakes his head.

"It's nobody's fault," False says, "Do what you need to do, X. Then you're going back to bed." Keralis hums in agreement. Xisuma laughs softly as the command screens in his helmet boot up.

He zones out the others around him, leaning on Keralis's shoulder when his friend perches beside him. He scrolls through information as he brings up Zedaph's data on one screen. With one eye on it, he unlocks the data packs, searching through them. He gives voice instructions with his microphone muted to the outside world. Finding the pack he needs, he disables it and checks Zedaph's data. It looks like his code is straightening out again. Thank goodness. He makes sure all activity is deactivated before he turns the pack back on.

"That should do it," he mumbles, before realising his microphone is still off. He reactivates it before repeating himself.

"Maybe you should teach us a bit more sometime," False squeezes his shoulder, helping him up. Xisuma slings his arm over False with a nod. That would be good.

"Thank you, X." Tango smiles. He rubs his thumb across Zedaph's hand. The ender hybrid has relaxed, face slack. It looks like he's properly sleeping now. Xisuma can finally rest.

"Come on. Don't you fall asleep here, I don't want to carry you across." Xisuma hums, too tired to commit to any words. Before he knows it, he's sitting down on the comfortable bed again.

"Shishwam, lemme get your helmet." Xisuma nods, tilting his head up so Keralis can unlatch it and bring it off. His head rolls onto his shoulder the moment it's gone. Keralis giggles, ruffling his hair. "Come on, sleepy time." False lies him down, his helmet tucked safely in his arms. Keralis's hand slips into his. Xisuma shuts his eyes, before blinking them open again.

"Stay?" He asks, too tired to worry about being needy. He doesn't want to be alone in that darkness again.

"Of course," False replies.

"We're not going anywhere," Keralis adds. Xisuma smiles at them both, eyes slipping closed. The darkness is manageable with his friends by his side.

"Don't you dare wake them up," False hisses, watching as Grian and Iskall play with redstone. The morning sun is beginning to shine through the cracks in the windows. She's exhausted, having only caught a quick nap. Keralis is asleep next to Xisuma, sitting on the floor with his head resting on the bed. Tango's slid into bed beside Zedaph, holding him close to his chest. Mumbo's dead to the world across the room.

"We won't!" Grian calls, trying to figure out the game he could make out of this mechanic. Iskall has a Statues book open, an armour stand sat in front of a piston.

"You know, this would be a lot easier if the two people who have done this with armour stands were helping," Iskall points out, flicking through the pages.

"We're fine, it's part of the adventure!" Grian watches as the piston shoots the armour stand across the room. False smiles, leaning back against the bed. Some of the other hermits have been coming online with the early morning. Thankfully, they don't seem to know about everything that went down yesterday. It's best things are quiet for Xisuma whilst he rests. She's sure he’ll tell them about it. She'll make sure he does.

As the sun grows higher with the dawn, she dozes off again. Grian is yawning, him and Iskall only catching a few hours of sleep. He's still buzzing with activity. He'll crash later, easy enough.

It's to this quiet atmosphere that Xisuma wakes up. Iskall and Grian are still experimenting. Grian’s laughter rings out as the armour stand bounces in the air. The beat of the piston is monotonous, but they're nearly falling over each other at the sight. Xisuma watches with a soft smile, eyes barely opened.

"It we got one on top, do you think it would-" Grian holds his hand up, demonstrating an armour stand shaking up and down aggressively. Iskall chuckles, shaking his head.

"It's only the morning, we don't need to break physics yet."

"It's for science," Grian protests. He sounds breathless, half-delirious with his need for sleep.

"Please don't make me do work," Xisuma whispers, all too aware of the sleeping hermits around him. Grian perks up, Iskall turning to him with a grin.

"'Suma!" Iskall calls. Xisuma smiles at both of them, making no attempt to move. He's comfortable here and he doesn't want to wake his friends.

"Exy-Suma!" Grian slides across, leaving a gap from the sleeping hermits. Iskall stands by his side, resting his hand on Grian's shoulder. "How are you feeling?" Xisuma wraps his arm tighter around his helmet.

"Not the best, my friend," he answers honestly. "But I'm certainly better than before."

"Well, we'll just have to make that even better then." Grian is committed to the cause now. He's going to make Xisuma's day.

"You don't have to rush back into things," Iskall says, offering a smile. "I'm sure we can handle ourselves today."

"I don't think I'm getting out of this bed anytime soon." Xisuma looks down at Keralis, dark hair brushing Xisuma's chest plate. False is asleep slouched in the chair beside him. Even without being able to see the other occupants of the room, he can still tell they're sleeping. "Feels a bit weird not going for a jog at this time, though."

"I'm sure your legs won't wither away after one morning, X," Iskall jokes. "Be lazy like the rest of us." Grian grins.

"We could always play some mini-games later, too!" Xisuma laughs, stretching as much as he can without shifting Keralis. He's beginning to regret sleeping in his armour, but it's too late now.

The three chat with each other, Xisuma offering advice now he's awake. They're gradually building up a system to launch the armour stand across the room. Sure, they'll have to clean it all up later, but it passes the time and it makes them laugh. Hearing Xisuma laughing is good for all three of them, despite the roughness reminding them of last night's ordeal. It's safe to say that nobody envies Xisuma's experience.

The three jump at a strange, shrill noise, until the realisation kicks in. Zed is sitting up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Hair is falling into his face, ruffled from sleep. Tango remains slumped against him. He even rolls into the warmth Zedaph leaves behind. It takes a few seconds until the hybrid notices his audience. Zedaph jumps, smiling sheepishly.

"Oh, hi, sorry! Forgot I wasn't alone." His eyes are glowing brightly in the morning light. He looks down at the arm lazily clinging to his waist. "This oaf is used to it."

"No, no, you're okay," Xisuma tells him. False is stirring beside him, blinking to life, but Keralis remains out. "How are you feeling?" Zedaph taps his chin, resting his finger on his lip.

"Pretty well-rested, actually." Then his attention turns to Xisuma. "What about you? I should be asking you that question!" Xisuma laughs, flexing his fingers against his helmet.

"I'm okay. Taking it easy." He tilts his head towards Grian and Iskall. "Whether I like it or not, it seems."

"Too right," False agrees, yawning. "T'others can handle admin duties for today. You're ours."

"Is that a threat?"

"We can make it one!" Iskall tells him, his voice a lot more cheerful than the implication of his words. "We just need a good leash-"

"Oh absolutely not! Don't you dare!" Keralis pokes his head up next to him, trying to tune into the conversation. Zedaph laughs from across the room. He's tugging a bleary Tango to rest on his shoulder so he can wrap the blanket around them both.

"Oh come on, X, it'll be fun!" Grian wraps his arms around Iskall's shoulders. Xisuma shakes his head.

"You two are terrible. Absolutely terrible. Goodness me."

"I'm sure X will agree to take a day off willingly," False says, sounding far too threatening as she rubs sleep from her eyes.

"I already agreed. No leash required!"

"Why are we talking about leashes?" Keralis finally asks, looking more confused than anything. They break down into laughter.

[Grian] hello everyone

[iskall85] HALLO!

[iskall85] we are stealing your admin for the day!

[Grian] yeah he's ours.

[falsesymmetry] x had a rough night so he's having a day off

[falsesymmetry] so if any admins besides tango, x and i could step up please?

[cubfan135] yeah I'm on it.

[joehillssays] of course, and send our well wishes to our dear admin!

[Xisuma] your dear admin thanks you :-)

[Xisuma] please try not to break anything

[Etho] have a fun day lol

[joehillssays] don't make us lock you out of your screens, x!

[Keralis1] Nothing will get past us.

[iskall85] he's been suitably threatened.

[Renthedog] Should uh... We be concerned?

[Grian] about x-i-sooma finally getting a break?

[falsesymmetry] he's in safe hands. promise.

"Should we get this day started?" Tango asks. Grian is about to answer, only to yawn. He covers his mouth, face turning red.

"Another hour of sleep first?" False suggests. They look around the room, everyone in varying states of awareness.

"It never hurt anyone." Iskall shoves Mumbo over, fitting into bed beside him. "See y'all in an hour." Keralis smiles at Xisuma. He bumps their heads together.

"You deserve a break without being traumatised first, you know that Shishwamy?" He checks. Xisuma laughs, pressing their foreheads together.

"Yeah, I know." He leans back. "And I think I've got some good friends to remind me." False pats his back, getting comfortable enough to doze off again.

"And don't you forget it." Xisuma looks around the room. The architechs are fighting over the bed, Tango and Zedaph curled back up on theirs. He smiles, the fear from last night already on its way to being a distant memory.

"Don't think I can."

#hermitcraft #xisuma #falsesymmetry #keralis #grian #iskall85 #tangotek #zedaph #feel like mumbo's role is too minor to tag him lmao #my writing #this fic took so loooong #but i wanted to get it done #more brain space for my other projects

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