#5 right - the neck twist and the breathing screams 'he's so got a hold on me'

[greeneyed-thestral]

[simmerandwrite]

Sink Into Me - 08 - mob!Steve Rogers x plus size!reader

Pairing: mob boss! Steve Rogers x plus size! reader

Summary: You were simply doing a good deed, pulling the handsome stranger out of the way when a car jumped the curb. Little did you know that the life you saved belonged to Steve Rogers, the Army veteran turned art dealer with connections to the Brooklyn crime syndicate.

Steve Rogers, who won’t stop calling you his guardian angel.

Steve Rogers, whose new goal in life just might be repaying his debt to you.

Steve Rogers, who isn’t shy until it comes to his feelings and will stop at nothing to keep you safe.

Chapters: 01 02 03 04 05 06  07 08 09

Wordcount: 8.3k

Warnings: canon level violence (guns, physical fighting), allusions to dog fighting (but no mention of any kind of abuse), some angst

Notes: HI I AM SO SORRY ABOUT THE DELAY. life, ya know? but enjoy this little treat, please. and.. uhm.. sorry.

---

“We need to talk about Steve Rogers.”

You took in a hard breath and scanned the man - he had a permanent smug look to him, something that made you feel unsettled. The tag around his neck with his badge indicated his name was Grant Ward, NYPD detective. 

“Give me back my phone,” you said, slowly emptying your lungs in an attempt to stay calm. “Now.”

Ward shook his head, grinning. “Not yet. C’mon, let’s chat.” He slipped your phone inside his jacket pocket and grabbed your elbow, urging you to step further across the sidewalk in front of a closed down shop. “I got your info from Hammond’s file. You were a witness on a little vehicular assault case a while back, right?”

Nothing about this felt proper or to procedure. But you wanted it to end as quickly as possible, so you nodded. 

“What I need to know is why Steve Rogers asked you to lie on your witness report and identify the wrong person.” 

“Excuse me?” Your voice cracked as you tried to piece together what he was saying. “I didn’t lie about anything. Shouldn’t - shouldn’t Officer Hammond be following up with me - if there was an issue?”

“I’ve reopened the investigation.” Ward leaned against the building, glancing up and down the street casually as he spoke. “Your intentional misidentification put someone innocent in jail. How do you sleep at night?”

“I didn’t lie,” you repeated, swallowing hard. Hercules paced at your feet. 

“You’re lying right now. Rogers told you who to point out in that police lineup, didn’t he?”

You wanted to scream in this man’s face but given he was technically a person of the law, you resisted. Instead, you pursed your lips and opted to stay quiet. Shouldn’t you have a lawyer or something to represent you? God, why weren’t you into legal dramas instead of reality tv?

“Here’s what it looks like. Rogers asks you to help him out and in turn, you get a fancy new apartment. Isn’t that right?” Ward took a step forward and pointed past you, towards the rest of the block. “How else can you afford a luxury apartment working your little 9-5 gig? I verified your record of employment and something just doesn’t add up.”

Before you had a chance to reply to his asinine claim, he was reaching for his buzzing phone. “This is Ward.” You tried to listen to the other end of the call, but couldn’t make out the voice. 

He looked back at you, eyes roving up and down as he carried on with his phone conversation. “You’re kidding. That was all true? Wow. Okay. Yeah, I’m with her. Sure.” He raised his free hand and suddenly a nearby SUV was pulling up. “Heading there now.”

Your stomach twisted when Ward turned back to you. 

“Let’s go.” He tipped his head towards the vehicle, where the driver had gotten out to open the back door. “We’ve gotta move this chat elsewhere.”

Your eyes blew open, head shaking. “Absolutely not. Give me my phone and —“

Ward stepped towards you again, grabbing your hand that was holding onto Hercules' leash. “If you don’t get in that car willingly, you’ll have a dead dog on your hands. Is that what you want?” He flashed you a smile. “Let’s. Fucking. Go.”

--

“Storm coming tonight..”

Steve looked up from his plate of pasta, watching his mom across the table as she put down her cutlery. Sarah rubbed her hands together, tired with the weight of time and the pressure of weather changes that seemed to grow worse with each passing season. 

“I can feel it in these old joints,” Sarah continued, leaning back in her chair before glancing to the window above her kitchen sink.

“Ma,” Steve finally replied, quietly returning his own fork to the side of his plate. “Why don’t you skip the rest of this monologue about the weather and tell me what’s really on your mind?”

Steve tried to have dinner with his mother at least once a week, if time permitted. The last few months had been a bit chaotic for him though, mostly his own doing of course. And Sarah hadn’t pressed when he canceled. But, something about her tone and strange casual conversation wasn’t sitting well with him. In fact, he could read his mother really well and she was upset, maybe even mad at him. If there was one thing Steve hated, it was when his mother was upset with him.

He liked to nip it in the bud as quickly as he could.

Sarah sighed, slowly crossing her arms over her chest as she eyed down her son. “I haven’t had the chance to tell you about who I ran into at the hospital a few weekends ago.”

“You gonna give me a clue?” Steve smirked, taking a long pause to enjoy a sip from his wine glass. “Who?”

When your name left his mother’s lips, Steve felt his chest tighten. He had very quickly and casually explained to her that you and he had called things off, respectfully asking Sarah not to press him for details. Surprisingly, she hadn’t asked any follow up questions, though Steve knew she hadn’t been feeling positive about the news. In fact, he had assumed his mom would have had a much more passionate reaction. And maybe it was still coming.

He took a deep breath. “Oh. And.. how is she?” Would it be possible for this conversation to only last one more sentence? Would he be able to get out of it without his mother making him feel any worse?

When Steve met his mom’s gaze again, he knew that question wasn’t what he should have asked. He was starting to think maybe saying nothing would have been best.

“How is she?” Sarah repeated, letting out a hard laugh. “Steven.”

“Ma, listen, what happened between us is..” He hesitated. Complicated was not the word he wanted to use, but what else could he say? “I had to cut things off. She’s safer this way.” 

There. His heart was torn off his sleeve and slapped onto his plate. 

“Steve,” Sarah was softer this time, releasing the anger from her shoulders as she reached across the table for his hand. “You’re not being fair. To yourself. How are you supposed to live this way? Don’t you want a family in the future? Or a break from.. everything?”

Steve squeezed her hand but didn’t respond. Sarah waited another moment for him to say something, then stood and carried her plate to the sink. 

Without turning back around, she continued. “I told her about Hamilton House.”

Steve sighed, leaning back in his chair again and shaking his head. “Ma..”

“Why didn’t you just talk to her? She would have understood.”

“You barely made it out of that fire alive!” Steve pushed back from the table and met his mother at the sink, placing a hand on her shoulder. “And I can barely live with myself as is, but if something happened to her too, I’d..”

“Honey,” Sarah’s voice was even quieter now as she pivoted to look at him. She reached her hand up to cradle his face. “You need to stop blaming yourself, please.”

How could he ever do that? The scars were still quite obvious on many parts of his mother’s body - 

“Steve.” Sarah took in another deep breath. “I’m a grown woman who can take care of herself. And so is she.” There was your name again, coming off of Sarah’s tongue like it just warmed her soul. “She’s good for you.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore.” A painful laugh gurgled up in Steve’s throat. “I made pretty sure she’ll never talk to me again, unfortunately.”

“Steven.” This time the soft edge had left Sarah’s tone. The disappointment was back. “Don’t tell me you pushed that girl away on purpose.”

“I’m a grown man who can take care of himself,” Steve repeated back to her, stepping away from the sink and turning to grab his coat. “I’ve gotta go, Ma. Thanks for dinner.”

Sarah grabbed his wrist, eyes bright with words she wouldn’t say. Instead, she shook her head and sighed quietly. “At least take a container of pasta for Bucky.”

---

The further the vehicle traveled beyond your neighbourhood, the further your stomach sank. You did your best to listen to the conversations happening between Ward and his driver, but nothing seemed clear. 

Where were you going? Were you in trouble? You hadn’t lied to the police - you knew better than that. But how could you prove that when clearly they had another story created? Was this about Steve? You weren’t even talking to him. What the hell was going on?

The only thing saving you from a breakdown was Hercules resting his head on your lap. Gently you scratched behind his ears, doing your best to reassure your dog as he did the same for you. 

You were going to be okay. There had to be a positive solution to this mess. 

Eventually, the vehicle slowed down in an industrial area you weren’t familiar with. In the growing darkness of the night, everything kind of looked the same - rows of large warehouse style buildings, some in much worse shape than the others. As you approached one of the buildings, a garage door opened up to allow you access.

“Let’s go,” Ward barked out as the car stopped, quickly sliding through his door and throwing the one closest to you open. He reached for your nearest wrist. “But first..”

Handcuffs. What you could only assume were police-grade handcuffs joined your wrists together, despite your protests. Ward was choosing every opportunity to remind you he had a gun, so when he told you to head towards the staircase leading out of the parking area, all you could do was comply.

The driver, some other nameless brute listening to Ward’s every word, held on to Hercules’ leash and followed behind. The panic within you stirred.

The building had clearly once been a thriving warehouse or multi-level business hub. Now, it was reduced to whatever criminal activity these men were tied up in. Every second window was boarded up or leaking in cold air through broken shards, with the evidence of previous occupants littering the floors. Old desks, chairs, appliances laid strewn about.

Ward guided you across the second floor, leading towards the far side of the room. You could hear other voices as you approached. He yanked the door open and pressed against your back for you to enter ahead of him.

You stumbled past the threshold, lifting your head up to look around the room. It felt out of place, given the state of the building. This room remained intact from days before, the remnants of an executive office with a large boardroom table sitting opposite the broken windows. A man you didn’t recognize was seated behind an oversized mahogany table, a burning cigar hanging off his lips. Behind him, a disheveled blond wearing an ill-fitting suit jacket stood scrolling through his phone.

That man you did recognize – you were certain he had been one of the men who had broken into your apartment. You could feel the familiar wave of panic come over you again.

Sitting in a pair of chairs in front of the desk were another two men – one dressed in a long overcoat over his suit, with perfectly coiffed hair. The other donned more casual clothes, well worn with a scowl across his face, strong and silent. You thought perhaps you recognized them, too. You might have seen them at Shield or maybe they had worked with Steve? 

“This is her?” The man with the cigar asked, rising from his seat. The other two seated men had turned their heads to look in your direction, then stood the same. 

Ward laughed, returning his gun to his jacket, and reaching a hand to grip your neck. He urged you closer to the desk. 

“Russo – you’re sure?” The same man asked again, shooting a glance at one of the other two men. Ah, nice suit, nice hair - Russo. He had interrupted you and Steve, that day at his office.

“Yep. I know, doesn’t make sense to me either,” Russo replied with a dry laugh, stepping away from the desk and waiting to the side with the other man, Mr. Strong and Silent.

“Walker, you’re on dog duty,” Ward added after. He snapped his fingers and the guy scrolling on his phone was at attention, rolling his eyes as he grabbed Hercules’ leash from the driver. 

Hercules whimpered at the back of the room.

You tried to look towards your confused pup, but Ward’s hands landed on your shoulders. He pushed down to encourage you to sit in one of the vacant seats at the desk.

Finally, the man with the cigar looked at you. A tight smirk curled up on his face as he said your name out loud. “Well, nice to finally meet you. I’m Brock. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

You sat still, hands resting on your lap. You resisted replying with some snappy commentary and instead dug your fingernails into your palms. Maybe you needed to comply, but God, what was the point of all this?

“I’m not really sure what I’m doing here,” you said quietly, letting out a long breath. “I told him-” you jerked your head at Ward, “-everything I said to Officer Hammond was true. Steve didn’t ask me to lie about anything and I’m sorry if someone you know ended up in jail but I had to tell the truth.”

Brock raised an eyebrow, amused. “Well, I don’t give a shit about any of that. We’ve gotta fix this and you’re going to help.”

You pressed your lips into a thin line. 

“You’re going to meet with Hammond and tell him you lied about-”

You shook your head. “I didn’t lie.”

Brock abandoned his cigar and slammed his hand on the table. “Don’t interrupt me, darling.” He took a breath and started again. “You’re going to meet with Hammond tomorrow morning and set things straight, alright?”

“And if I don’t?” You swallowed the lump in your throat as you asked your question. 

Brock leaned back in his chair, grinning. “You’re really asking that? Damn. Well, if you don’t - you’re never going to see your dog again, for starters.”

Your face fell and you shuffled in the chair again, turning to look back towards Hercules. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“What do you think, Walker? The mutt would be good for the pit, huh? They could use some fresh meat for the next fight.”

You gasped as Hercules pulled at his leash, trying to walk to you. Walker held the leash tight.

“P-please. Don’t. He doesn’t deserve that, he’s just..” Your voice shook as you turned and looked back at Brock. “Okay, fine. I’ll talk to Hammond.” You just had to agree and get out of here. Once you were home, you could call the police station and tell them the truth and and and–

“Hammond is expecting you first thing tomorrow morning at the station.” Ward was looking down at your phone, tapping away at the screen. Great, he was just sending messages on your behalf. You hated that. Clearly you were not getting your phone back. Fuck, how were you going to get out of this?

“Now,” Brock leaned onto his elbows on the desk, returning his cigar to his mouth for a long drag. “Let’s talk about Rogers.”

You gulped.

“I need every little dirty secret you’ve got,” Brock said with a snap of his fingers. “Let’s go. Talk.”

“I don’t..” You faltered, glancing around the room quickly. Russo was watching you carefully while his partner seemed to be preoccupied with his feet, his eyes were drawn down. “I don’t know what you think I might know.. Steve and I.. We.. He broke up with me a while ago.”

A laugh escaped Brock. “I heard that wasn’t the case.”

Russo stepped forward. “Rogers took you home from Shield a few weekends ago, did he not? Drove you right back into your apartment then even walked you to the door?”

You stilled. Why did these men know about that? Were they following you? Or Steve? How did they know where you lived?

“I don’t know anything, I swear. Even when we were..” You closed your eyes. “We didn’t talk about business.”

“You know, I don’t believe you.” Brock let out a frustrated huff and tapped his cigar ash to the floor. “Let’s start easy, alright? Rogers has a ledger, the Bible for all his transactions. Where does he keep it?”

You shrugged. “I honestly have no idea. I don’t remember ever seeing a ledger or–”

“Bullshit.” It was Russo jumping in now. “You were fucking him for months. Christ, give us something.”

If you shifted your head back and forth in a shake anymore, you were going to give yourself whiplash. “I-I don’t, really.” You didn’t like how they were both crowding in on you, guns visible on their hips as their voices escalated. “Steve didn’t tell me things - he.. I didn’t..”

“Where does he keep his safe? What buildings did he take you to?” Brock continued on, reciting any thought or question that seemed to jump into his head. “I need to know which Senator is really in his pocket. And what he promised to Rhodes.”

You repeated yourself again and again and again as they bombarded you. “I don’t know, I don’t know! He would never tell me those things.”

“Think harder then.” Brock stood up in a fury, circling the desk to plant himself in front of you. “I need something fucking useful.”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to think of something, anything to stop this. Everything you retained about Steve wouldn’t be what they wanted - that he was an old soul, a gentleman who kept your best interests at heart. Who loved old musicals and his mother. Who cared deeply about things but had hurt you deeply, too. None of that would have been helpful so what the fuck were you supposed to do?

“I..” You let out a breath. Would it be worth it to lie?

“If you say ‘you don’t know’ one more goddamn time..” Brock leaned forward, closing in the space between you and reaching for your jaw. He held it between his fingers, keeping you in his grasp waiting for an answer. 

When you didn’t respond, Brock growled and reached for his cigar, flipping it in his fingers and bringing the burning end closer and closer to your exposed neck. You could feel the heat before it even touched your skin and all you could do was scream in anticipation. 

“I don’t– please! Please don’t-” You pressed yourself into the chair, trying to get as far away from him as possible. But, the burning sensation never came.

“Hey–” This was a new voice. The Strong and Silent man lingering near Russo had rushed between you and Brock, shoving him away before the cigar made contact with your skin.  “You said you weren’t going to hurt her.”

Brock pushed him back. “This has nothing to do with you, Castle. Back the fuck off.” 

Castle didn’t move - acting as a barricade between you and Brock. They stood at a standstill, and eventually Brock let out a long dramatic sigh. “Ward.” He snapped his fingers again and Ward came forward. Once again, a hand landed on your shoulder.

“Take her up to the roof.”

---

“Do we not fucking knock anymore?” Steve called out as Bucky burst into his office, dragging Peter by the collar as he did.

Steve’s patience had run thin following dinner with his mother. She had managed to stir everything else up again, the feelings Steve was desperately trying to eliminate from his heart. Yet, they hadn’t dulled over time like he wanted. They remained steady, as steady as the beat of his heart. 

“She’s good for you.”

On top of that, they had managed to clear out most of the out of territory drug dealers creeping into Brooklyn. But it hadn’t really stopped. The drugs still found their way in, and the problems were escalating moreso. Angry clients, aggravated partners, a particularly frustrated future Mayor who needed Steve’s compliance and trusted network underground for insight. 

The last thing Steve wanted to deal with now was another issue. But when Steve saw the panicked look in Bucky’s eyes as he grabbed Peter’s shirt, Steve paused.

“Show him.” Bucky urged Peter forward, eyes wide in a panic. “Now.”

Steve stood from his chair slowly, meeting the young man in the middle of his office. “What’s going on? Is this about Beck again?”

“No, sir. No. It’s uh..” Peter’s hand was shaking as he gripped his cellphone, tapping on the screen before he glanced between Bucky and Steve again. “I keep an eye on social media - mostly just to see what’s happening, who’s hanging out where. My friend Ned he..” Peter shook his head. “Whatever. No one knows it’s me who watches their stuff. So. I was clicking through John Walker’s Instagram stories - that guy is an idiot, by the way. Always trying to bait women to find him at clubs or wherever. And..”

Peter tapped through something on his screen then turned it toward Steve. “Mr. Barnes said he recognized the dog in the background of this video..” 

Steve snatched the phone and pressed play on the screen recording. John Walker was in the middle of the frame, filming himself with the front camera as he talked about which bar he’d be showing up at later. But none of that mattered to Steve. What did matter was the dog tied up in the background, pulling at his lead as he started to bark. 

“Christ. Sorry about the mutt. Dealing with something for work..” 

Steve raised his eyes from the screen, eyebrows furrowed. “When was this posted?”

Peter swallowed before he replied. “About 20 minutes ago.”

Bucky turned to Steve. “Is that..?”

All Steve could do was growl, shoving the phone back at Peter. “Send that to me. Right now.” Steve reached for his own phone, heading out the door of his office towards the primary club facilities. Bucky was at his feet, asking what he could do to help. 

“Buck, call Kate. I need a timestamp for when Hercules was picked up.” 

Bucky nodded and tore off, phone to his ear. 

Steve called Clint directly. “Barton, I need your help.”

---

Kate confirmed you had picked up Hercules just before they closed. She didn’t notice anything concerning, aside from your general demeanor seeming quiet. 

Clint reviewed security footage outside your apartment building entrance, back door and lobby. No sign of you. It’s possible you had picked up your dog then gone elsewhere, but Steve wasn’t convinced. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

Steve paced his office again and again, waiting desperately for some information. Peter and Thor had stolen off to a few well known bars to see if they could track down Walker or any of his friends. 

Clint had gone to your building to troll the neighborhood and seek out any additional video footage that might help. 

Steve called Vision to see if he could connect with Wanda to get some information about where you might be, without leading to anything especially suspicious. 

Steve needed to know where you were and if you were okay. Truthfully, he wouldn’t be able to settle until he knew you were safe - until he saw you himself. 

This was the fucking risk, wasn’t it? Letting you in. People were going to use your relationship against him. It was staring him right in the face all along. Fuck, how could he live with himself if you got hurt?

Steve let out a fit of rage that had been brewing within him. He grabbed the rocks glass off his desk, still half full of melting ice, and sent it flying into the back of his door. 

God fucking damnit. He didn’t like any of this. With no news from Vision and Wanda, his mind was going to bad places.

Steve stalked across the broken glass and threw his door open, grabbing his coat as he left. He found Bucky downstairs at the bar, phone in hand as Natasha leaned beside him. 

“Please tell me someone has some fucking news to share,” Steve growled out as he approached. He didn’t even have to ask Natasha to pour him a drink, as it quickly appeared on the bar. 

“No Walker sightings yet,” Bucky said as he glanced at his phone. As he turned the screen, a new message appeared. 

The text didn’t contain any information or words, just a simple location pin. Bucky tapped on it, revealing an address on the outskirts of Brooklyn. 

“Who sent that?” Steve asked, eyeing over Bucky’s shoulder as he drained his glass. 

“No clue. I don’t know the number.” Bucky replied quietly. “No message either. Just a thumbs up emoji. But the timing is suspect.”

Steve shook his head. What did he have to lose? “Let’s go. Have Sam meet us there.”

---

You should have worn more layers, warmer clothes. Not that you anticipated being abducted on your way home. But you trusted the warm fall morning and now all you had was regret. A thin sweater barely kept you covered and the looming thunder overhead meant the threat of rain was very real. 

Ward had dragged you up the barren staircases to the roof, where he had then removed one of your handcuffs only to attach it to some external pipe system that hugged the outside wall of the building. You could sit on the dirty cold roof or stand and try to peer down, but nothing else. You were stuck. 

When you tried to plead with Ward  for your escape, he only smirked then offered an alternative. 

“Tell you what - if you get on your knees for me, I’ll remove the handcuffs altogether.”

As an answer to that proposal, you spit in his face. He really didn’t like that - which left you pushed to the ground and cuffed with no coverage from wind or impending rain. God fucking damnit. 

Once Ward disappeared through the door again, you yelled for help. If it made any lick of difference, you had no idea. There was another building very close by, yelling distance at least. But it looked abandoned just the same. On the other side of the roof, it looked like an emergency staircase existed. 

Not like you’d be able to escape. You seemed very stuck.

Were they going to leave you out there all night? Was this some scare tactic? What did they want from you - a detailed breakdown of everything you knew about Steve? You couldn’t do that - you wouldn’t. Despite the ricochet of emotions you had been through with Steve, you still felt.. something to him. Be it loyalty or kindness or whatever, you couldn’t throw him under the bus. 

Steve was a good person. You saw that in him often. But these men? You weren’t so sure. 

What if they left you until you had to meet with Hammond? Ten hours in the cold and rain. You could survive that, maybe. Maybe. 

Thunder rumbled above you. Rain started to fall. 

Fuck. Maybe not. 

In an attempt to make yourself as small as possible, you sat against the side wall and wrapped your free arm around yourself. It didn’t do much to protect you from the rain, but it helped retain what little body heat you still had. 

You weren’t sure how long you sat in the rain before you heard the access door burst open. You looked up and braced yourself, but felt almost relieved to see it wasn’t Ward again. 

It was Castle. 

He hesitated when he saw you, then quickly hurried in your direction. 

You closed your eyes in a panic. “I’m sorry - I don’t have anything to share about Steve  - I can’t remember if there was—”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. I’m not here about that.” Castle crouched down in front of you. “I can’t let you go but let me help, alright?” He reached into his pocket and took out what looked like a Swiss Army knife. “I’ll get out of these cuffs at least.”

You braced yourself as he gently touched your wrist, using his tool to work through the lock mechanism. “Thank you.. uhm, Mr. Castle?”

He chuckled, barely. “Frank.”

You nodded, grateful as he freed your hand and left the cuffs dangling. “Thank you, Frank.”

“Over there,” Frank turned his head and pointed to the middle of the roof, where a small maintenance structure stood. It had a sloping roof that could provide more coverage. “Go. You’ll be covered at least.”

Frank got to his feet and offered you his hand. Once you were standing, he shrugged off his own heavy coat and handed it to you. 

“Frank,” you clutched the coat and met his gaze, eyes blurring from the rain. “Can you just.. make sure my dog is okay? Hercules? He’s a lover, not a fighter. But he’s all I have and- and..”

Frank gave you a curt nod. “Go.” He motioned back to the small shed and you nodded too. 

You had no idea why Frank was helping you. But you decided it had to be a good sign, right?

---

Steve had no idea what he was walking into. He had done this before – going in blind to certain situations was the nature of his entire job. It wasn’t always possible to anticipate who he would run into, if the person he trusted would deliver, if weapons were involved. But given his state of mind and the all-consuming worry he had about your wellbeing; he didn’t really care what he was faced with.

He just needed to figure out where you were and ensure you were safe. 

The location that had been sent to Bucky was outside of Brooklyn, just barely. Along an industrial neighbourhood, where plenty of abandoned factories and distribution centers lived, the coordinates lead them to a nondescript building. 

Steve and Bucky climbed out of the car, strapped with more than enough guns and ammunition to fight their way through whatever and whoever they were about to face. As they approached, Sam jogged into view, too.

“Thor couldn’t find Walker anywhere,” Sam provided as an update once they were waiting outside. “But Peter’s little tech friend managed to track a location for some recent postings to this general area..”

“Sounds like a likely place to look,” Bucky concluded, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at Steve.

Steve took in a deep breath, eyebrows narrowed as he gazed at the doors ahead of him. Raising his hands, he tugged at the collar of his coat and smoothed it out before nodding. He was ready to deal with this.

“If she’s anywhere in here, her safety is priority, you understand?” Steve glanced from Bucky back to Sam, waiting for their own nod of understanding. “If anyone put her in danger, they’re going to pay. But not at her expense.”

Bucky pressed his knuckles into his metal palm, a coy smirk raising on his lips. “Here’s hoping I get to fuck up Walker’s face again.”

Sam took the lead and yanked the dilapidated entry door open, busting open the lock mechanism with little effort. The main level they entered on was mainly being used for vehicle parking and what looked like some storage. A staircase led up to the next level.

Steve carried on - striding to the top of the staircase and heading through the doors. The entire building was in bad shape but this wasn’t their first rodeo.

Someone was hiding out somewhere. And when he found them, it wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“Sam - call everyone to be standby, including Thor and his brother. Get Barton to scope out next door, too. Lots of windows for coverage, the rooftop. Remind him about the Bullseye protocol.” Steve ran a hand through his hair then glanced to his right, motioning to the far door with Bucky. “You’re with me.”

In a few long strides, Steve reached the door and waited. Then, he raised a hand and knocked against it. Bucky stood behind his left shoulder. 

Someone on the other side of the door was yelling, then eventually they heard heavy stomping as someone approached. When the door opened, Steve didn’t hesitate - he leaped forward and reached for the collar of whoever it was. 

Steve growled. Grant Ward.

“Oh Jesus fucking–” Ward yelped out, trying to pull away from Steve’s grasp as Steve backed him into the room. “Take it fucking easy, Rogers. What the fuck are you–”

“Where is she?” Steve’s voice boomed, holding Ward in his grip as he glanced around the room. It was a fairly sparse leftover office, but sitting at the end of the large boardroom table was Billy Russo, Frank Castle and Brock Rumlow himself. A few other nameless thugs waited behind them, guns at the ready. “Where IS SHE?”

Steve threw Ward to the ground, reaching for his gun as the men at the table stood up and drew their own weapons, too. Bucky followed in behind Steve and kicked Ward down when he tried to get back on his feet.

“Stay down,” Bucky said to Ward. 

Rumlow moved from his spot slowly, waving his gun around and placing it down on the table as he walked towards Steve. “Rogers.”

Steve didn’t respond, darting his eyes from Rumlow back to Russo and Castle at the table. Russo looked away, suddenly preoccupied with anything else but Steve. Castle, though, also put his gun away.

“Rumlow.” Steve growled out your name this time. “Where. Is. She?”

Brock smirked. “Who? Oh.. yes. Sure. We just met. As far as I know, you two aren’t together anymore. What’s the concern?”

“If you fucking touched her-” Steve raised his hand again, gun pointing directly at Rumlow as they stood apart. “Tell me where she is.”

“Me and Russo have been talking. I think the three of us could be working together better. If you haven’t been picking off my dealers one by one, the pot could be a lot sweeter.”

“You and your drugs aren’t worthy of Brooklyn.” Steve stepped forward. “Tell me.”

“You know, I didn’t want us to meet like this.” Rumlow brought his hands up, in a faux act of surrender then slowly moved one of them forward to encourage Steve to put his weapon down. “In fact, I went through a lot of trouble to keep your pretty face away from here.”

“Not much trouble, it seems. And it sounds like you have a mole,” Steve shot back, sparing a quick glance back around the room. Russo looked away again but Steve met Castle’s eyes for a beat, then turned back to Rumlow. “Loyalty is rare around these parts.”

“Speaking of loyalty - your girl.” Rumlow stepped back and let out a long breath.

Steve matched him and stepped forward, raising his gun up once more. “If you laid one fucking hand on her–”

“I’ll tell you where she is after we chat, alright? I need a promise from you - to share the territory.”

Steve huffed, lips pursed as he scanned Rumlow’s face. “Tell me where she is.” Steve could hear Bucky shuffling behind him, metal fist clenched, growing just as impatient as Steve was. 

“Nah.” Rumlow shrugged, glancing around the room. “If you won’t negotiate, my lips are sealed. I still need her, gotta clear something up with the cops. Then, I don’t know. I guess she’s nice enough on the eyes, bit thicker than what I usually go for but maybe I’ll get her to warm my bed for a–”

Steve wasn’t an idiot. Rumlow was baiting him. And god fucking damnit it worked. Steve surged ahead, letting out another growl of rage as he attacked Rumlow with his fists.

On the other side of the room, Ward slid over to kick against Bucky’s knee - angering Bucky all the same. Sam rushed in to join them at the first sound of chaos. It wasn’t quite contained and really, it didn’t come as a surprise that everyone in the room was more than prepared for a fight. Rumlow’s extra lackeys seemed more than charged enough for the action. Bucky easily took care of Ward on his own, as Sam darted between helping Steve with Rumlow and the others as Russo tried to keep his distance. 

“Where is she?” Steve had Rumlow on the ground, pummeling his fists into Rumlow’s jaw. He didn’t get a response, as the sound of gunshots sounded out, ending with shards of glass flying across the floor. In a brief moment of hesitation after, Steve took in the rest of the room. 

Russo had slipped out. Castle too. 

“Sam!” Steve stood quickly, keeping his foot against Rumlow’s neck. 

Sam hurried over and tagged in as Steve rushed through the door to follow where the other two had gone. Running towards the staircase, he looked upwards and could hear the distinct sound of hurrying feet and the slamming of a metal door.

He bounded up the stairs towards the roof.

---

The rain continued to fall, although it had at least slowed down to a cool drizzle. It didn’t mean much since you were already soaking wet, though the coat from Castle had helped. It hadn’t really fit you but the extra layer kept you marginally more comfortable, despite the fatigue and hunger setting in. Was anyone else going to check on you? Would Castle come back to help?

Did.. did Steve know what was going on? Although - how would he even find out? Fuck, you kept going over everything again and again and again. The steps you took today, the conversation you had with Sarah a few weeks ago, Steve’s last words to you at your apartment…

You wish things had gone differently. Maybe in a different life or timeline, it might have all worked out.

Gunshots.

You could hear gunshots from somewhere nearby. Downstairs in the building, maybe. Truthfully, at least up on the roof, you were away from the reality of this situation - that these people had guns and clearly weren’t afraid to use them. Up there, in the rain, you could ignore all of that.

But no, here was the glaring reminder. A few more shots sounded out then it seemed to stop. You tried to keep ignoring it, laying your back flat against the wall of the structure until you heard the door open again. You couldn’t even bring yourself to look until you heard someone barking out your name. This time the voice belonged to Russo.

A set of footsteps tracked further onto the roof, but you held your safe position. Russo finally appeared ahead of you, a scowl etched on his face. “I thought Ward tied you up. Whatever, let’s go.” He grabbed your closest wrist, urging you away from your hiding space. You tried to yank yourself away.

“Please, I don’t want to-”

“Bill - come on, can’t we just drop all this?” Frank came into your eyeline next, looking you over quickly then back towards the door. “Rogers isn’t dumb, he’ll follow us up here anyway.”

Your heart jumped at Steve’s name. He was here, he was going to get you away from this.

Russo’s grip tightened on your wrist, though he turned to look at Frank. “The plan remains the same - we need her to talk to Hammond so Rogers can land some jail time. It’s the only way we can get ahead.”

Frank let out a noncommittal sigh. “Rumlow is a fuckin’ idiot. You don’t think his plan is to screw us over later too?”

“I don’t give a shit about that right now,” Russo growled, looking back towards you. “Let’s go.”

Frank hesitated again, but didn’t argue any further. You pleaded again as they took you to the far side of the roof, where the emergency fire escape stairs were. Russo let you go momentarily as he stalked over, peering down towards the stairs. 

“They should hold up, I hope” he said with a shrug, motioning his head for you to go. “Ladies first.”

You shook your head, taking a step back and glancing towards the door instead. “No, I..” You turned on your heel.

A gunshot sounded out behind you, loud and piercing. You screamed, eyes wide as you turned back. Russo was scowling again, holding his gun high as he shot it upwards into the sky. He lowered it slowly, pointing it at you directly instead. If that wasn’t enough of a warning. “Down you go. Now.” 

You glanced at Frank, who remained completely stoic as he looked between you and Russo. 

Suddenly, the door flew open again. You all turned to look.

A wave of relief flooded through you - it was Steve. He called your name as he walked towards you, never breaking his eye contact with you. In an instant, all your worries and doubts and everything seemed to shatter as he looked at you with such gentleness and grace.

Russo let out a hard laugh, waving his gun for a brief moment before aiming it back at you. “No time for your cute reunion. Let us walk away, Rogers.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve didn’t even bother replying to Russo, though he did stop in his tracks when he realized Russo had a gun pointed at you. But, Steve carried on, repeating your name. “Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, jaw shaking as you nodded. 

Steve softened, for a fraction of a second. You knew he could tell you weren’t being honest. But what were you supposed to do? You were a hostage, soaking wet on a roof, with a gun pointed in your direction - no, you were not okay.

You watched as Steve transformed again, soft eyes replaced by hard lines, a tight jaw. He finally broke your gaze and turned his attention to Russo and Castle. “Let her go and we’ll all walk away from this unscathed.”

A loud laugh escaped Russo. “Right. I don’t think so. We’re walking away from this with the leverage we need.”

You watched as Steve took in a deep breath, then reluctantly put his hands up. “What do you want, Russo? Money, territory, names? What? I’ll give you whatever you want - just put your gun down and let her go.”

“You think I’m an idiot?” Russo shook his head. “No, I’m not playing this game.”

“This isn’t a fucking game,” Steve continued, reaching his hand slowly for his gun. He raised it up then just as quickly tossed it behind himself. “Please, Bill. Just leave her out of this.” 

“Billy..” Frank finally spoke up too. “Let’s call it, okay? Sounds like Rogers is willing to talk and–”

“No.” Russo took a step closer to you, gun firm in hand. “No, we’re going to–”

Before you realized what was happening, you weren’t even standing on your own two feet anymore. A flurry of noises rang out around you - screaming, gunshots, shouting. Someone had wrapped their arms around you – you fell towards the ground – you landed on.. Steve. It was Steve.

He had run towards you in the action, caging you in his arms as you both landed on the rooftop together. Safe. Alive. Steve shielded you with his own body from the noise and chaos happening around you. You didn’t know who had been shooting who, if anyone escaped or made it down the fire escape. All you knew is that you were safe, in Steve’s arms.

Steve was whispering out your name, again and again, like some sort of prayer on his lips. His words were wrapped in apologies, in cries for your safety, in hushed words that begged for reassurance. As everything else seemed to quiet down, he gently pushed himself up to peer down at you. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so–”

“Steve, it’s okay. I’m okay.. I’m..c-cold.” 

He shook his head and quickly shifted again, standing up and helping you back to your feet, too. He shrugged off his own jacket and draped it over you. Slowly, he raised his hand and slid it down the side of your face, wiping away stray droplets of water with his thumb. His palm was warm against your cheek, you could feel his whole heart pulsing as he held you. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m–”

“Steve!” Bucky’s voice broke you both from the spell. Steve reluctantly looked away from you, pivoting slightly as he looked towards Bucky running in their direction. Across the roof, both Frank and Russo were on their knees, hands wrapped behind their backs.  A makeshift bandage was wrapped around one of Russo’s biceps.

Wait, had someone shot him? It couldn’t have been Steve, he had put his gun down. Would Frank have..

Bucky leaned in slightly and mumbled into Steve’s ear, then they both looked across the roof towards the adjacent building. Bucky waved in that direction and Steve nodded, then they both turned back to you.

Before Steve could say anything else, you reached for his shirt. “Steve - you..we need to find Hercules. They said.. They..” You closed your eyes tight, head shaking as you tried to form your words. “They were going to take him somewhere to fight. I don’t know if..”

Bucky stood up tall again. He said your name firm, like a promise. “I’ll find him.”

As Bucky left, Steve wrapped his arms around you again - tighter this time. With one hand, he secured your back and the other cradled your head against his chest. He didn’t say anything and you couldn’t find any words either. 

---

You were back at Steve’s apartment. You thought you’d never see those big windows overlooking Brooklyn ever again and yet, there you were. Safe.

Safe and warm, following a long shower in Steve’s guest bathroom. Stripping away your damp clothes and stealing away into the stream for longer than probably necessary had been a nice escape. Especially given that Steve had driven you back to his place in silence - though it wasn’t as awkward as before. It just felt like maybe there were things you both needed to say but couldn’t bring yourself to mention yet.

Before you had left the building earlier, Steve hadn’t let you leave his sight. Well, except for about ten minutes where Bucky hovered over you instead.

Steve brought you inside, back downstairs to that same boardroom and office space. But this time, you weren’t faced with bad guys with guns. Well, the bad guys remained but the guns were gone.

All four of them were bound and seated at a chair. Ward’s head was lolled to the side, Brock had a bloody face, Russo and Castle were mostly left without much damage. But you had a feeling that wasn’t going to last.

Steve squeezed your hand, gently turning you away from looking at them. 

“Hey,” he said quietly, tipping your chin up with his thumb. “Can you tell me what happened? What they did?”

You swallowed hard, eyes wide for a moment as you considered his question. What was he going to do?

“Don’t overthink it, okay? Just tell me what you think I should know.”

You let out a breath then recounted everything. Ward ambushing you on the sidewalk, Brock threatening you, Russo joining in…

“But Frank he..” You finally spared a glance over your shoulder. Frank sat up straight in his chair, resigned to whatever fate awaited him. “He helped me. Tried to protect me, gave me his coat..”

Steve nodded, looking in Frank’s direction the same way. Steve called for Sam, then gave him another nod and Sam went to untie Frank from his chair. 

It was only a few moments later that Bucky showed up with Hercules, who - thank god - looked unharmed, if a little worked up. You couldn’t help but start to cry as you broke away from Steve and rushed to your son. 

But, It wasn’t lost on you how quickly Bucky led you away from the room with your dog. Or how the door shut behind you, leaving Steve and Sam in there with the rest of the men, the overlapping sounds and sounds of distress…

When you finally decided you had wasted enough water and regained all the proper feeling in your body, you shut off the water and let out a long sigh. Outside on the counter, folded neatly beside your warm towel, was some clothes you had left at Steve’s ages ago. Soft and clean layers to keep your temperature steady as you got ready for bed.

You supposed it was a choice you made - agreeing to go home with Steve instead of back to your own apartment. But you knew you wouldn’t be able to sleep there - not tonight. And you knew Steve would insist on staying and keeping guard outside your door anyway. So it made more sense this way.

After you changed, you found Hercules waiting for you in the hallway. You could hear Steve in the living room, speaking quite passionately on his end of a phone call.

“Jim, this is the only deal I’m making. Proof of your dirty cop aside, I’m handing you Rumlow alive on a silver platter, even though I should have let him bleed out. So you have to do this for me. I don’t give a fuck about protocol..” There was a heavy pause. “Every instance of her name on any police report - gone. I don’t want her attached to any of it, do you understand? No trace of her. I don’t care - redact it or burn it. Get that done and I’ll deliver Rumlow to you in the morning. Understood?” 

You knew you probably shouldn’t be listening, but it was your name he was mentioning.

“As for Russo, I’m dealing with that myself. But keep him on your radar. If you need another arrest to clench your win, you can have him once I’m done.”

You quietly slipped into the guest bedroom once you realized his call had ended. Once Hercules followed you in, you shut the door. Fuck. What happened now? Maybe you and Steve needed to talk about all of this - you definitely needed to talk about it.

You heard footsteps coming down the hallway towards the bedrooms and Steve stopped outside your door. You held your breath, wondering if he would say your name or knock. But - nothing. His phone buzzed again and he disappeared into his bedroom.

With a heavy sigh, you leaned against the door. 

---

Mentally, Steve was exhausted.

Physically, his energy peaked in the midst of the action and hadn’t seemed to peter off yet. 

You were safe, you were safe, you were safe.

Why couldn’t he calm down? You were one wall away, falling asleep. Safe. He got to you before anything critical happened. Christ, nothing should have happened in the first place.

Following his long frustrating phone call with Rhodes, he wanted to talk to you. He wanted to say everything that was weighing down his heart - but your door was closed and he couldn’t even find it in himself to knock.

You were probably even angrier with him than before - given that this was all his fault. But that was fine with him. He could deal with your anger if that meant you had any feelings towards him left. Anger counted.

He rinsed off in the shower then pulled on a pair of pajama pants before falling into bed, not that he was tired. His brain was wired and maybe an allnighter was in his future. 

Steve sent off a few last messages to Bucky and Sam, then discarded his phone on the nightstand. He leaned back against the headboard and–

There was a knock at his bedroom door. You were knocking. He swung his legs off the bed and hurried to open the door, just as you were about to push it open yourself.

“Hi,” you said quietly, meeting his eyes in the low light streaming in from his lamp.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, scanning you for any signs of distress.

You shrugged, drawing in a deep breath. Then Steve took a step back, waving his arm to invite you in. You released your lungs slowly, nodding and following him inside. Wordlessly, he climbed into the bed and offered the open blanket to you, arms wide. You just nodded again, crawling in and finding a spot - your spot - underneath his arms.

---

CHAPTER 07 - CHAPTER 09

[brbsoulnomming]

Tell Me Sweet Little Lies Part 15

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | AO3

-----

Eddie can hear the sound of thunder overhead, the smell of rot fills his nostrils, and the taste of bile lingers at the back of his throat. Part of him has been fucking terrified beyond comprehension since the moment he went out onto the lake, but it's been kept at bay - barely - with reminding himself that the others are right there, with distracting himself by talking to Steve.

But he must have gotten separated from them, because when he looks desperately around the filthy, decaying forest, he's all alone.

"Steve?" he calls out, his heart pounding in his ears. "Robin, Nancy?"

There's silence, except the distant shriek of the demobats and a low, otherworldly growling, growing closer.

Shit.

He lurches forward, stumbling his way through the forest as he tries to remember where he was supposed to be going - the Wheelers' house, to get guns, or was it to his place, to go through the gate? He's so focused on where he's going that he doesn't pay close enough attention to his surroundings, and it's not long before he's stumbling over something.

A something that immediately grabs his ankle.

Eddie looks down, panic already filling him at the expectation of seeing a vine wrapped around his foot, of knowing that he'd alerted Vecna.

The thing on the ground is distinctly more humanoid, though, and Eddie has a brief moment where confusion wins out over panic - until a crackle of lightning streaks across the sky at the same time as the thing looks up, and he meets Chrissy's wide, vacant eyes.

Eddie screams, so loud he can feel it tearing through his throat the way he usually associates with a particularly good night at the Hideout. He scrambles back, forgetting what had drawn his attention to the ground in the first place, and nearly trips over himself when his ankle is held tight.

It's Chrissy's hand.

Her arm is broken and bent, stretched out at an angle that shouldn't be possible, fingers swollen and rotting, and yet her grip around his ankle is solid as steel.

You left me, echoes in his mind, cutting through his screams.

But not through his terror, and he keeps trying to yank his foot from her grasp even as he's shouting, "I'm sorry, Chrissy, I'm so fucking sorry, please-"

Chrissy's mouth opens in a silent scream as she stares up at him, neck broken and distorted, and she drags herself closer to him, her other hand reaching for him - though that arm is all twisted up behind her, and she can't quite make it.

"Please," he begs again, giving one more desperate yank of his leg.

It works, incredibly, but he wasn't expecting it, and he ends up on his ass on the ground in front of her.

Eddie tries to push himself up, but now she's so much closer, and she's able to grab his leg and drag him towards her.

"No no no no no no," he chants desperately, fingers scrabbling at dirt and leaves, trying to get a hand hold.

"Eddie?" someone calls, and he nearly weeps with relief as he realizes it's Steve.

Eddie starts to call back, but his hand slips and he's pulled closer into Chrissy's grasp, and he shrieks.

"Eddie, it's okay, I've got you," Steve says.

Something grabs his hand, and Eddie instinctively yells and tries to rip his hand free - but then he looks back, and realizes he recognizes the hand grabbing his.

Steve.

"Steve?" he asks, because he can't see him, fuck, he still can't see anything but Chrissy's bleeding eyes and the Upside Down and -

"It's all right, Eddie, you're okay. You're safe now, I've got you," Steve is saying, and Eddie doesn't -

The world tilts and fractures, and when he looks down at his legs, there's only sheets and blankets tangled around them.

His throat hurts, his shoulder and wrist hurt, his sides and stomach and legs hurt, just - fuck, everything hurts, and it's not helping that he can barely breathe and he feels like he's having a fucking heart attack and all he can see is still Chrissy's broken body and -

"Breathe," Steve says, and if Eddie had enough air for it he'd laugh, because shit, what does Steve think he's trying to do, and -

Steve's still holding his good hand, and abruptly he finds it pinned to Steve's chest, with Steve's other hand pressed palm flat against Eddie's own chest.

"Breathe," Steve says again. "In and out. In and out."

He times each word with the rise and fall of his chest, and Eddie can feel it expanding and contracting under his fingers. Steve's palm moves every time Eddie manages to pull in a breath or let it out, and slowly, instinctively, his breathing starts to match Steve's.

"You're safe," Steve's switched over to saying. "You're not alone, I'm right here."

"Where'd you learn how to do this?" Eddie asks when he's got his breathing under control again, when he's come back to himself enough to remember that he's not in the Upside Down anymore.

Steve quirks a little smile. "You're not the only one who has nightmares about all of this."

Eddie doesn't ask if Steve means himself, or one of the other members of their party. He kind of assumes that the answer is all of the above.

"You didn't have any at the hospital," Eddie points out.

Steve shrugs - or shrugs as best as he can, when he's got one hand over Eddie's and the other still pressed to Eddie's chest. "Neither did you."

Eddie considers that for a moment, not sure what to say. He didn't - it didn't occur to him to wonder why until now that he's had one. The meds, maybe, or that his fears seemed to come out as he was waking up instead of when he was unconscious.

But mostly, he doesn't say anything because Steve looks like he's considering admitting something, and Eddie remembers that Steve will keep talking if Eddie stays quiet and attentive and doesn't judge him.

"It's better when I have someone with me," Steve says finally. "Or not just someone, I guess, but one of you guys. My nightmares are about - well, they're about a lot of things. But it usually ends up in me not being able to protect someone. It helps having them right there to remind me that it's not real, that they're okay."

And just like that, the thing he felt like he was just missing when he kept seeing people in Steve's hospital bed clicks into place. "Does everyone know?"

Steve makes a face. "Robin and Dustin do. I think Erica and Max have figured it out. Nancy… she knows how it was that first year, I think she might know more now, too."

He remembers Nancy telling Steve he needs to rest, asking it's worse now, isn't it? He takes a closer look, then, seeing the exhaustion in the slope of Steve's shoulders, the dark circles under his eyes. "Were you having one tonight, too?"

"Nah." Steve finally pulls his hand away from Eddie's chest, scrubs it over his jaw. "I, uh. Hadn't gone to sleep yet."

Eddie isn't sure exactly what time it is, actually. Late, he guesses, but not tipping into early morning, since the room would be pitch black if it weren't for the soft light of the lamp. He thinks about scolding him, teasing a little that Steve is supposed to let Eddie look after him too.

"Stay in here, then," is what comes out, and Eddie - yeah, okay, guess he's going to have to stand by that.

Steve drops his hand, looking at him with a furrowed brow. "What?"

"You said it helps, right?" Eddie tries to look a lot more careless than he feels. "And obviously we discovered that I do a lot better with someone here when I wake up, too."

With Steve. With Steve here when he wakes up, specifically, but Eddie doesn't want to think about that.

Shit, he's developing a pretty hefty list of things he doesn't want to think too closely about. It's probably going to come back to bite him in the ass, later, but as long as it waits until he's done recovering from his actual bites, he can deal.

Steve's looking at him in a way that seems familiar - almost like how he'd looked at Max, Eddie thinks, when she'd shoved her way into his hospital bed. "Yeah, all right. Just let me go get the walkie. I already talked to Robin and checked in with Henderson, but I promised him I'd keep it close."

He's gone and back before the shadows in the room can grow too uncomfortable, before Eddie starts to feel eyes on the back of his neck, before he's too afraid to look up or look down - but only just.

"So, uh. How do you want to do this?" Eddie asks.

Steve bites his lip, like he knows exactly how he wants to do this but isn't sure he wants to say it, and he sets the walkie on the nightstand before he lets out a soft breath. "Can I have the side closest to the door and the window?"

"Oh." Eddie'd kind of been wondering if Steve might offer to sleep on the floor, or the reasonably comfy looking chair. His brain is scrambled mush right now, and he doesn't know what to do with the fact that Steve immediately jumped into sharing the bed with him.

And putting himself between Eddie and the main points of entry, though that at least he'd kind of expected with what he now knows of Steve.

"Yeah," Eddie agrees hurriedly, because he can see the little scrunch developing between Steve's brows, and he doesn't want him to think that Eddie's uncomfortable with that. "Yeah, that'd be nice. Good. That'd help."

Fuck, what is wrong with him?

It just makes Steve look a little relieved, though, and Eddie scoots over to one side to give Steve room to climb into the bed next to him.

"You want another dose? It's been long enough," Steve offers.

Part of Eddie thinks he should ration them more carefully, despite the fact that Steve already dumped almost all of his pain meds into Eddie's, but - fuck it, he still aches everywhere, and he nods.

"Thanks," he says, accepting the pills and glass of water when Steve hands them over.

Steve doesn't ask if he wants the light on still, which Eddie is kind of grateful for - he's also grateful for the fact that he has to lay on his back to be at all comfortable, and can't be tempted to roll over onto his side to watch Steve.

Steve is right there. He's wearing pajama bottoms and a long sleeved shirt, so there isn't any risk of Eddie seeing the writing on his skin, and - fuck it, Eddie tips his head to the side so he can watch him anyway.

Steve's eyes are closed, head tipped back against the pillow as he lays on his back, too. If he can feel Eddie watching him, he doesn't give any sign of it.

After a long handful of moments of Eddie just looking, memorizing the shape of his nose and the line of his jaw, Steve breathes out.

"Night, Eddie," he murmurs.

"Night, Steve," he whispers, taking that as his cue to turn his head away.

He thinks it's going to take him a long time to fall back asleep again, with the dueling distractions of the lingering effects of his nightmare and the acute awareness of Steve Harrington sleeping right next to him, but - he's out between one breath and the next.

—

He's shocked awake by something he can't place, but at least it wasn't a nightmare. He doesn't feel terrified, just warm and sleepy and - kind of in pain, ugh, the meds must have worn off. Eddie hopes it's been long enough that he can take more.

There's a static feedback sound coming from a few feet away, and an equally staticky voice saying, "Come in Hawkins crew, over."

Must have been what woke him up.

Eddie's all set to ignore it, but his source of warmth - Steve, his brain supplies, though he's still too groggy to do anything with that thought - is moving away. He grumbles, wiggling as much as he can to scoot closer to him.

"It's Mike," Steve tells him, grabbing the walkie from the nightstand and bringing it closer.

Eddie can hear a chorus of other voices coming from it, louder now that it's right by him.

"Nooooo," he complains, even though Steve's already responding. "Wanna g'back to sleep."

"Jesus, Steve, do you have some girl sleeping with you?" Mike's voice demands from the walkie.

"That didn't sound like a girl, brochacho," another voice says helpfully.

"Yes there's someone with me, no it's not some girl," Steve says, and Eddie can practically hear the eyeroll in his voice. "It's-"

"Gross!" Mike shouts, and fuck if that doesn't feel like a douse of ice water all over, shoving Eddie the rest of the way out of sleep.

He sits up, gingerly, feeling a little sick to his stomach.

"You want to take a second to think about what you just said, Michael Wheeler?" Steve's voice is cold with disappointment, somehow managing to make that both a question and a statement.

Eddie resists the urge to look over at him. There's a long pause, where he can't hear anything but the unsteady beat of his own heart, then -

"What? No, not gross because it's a guy, that's - I don't care, that's not - gross because it's Steve!" Mike says, sounding just a little bit frantic - and his voice just a little bit more distant, like he's talking more to someone with him than to the walkie.

He feels a rush of relief, and he lets himself sit for a moment before he risks looking over at Steve. He looks - tired, in the faint light of the morning sun streaming through the blinds, but the pale yellow catches in his sleep rumpled hair, and Eddie has to look away again.

"Walkies are supposed to be for party members only, Steve!" Mike hisses, directly into the walkie this time.

Eddie latches onto the easy distraction that provides, looking back at Steve and making grabby hands for his walkie. Steve raises an eyebrow at him, but he hands it over without protest.

"I did not spend all year welcoming you into Hellfire just to get kicked out now that I'm in the party for real, Wheeler," Eddie says, putting on his best I am your DM and is this really the choice you want to make voice.

"Eddie?" Mike asks after a moment of silence, sounding confused. "What're you-"

He must put together some guy sleeping with Steve and Eddie on the walkie, because the next sound is a shriek that's half static feedback and half Mike Wheeler.

"No!" Mike shouts. "Steve, what the fuck, come on, first my sister and now my DM?"

He sounds so indignant that Eddie can't help it - he cackles, despite the ripples of pain it causes, and he can hear laughter from a few different voices spilling out over the walkie.

"Get out of my life!" Mike demands.

Steve takes the walkie back from him. "Is that any way to talk to your step-DM?"

The smug look on Steve's face only makes Eddie laugh harder, and he smacks at Steve's shoulder. Steve's laughing, too, more like a soft little huff than Eddie's near rib cracking glee, but Steve is smiling so wide his whole face lights up with it, and he's looking at Eddie like he's the best thing he's seen all week, and -

Hell if that doesn't make Eddie feel on cloud nine, like if he can make Steve look like that, he can do anything.

It almost makes him feel like maybe he has a chance. Like maybe, even though he'd resigned himself to having a platonic soulmate the moment he saw I'm not in love with her show up on his skin, he might have something, here. Mike Wheeler clearly thinks he and Steve are fucking, and Steve hadn't hurried to deny it, hadn't pulled away from him - he'd just played into it, and now he's leaning into Eddie's space and giggling with him, and Eddie lets himself hope.

In the background, there's still distant protests coming through the walkie, but someone more adult shaped must have grabbed it from Mike, because someone sounding closer to Eddie's age says, "We're almost to Hawkins, guys. Another hour or so and we can be at Nancy and Mike's."

"Yeah, it's going to be longer than you think," Dustin says. "It's a little bit of a mess out there."

There's a pause, then, "Sorry," someone says, very quietly - a girl, probably around the same age as the freshmen.

The walkie blares with static from a handful of voices trying to reassure her - Eddie can only make out Steve's, since he's there in person.

"Hey," Max says, cutting through it. "If it wasn't for you, I'd be dead. No sorries."

"No sorries," the girl - who Eddie is guessing is El - echoes, and this time there's a trace of something like a smile in her voice. "Thank you for your message. I need you, too."

"It was Steve's idea," Max says, very clearly deflecting.

El rolls with it, though, very seriously saying, "Thank you, Steve."

Steve's ear turns a frankly adorable shade of pink, and Eddie has to look away before he does something stupid like bite it. "I'm glad it worked, and everyone's okay."

"Party meet up at my house?" Mike says, a little bit of an edge in his voice - like he's worried, like he wants to see for himself that everyone is actually okay.

Eddie hasn't actually seen the kid in action, but he gets the feeling it's similar to the paladin he'd played at Hellfire.

There's a chorus of agreement to meet at the Wheelers' in two hours, then Steve sets the walkie back on the nightstand and slides out of bed, pausing to stretch. It makes his shirt ride up a little bit, and Eddie's feeling just reckless enough to let his eyes linger, greedy for the strip of skin it'll reveal.

He sees mostly gauze, though, and the reality of why he was in bed with Steve Harrington crashes back into him.

"How's your pain?" he asks, instead of saying how're you feeling. There's still wiggle room for Steve to get around it, of course, but at least it won't let him deny he has any at all unless he wants to flat out lie.

Steve makes a face at him. "Exactly how you think it is, man, probably a few steps below yours."

And - all right, fine, well played. Except for the fact that Eddie has no fucking shame about acknowledging that he hurts, that everything hurts, so really, Steve played himself, and Eddie grins at him. "Hurts like a bitch, then? Great, glad we're on the same page, here. I'll be sure to radio Robin and Dustin and tell them to send you home after a few hours so you don't collapse again."

"Almost collapse, Eddie, I almost collapsed."

Eddie's pretty sure the look he gives Steve tells him exactly what he thinks of that distinction, because Steve rolls his eyes, but doesn't insist on it.

"You're okay with staying here today, then?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, I know I'm basically on house arrest for a little while, I'm not going to fight it. Besides, I, uh. I'm not sure I could even if I wanted to," he admits. "I know me surviving the first time was as much of a deus ex machina as the Great Eagles carrying Samwise and Frodo out of Mordor, I'm not about to try to test it by over exerting myself now."

Steve's frowning at him, brows doing that cute fucking scrunched thing that he does when he's thinking, and shit, it's too early for this. "Does that make me the great eagle in this metaphor?"

Eddie huffs out a little laugh. "Guess so. Thanks for carrying me out, by the way."

He gets a little shrug in response, Steve's gaze shooting away like he's trying not to show whatever he's feeling about getting thanked for that. "I'll be your deus ex machina any time, Munson."

That's -

Hmm.

Somewhere Eddie's not sure he wants to go right now, when both of them are still all bitten to hell. So he says nothing, looks down at his own hands until he can hear Steve moving again.

"Gonna go make us some breakfast. Yell if you need anything, all right?"

Eddie flashes a thumbs up at him, then begins the careful process of getting out of bed and shuffling over to the bathroom. Moving around doesn't take as much out of him as it did yesterday, but it's slow going. Still, even though it takes far longer than he'd like, he's not winded by the time he takes a piss, splashes water on his face, uses some of the brand new deodorant stashed there - seriously, who keeps toiletries still in their packaging in their guest room? - and makes it back to the bed, so he's feeling pretty pleased with himself.

Steve comes back up just a little bit after with a plate of scrambled eggs and a glass of juice, shoving what looks like an entire half of a piece of peanut butter toast in his mouth.

"Didn't save any toast for me?" Eddie teases, reaching out for the plate.

Steve sets the juice down on the nightstand and hands the plate to him, waiting until he swallows his toast before he says, "Soft foods only for now, I read the doctor's instructions."

He thinks about complaining, just because he can, but decides it's not worth the effort and just shoves a forkful of eggs and cheese into his mouth instead.

Steve heads out to go get dressed, returns when Eddie's just about finished, wearing jeans and a blue sweater. There's a few books tucked under one arm, and he shoots Eddie a little smile.

"So you don't get bored," he says as he drops them into Eddie's lap.

Eddie looks down, half expecting to see books on sports facts or something, but - no, it's fantasy. Dark Tower: The Gunslinger, To Ride Pegasus, So You Want to be a Wizard, and even the first Lord of the Rings book stare up at him. Eddie seizes on that last one, holding it up with an affronted look at Steve.

"You acted like you didn't know what Mordor was!" he accuses. "Is this like that thing where you keep saying Dungeons and Dragons wrong even though I know you know what it is?"

Steve smirks at him, and for a moment Eddie thinks he's not going to answer, but then he's shaking his head with a soft laugh. "Nah, that one's Dustin's. He made me borrow it when he found out I've never read it, but it's such a slog to get through."

Eddie gasps, flinging a hand to his chest like he's been mortally wounded, and collapses back against his pillows.

Steve just laughs at him, but that's a good enough response for Eddie, and he grins back.

"Need anything else before I head out?" Steve asks, collecting the empty plate from him.

"Nah," Eddie says. "I'll have plenty to occupy myself seeing what Steve Harrington thinks is a better read than Tolkien."

Steve leaves the walkie talkie with him, promising to radio when he's there and when he's on his way back, and then he's gone. Eddie can hear him tromping down the stairs, the sound of the garage door opening and closing, and if he closes his eyes -

Well.

He doesn't close his eyes for long, because if he does, he lets himself feel like it's almost domestic, like this is them - like Eddie's lazing around with a good book after being delivered breakfast in bed, like waking up to Steve in the morning and listening to him head out is something they do.

The walkie blares to life, and Eddie reaches for it as Dustin's voice calls out to him and Steve.

"Steve just left," Eddie tells him. "Just me for now."

"Switch to channel four?" Dustin says.

Eddie gives an affirmative, switching over. "What do you need, Henderson?"

There's silence for a moment, which immediately gets Eddie's stomach twisting into knots as he thinks oh fuck, what is it, then -

"You guys are doing okay, right?" Dustin asks.

He sounds so small, so unlike the confident, brash kid that Eddie knows, and it gets Eddie right in the soft underbelly that's getting harder and harder to pretend he doesn't have.

"Yeah, we're doing okay. You were right about Steve making breakfast," he adds, because he doesn't really want to expand on what okay means, and he kind of figures telling the kid that he was right about something will get him going off.

Sure enough, Dustin's voice brightens. "See? I told you."

"Yeah, yeah," Eddie says, but there's no heat in it. "Harrington makes a killer breakfast and rips apart demobats with his teeth, who'd have thought."

"He what?" Dustin screeches, and it's then that Eddie remembers Dustin wasn't there for that part, and there probably wasn't time for anyone to catch him up to speed.

"With his teeth," Eddie repeats, throwing a little flare to it. "Then he swung one around by its tail and slammed it against the ground, again and again, and when it still wouldn't give up he pinned it down with his bare foot and tore it in half."

"Holy shit," Dustin breathes out. "And Max thought he was insane before."

Eddie snorts. "Insane is one word for it."

"And you didn't believe me when I said he was a badass," Dustin retorts smugly.

"Forgive me, oh enlightened one, for not being immediately sold on the idea that the coolest of cool kids is secretly a badass monster hunter."

Dustin scoffs. "Steve isn't a cool kid. He's just Steve."

Eddie makes a noise of disbelief, exaggerating it a little because Dustin can't see his raised eyebrow.

"Steve is a dork," Dustin insists. "If you don't believe me, ask him about our secret handshake."

"Secret handshake?" Oh, Eddie can't wait until Steve is back so he can badger him about that one.

"Uh-huh." The kid sounds even more smug now. "We made it Steve's senior year. It's got a lightsaber battle."

Steve's senior year? All right, yeah, okay, he's accepted that Steve's different than how he thought he would be, but - maybe part of him had just kind of slotted that into Steve changing after high school, that he graduated and moved on and didn't care about being popular anymore. Being forced to think about it now means being forced to reconcile the image that Eddie had of him last year, to realize that Steve Harrington had a secret handshake with lightsaber battles at the same time that he was getting crowned prom king.

It forces him to acknowledge that he never knew Steve Harrington at all, that probably everything he assumed about him was wrong. That everything Eddie assumed about his soulmate might have been wrong, that he -

"-the walkie talkie on?" Dustin is saying, and Eddie snaps himself back on track and forces himself to listen. "Just so you can be a part of it, too?"

Oh.

Eddie considers that for a moment, but honestly, the idea of being looped in via walkie talkie while the rest of the party does their thing immediately sends him back into the time he spent in the boathouse with the walkie as his only connection to them.

"I'm probably just going to sleep, man, I'll catch up with everyone when you can all come over here."

"Oh. Are-" Dustin cuts off, and Eddie has a moment of panic before his voice picks back up again. "Steve's here! I'll still keep the walkie with me just in case, okay?"

And then Eddie's alone, really alone, for the first time since they all came to his rescue out at Skull Rock. He thinks he should - feel some kind of way, thinks it should be catching up with him now the way it hadn't caught up with him when he'd had a similar thought last night.

It doesn't.

He doesn't know if he should be grateful for that or worried that it's going to sneak up on him, but he doesn't really want to think too hard on that at the moment.

Instead, he takes another dose of pain meds, gets comfortable with one of the books Steve'd brought for him, and dozes off reading about a teenager who finds a book and discovers a whole new world of magic that'd been right there all along.

Taglist (always happy to add more!): @vampireinthesun @koibug @estrellami-1 @mentalcyborg @allbimyself26 @questionablequeeries @the-s-is-silent @whimsicalwitchm @a-gae-af-racoon @tinyplanet95 @n0-1-important @velocitytimes2 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @newtstabber @jcmadgirl @roblingoblin285 @lexyvey @paperbackribs @goodolefashionedloverboi @evix-syne666 @raisedbylibrarians @stxrcrossed186 @nightmareglitter @greekgeek24 @starman-jpg @crazyhatlady86 @imfinereallyy @manda-panda-monium @deleataecount @prideandsensibility @chaoticvictorianspirit @maydillydally @disrespectedgoatman @scarlet-malfoy @i-less-than-three-you @hbyrde36 @hallucinatedjosten @dragonsandgayships @arepaconchocolate @g4ys0n @novelnovella @bisexualdisastersworld @ghostofyourvampiregf @scarletyeager @pettrichore @nerd-and-nervous @hiimlevi @queenie-ofthe-void @cinnamon-mushroomabomination

-----

Part 16

[apocalypseornaw]

Don't Blame Me (Pt 5/5)

Dean Winchester x Reader

A rescue and a second chance

Warnings: cursing, mention of violence

It was a strange feeling, regaining consciousness. You hadn't been knocked out since you were a human and considering you had several years under your belt since then, re-adjusting to it was strange.

The ache in your shoulder told you that bullet you'd been clipped with was a devil's trap one. You strained your neck down to look at the straps holding you to the table and recognize the language,Enochian. Fuck you were screwed.

You heard footsteps getting closer and knew better than to attempt to pretend to still be out. Instead you decided on the false bravado act, you'd perfected it your first hundred years or so on the racks “Why is it you fella always feel the need to strip a gal down? While I do appreciate that you left the bra and panties that was a limited edition Led Zeppelin shirt. If you fucked it up I'm gonna be pissed” 

The laugh that hit your ears made the skin on the back of your neck crawl. How fucked do you have to be to make a demon get the ick? “I heard you had that mouth on you. I see why Winchester and Crowley like you”

The demon finally came into view. He was wearing a skin head as a meat suit. Dude even had a certain nazi symbol tattooed on his ball head. No wonder he set off your creep radar “Don't know if you got your signals crossed but hello? Demon. Dean doesn't exactly want me anymore as for Crowley I come in handy to have around but at the end of the day I'm just his pet hunter nothing more”

You saw the knife when he picked it up and nearly asked him if he had forgotten you were a demon too until you saw the holy water vial. You  struggled against the straps but that sent a jolt of pain through you so you were stuck watching as he first wet the knife with the holy water then dumped salt along the blade. He sent you a smile right before he slammed the knife into your leg closest to him.

You didn't give him the pleasure of a scream. You did however bite into your cheek hard enough you caught the taste of blood on your tongue. He didn't seem put off by your refusal to scream, no he seemed to enjoy it. 

“Tsk tsk tsk. Don't underestimate yourself Y/N. You've been Crowley's right hand woman for years. You fast tracked your way off the racks and even managed to get your original body back. Even the big guy was impressed with that” your breathing was a little haggard from the effort to keep your voice steady as you said “Oh poor Luci. Stuck in the cage and seeing a hunter get pulled out of hell. Must have sucked for him”

That seemed to strike a nerve because the next thing he did was retrieve the holy water vial. He kept his eyes on yours as he uncapped the vial then twisted the knife in your leg before pouring the holy water into the wound.

It felt like flames were gnawing through your bone and the scream that escaped your lips echoed off the walls. A grin split his face “Attagirl. Let's see if we can make ya scream like that some more” “I spent three hundred years on the racks. Bring it asshole” You spoke through gritted teeth. He shook his head and walked over to a table in the corner of the room “Careful what you ask for”

 

“What are we looking at here Crowley?” It was the first time Dean had spoken since they got to where you were being held. “Dozen or so demons. Lucifer's last two remaining hellhounds” 

“Hellhounds?” Sam asked about the time a puff of air alerted them to a presence at Crowley's side. He reached out and patted what looked like air to them but they knew it was a hellhound “Don't worry boys. If they're between this one and Y/N they don't stand a chance”

Dean hated hellhounds. Death by them would do that to you but this once he let his eyes linger on the empty space where Crowley's hand rested “You take care of the other hounds we'll get the rest” a low growl was the response he got and Crowley nodded “I think she agrees with the plan”

He looked back at Sam “No one gets to smoke out. They were dead the moment they touched her” Sam nodded, gripping an angel blade in his hand “Let's go get her”

You could feel tears drying on your face. Flashbacks of your first couple decades on the racks ran through your head. You had to hand it to Skinhead, he was creative. 

He placed one of the tools back down on the table, it was slick with your blood. “What's the point of taking me? The point of torturing me?” 

He grinned again “Crowley will come for you. The Winchesters will come for you. We kill them and get the big guy out with no one guarding hell” you shook your head “No they won't. I'm nothing to Crowley, just another flunkie and as for the Winchesters you fucking idiot I'M A DEMON. THEY KILL DEMONS!” 

You groaned with pain from the effort of yelling at this idiot. Lucifer sure knew how to pick em didn't he? 

Your head fell back against the bed with a heavy thud. Skinhead went to grab another toy but the sound of a howl echoed through the building, you knew that howl anywhere. Juliette.

He looked back at you “How the hell did you get a hound?” You grinned despite the blood you knew stained your mouth “Just lucky I guess” 

He grabbed an angel blade off the table and looked back at you “You'll be dead before she ever reaches you” your eyes widened looking at the blade but then another sound caught your ears, the sounds of fighting. You could hear a  shout about the Winchesters. He'd come for you, black eyes and all he'd come.

You cut your eyes up at skinhead “Doesn't matter cause Dean will rip you apart” he raised the blade and went to plunge it into your heart.

—-------

Lucifer's hounds were dead, along with most of the demons. Dean was fighting one when it went down to the floor, a spray of blood separating its head from its shoulders then he felt a large head nudging at him. It was eerie being that close to a hellhound but then a thought occurred to him. 

He looked towards the feeling of the head despite not seeing anything besides dark blood dripping to the floor. He wanted to ask if the hound was hurt considering you had a bond with her but he couldn't exactly see and Crowley was with Sam disposing of the rest of the demons. 

“Did you find her?” a low growl responded so he nodded “Lead the damn way” He felt teeth grab his jacket sleeve and despite it all let himself be led further into the warehouse before the teeth were gone from his sleeve and all he saw was large bloody footprints leading away. She was running to you.

—-------

You braced yourself for a blow that never came, instead the demon was knocked flat on his back with Juliette on top of him. “JULIETTE!” You screamed. She was covered in deep gashes and looked like she'd been through a literal war but she was doing her best to keep him from getting up.

You lost track of the fight considering they'd rolled further than your straps would let you see but you could hear her growls. You struggled against the straps, tears streaming down your face from the pain. 

The moment the door burst open and Dean was there you heard a low whine and the fighting stopped. “Kill him” You whispered and Dean snatched the demon to his feet and slammed the demon blade into his throat before turning back to where you were tied down.

“She's dead isn't she?” He nodded before covering the space between you. He quickly untied you and pulled his flannel off to wrap around your shoulders. “You came for me?” You asked a mixture of pain and emotion threatening to drown you. His eyes flicked across your face looking for permission and when you sagged against his chest he pulled you into his arms “Even in death sweetheart”

You finally broke, demon or not you sobbed into his chest as he held you. “I still love you” you admitted and he kissed the top of your head “I still love you too. Nothing could change that”

—--------

Crowley and Sam burst in the door and looked around. Crowley's eyes landed on Juliette’s body “That's unfortunate” you sniffled harder laying your head back over on Dean's chest “Get me out of here Dean”

You sat at one of the tables in the library of Sam and Dean's bunker. It was technically a men of letters bunker that their grandfather had given them the key to, with them you didn't question the fact that their grandfather had been dead as long as he had.

Crowley had given the ok for you to go with them after he lifted the warding the witches had put on you. You'd been sitting for the last half an hour listening as Sam explained the fact that they'd found a cure, you had a chance to be human again. The bad part? It had a chance of killing you. 

Dean's arm was around your shoulders, your head against his chest. He hadn't spoken but every time Sam mentioned the risks his muscles tensed. Once Sam was through you nodded “When can you get the blood?” 

Dean's arm slipped from around you and he walked out the room. Sam looked from his retreating back to you “Do you want to think it over a little more?” You shook your head “My life, my risk. Go get the blood. I'll talk to him” he nodded and started to walk out but stopped then walked over to pull you out of your chair and into a hug “It's good to have you back” 

You smiled up at him “After this works i'll be back fully then” he pressed a kiss to your forehead “I'll be back soon”

—---------

You walked softly down the hall towards the room where Dean had showed you was his. You started to knock on the door but just walked in instead. He was sitting on the edge of the bed and glanced up when you walked in “It could kill you” “It's my life to risk. Dean I love you but a Winchester with a demon? That'll never work. I need to be me again fully. I want your support but if we really want another chance these?” You let your eyes slip then added “They gotta go”

He nodded then held out his hand to pull you closer. You were standing between his legs and he had his hands resting on your thighs “I need to tell you something” you leaned down to press a gentle kiss to his lips “I think I know”

He looked up into your eyes and damn he had tears in his. “They didn't mean anything. I just missed you so damn much” you nodded, feeling your own eyes tear up before admitting “I wasn't exactly a nun Dean” he flinched slightly “As long as it wasn't Crowley I'm good sweetheart” You laughed and shook your head “No Crowley” 

He pulled you forward causing you to have to climb into his lap to keep from losing your balance. He moved back further in the bed then looked up at you “You don't know how amazing it is to have you in my arms. I don't mean to be an ass about this cure but I've lost you once and it nearly killed me” you rested your head over in the bend of his neck and placed a kiss on his pulse “Then be with me for the cure. Hold me. If it goes south at least we get a goodbye this time”

 

The armory of the bunker had been cleared out. There was a devil's trap painted on the floor and Sam had made a decent looking pallet of blankets. When you questioned it he'd shrugged “It takes hours and you've got to be in it the whole time” 

You nodded then smiled “Thanks Sam” you looked back at Dean who grabbed your hand “C'mon sweetheart..I'm with you”

—-------

Dean was scared. He had just gotten you back and now he was holding you in his arms while you were washed down in sweat, your entire body shivering with every breath you took.

You slowly opened your eyes and looked up at him from where you lay in his lap “I'm ok Dean. I'm ok” he smiled despite the thoughts in his head “I know sweetheart. I know”

—---------

“Last shot” Sam announced, injecting you with the final vial. You inhaled sharply, curling into Dean. “Fuck it hurts” you whined and he rubbed your back soothingly “Just breathe baby. Breathe”

You weren't sure if hours or minutes passed before the shivering and pain stopped. You slowly looked up at Dean who pushed your sweat soaked hair back from your face. “How are you feeling?” “Tired” you whispered and he nodded to Sam “Give me the vial”

Sam held out the holy water and Dean looked to you for permission. You held out your wrist, bracing for pain but this time there was no burning or pain. The holy water was just wet. 

“It worked” you breathed before laying heavily on Dean “Will you help me shower then take a nap with me?” He laughed lightly “I'll do anything you want me to”

You were laying in bed, curled up against Dean's chest. It'd taken you a day or two to convince him you were healed up from the cure but when you finally did it was like no time had passed. You'd stayed wrapped up in each other for hours, relearning every inch of every curve of each other's body. 

“How the hell did I get this lucky?” Dean asked and you smiled sleepily up at him “Someone somewhere must like you Winchester”

He caught your lips in a kiss before pulling away. “Come back” you whined but he laughed as he reached into the table next to his bed. When he turned back you saw he had something in his hand. He uncurled his fingers so you could see the silver ring sitting in the palm of his hand “Can this go back where it belongs?” 

“I can't believe you still have that” you whispered in shock before holding up your left hand “Please” he slipped it onto you then kissed your finger “I love you” “I love you”

He grabbed you by the hips and pulled you over on top of him. You straddled his hips and smiled at him “You don't know how much I've missed you” you leaned down to kiss him but before your lips could touch Sam knocked on the door and hollered “Can you two come to the library?” 

You looked back at the door then down at Dean “He still has shit timing doesn't he?” He laughed then flipped the two of you over so he was on top of you “Don't worry. We'll see what he wants then come back to bed”

You walked into the library with Dean's arm around your waist. Sam sat at the table with a large wooden crate right in front of him.

You raised an eyebrow “What ya got Sammy?” He motioned “It's yours” Dean walked closer to it with you and you saw an envelope with your name. You picked it up and it simply read “So it turns out you weren't the only one to get another shot. Figured she belongs with you” 

You looked at Dean who'd read the note with you. He shrugged then walked to the crate. He cautiously pried the top off then looked in and a laugh fell out of him “C'mere baby” you walked over and looked in. A German Shepard puppy sat inside and the moment you popped your head in she sat up and barked, you cut your eyes at Dean who shrugged before looking at the puppy “Juliette?”

She barked again and you couldn't help but laugh as he leaned over and picked her up then held her out to you “Looks like she found her way back to you” You took her in your arms then he slipped his arms around you both, scratching Juliette’s head.

“I found my way back to you so stranger has happened” Dean placed a kiss on your cheek “We're together that's what matters, even if we now have a puppy” Juliette barked again and he laughed “Yeah yeah yeah. I hear ya” 

@starkleila @lacilou @suckitands33 @lyarr24 @decadentstrangernacho @nix-rose @irgendwas122 @deans-baby-momma @deans-spinster-witch @tas898

[jahayla-parker]

Black & White : Peter Paker x Reader Series

Part 5

For full warnings, descriptions, and other parts, see series masterlist here.

Peter’s racing adrenaline vanished instantaneously upon arriving at the bridge Venom told him to meet at. Venom was at the highest point of the bridge and had y/n wrapped in his arms, his hand pressed tightly to her throat as she tried to escape. “Y/n,” Peter whispered breathily as he looked at her terrified eyes.

“Seem familiar?” Venom taunted. His sharp teeth glowed with the light from the cars on the bridge under them. “You failed to protect your loved ones, yet again,” he pointed out sharply. Venom had been able to learn Peter’s darkest secrets, memories, and fears when he’d bonded with him not too long ago. As such, he knew exactly where to strike.

Peter swallowed thickly as he tried to focus on y/n and not on the ongoing taunts from Venom. “Let y/n go,” he stated firmly. “She’s got nothing to do with this, you and I can handle this without involving her,” Peter proposed, his heart fluttering when y/n shook her head with a stare of disagreement.

“Eddie,” y/n pleaded, her voice cracking due to the pressure on her neck. “This isn’t you,” she told Venom. “Please, fight back against the symbiote, you’re better than this”.

Venom tightened the grip on y/n’s throat. “Shut up you miserable wimp,” he seethed. He flashed his sharp teeth at her as she fought to breathe.

“Stop!” Peter screamed as he webbed himself closer to Venom and y/n. “Come on, Eddie! Make him leave y/n out of this!” He breathed heavily as his worried eyes scanned y/n’s throat to see if the villain had lessened his grip yet. “You know she doesn’t need to be a part of this,” he continued, slightly relieved as venom’s grip loosened ever so slightly.

“She’s already a part of this!” Eddie’s voice bellowed out. Due to his focus shifting, Venom’s eyes moved from Peter to y/n. “She became a part of this when she was foolish enough to choose you instead of me!” Eddie explained, gaze snapping back to Peter.

“W-what?” Y/n choked out, still squirming in Venom’s unrelenting grip. “Eddie, we’re friends, I’m sorry-,” she coughed and twisted her neck to try and get more room to breathe and talk. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea, but, we can still be friends, Eddie you don’t have to-“.

“Yeah, Eddie, you can be her friend,” Venom chuckled darkly. “Meanwhile, the guy who puts her in danger, gets to be her boyfriend”. His wide grin taunted Peter as he continued. “Doesn’t that sound good? Not a consolation prize at all, huh?” He asked sarcastically. “I think we can do better, don’t you Eddie? Offer y/n someone better than a weak man who puts her life at risk?”

Y/n tried to elbow Venom in hopes it would get him to let go. She felt her elbow slam into venom’s abdomen only for his grip to adjust to trap her arms instead. She groaned and thrashed in his arms in frustration. “Peter, ignore him! Urmmm…. Them?”

“Now, now,” Venom tsked. His voice shifted to Eddie’s as the creature turned to face y/n again. “Y/n, I can take care of you,” he promised, face getting closer to hers.

Y/n wriggled in an attempt to increase the distance between her and Eddie/Venom. “Please, don’t-,” she whimpered. She saw Peter move to come to her defense, only for Venom to give him a warning look as a reminder that he could very easily take her life right then and there if Peter approached.

“Once Peter’s out of the way, we’ll take very good care of you,” the creature said, a voice that was beat described as a blend between Venom’s and Eddie’s. He closed the distance between him and y/n, his long slimey tongue trailing upwards from her left jaw to her forehead. He glared at her as she began to cry and dry heave while holding a hand over her mouth.

Peter decided the time for negotiations was over. There was no more trying to talk Eddie/Venom down. He shot a web out and attached it to Venom’s face, instantly tugging on the thread to jerk it away from y/n. “Y/n, run!” Peter orders when the attack made Venom loosen his grip on her.

Y/n anxiously moved along the thin metal bar at the top of the bridge. She didn’t want to look down, but she had to in order to know where to step. But seeing the clueless drivers in the massive amount of cars several hundred feet under her made her hands shake. She steeled herself and cautiously but quickly moved further away along the beam to distance herself as Peter advised.

Peter and Venom exchanged a multitude of equally intense blows. Neither one truly had the upper hand. But for now, Peter didn’t really care to. He just needed to find a way to get y/n out of here, then he could worry went how to defeat Venom.

Venom, having picked up the skill when previously bonded with Peter/Spider-Man, shot his own version of webs out, towards y/n. He rolled his slanted eyes as y/n screamed in shock as he pulled her back to him. He groaned when Peter struck him repeated as he tried to get a grip on the resisting girl.

Venom quickly grew frustrated with his initial plan. As such, he decided to discard of it. Literally. He unwebbed y/n’s frame and promptly shoved her sideways, off the beam and off the bridge towards the water beneath. He grinned viciously and lunged towards a wide-eyed Peter.

Peter ignored the fact that venom was charging at him. He spun to the side and threw himself off the bridge, towards y/n. His breath was knocked from his lungs as he hurled through the air, arms out as he tried to reach for her. Once he caught hold of her wrist, he tugged y/n’s arm towards him and shot a web at the base of the bridge to keep them from hitting the water.

Peter’s feet skidded along the top of the waves as he tugged y/n to his chest, his web preventing them from plunging into the freezing lake. He shot a secondary web and only once he was sure he had a good grip on it did he let go of the initial one. Using the latest, shorter, web, Peter pulled them up through the air, slightly at an angle as he guided them to the base of the supporting beam of the bridge beside the lake.

Y/n panted as her feet unsteadily hit solid ground. She felt Peter’s arms holding her upright as she fixed her footing. She grabbed onto his biceps as she stared at him, her eyes displaying not only her fear but her simultaneous relief and appreciation. She wanted to thank him, but couldn’t form any words.

Peter had kicked up dirt around them as he landed them safely on the shore. He tore off his mask, unable to see y/n properly due to the dirt covering his eye slits. He needed to know if she was okay. His eyes frantically scanned y/n’s appearance for any signs of injury. “Are you okay?” He rushed out frantically as his hands roamed her body. “Did Venom hurt you?”

Y/n shook her head. “No,” She whispered, taking a deep breath. “I’m okay,” she promised, moving one hand from Peter’s bicep up to his cheek. “Are you?” Y/n questioned, her eyes searching his face since it was all that was currently visible to her.

Peter went to reassure y/n that he was fine when he noticed a shift in her eyes and expression.

“Shit,” y/n sighed, her thumb tracing Peter’s skin just underneath the deep scratch on his jawline. “Peter,” she practically whimpered as both of her hands roamed his face as she looked at how battered up he was from the fight. “You’ve got to be more careful, please, I hate seeing you hurt, I mean, look your cheek is all red, I know you’re trying, but look, your nose is bleeding, and your lip is split, and, oh my gosh, you-,” she rambled lovingly.

Peter stared at y/n in admiration and disbelief. He’d just had to save her from falling to her death because of a villain wanting to hurt him, and here she was worrying about him. He listened as she continued to ramble on over the tiniest of injuries he’d suffered. Peter closed his eyes and leaned forward, deciding to cut y/n’s worries off with a kiss.

Y/n nearly stumbled backwards in shock. But, she quickly regained her senses and reciprocated Peter’s kiss. Her hands went up to cup his face, her lips moving in sync with his as she leaned into him.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for awhile,” Peter confessed bashfully, a small chuckle following his admission. He knew his cheeks were flushed and likely had the world’s cheesiest grins, but he couldn’t care less. “It .. uhh, it just felt like the right time now… I… I didn’t know how to stop your rambling,” he explained shyly.

“While it doesn’t change me being worried about you,” y/n scolded lightly, resting her forehead against Peter’s. “I’m not complaining about the solution you came up with,” she grinned with a wink.

Peter chuckled and tenderly squeezed y/n’s hips briefly. He sighed as he stared into her eyes. “I ought to get back,” he informed her, tilting his head towards and to the side- towards Eddie/Venom. “Stay here, please,” he begged, “you’re safe here”.

Y/n nodded reluctantly, worried for Peter’s safety. She quickly pulled his face back to hers and gave him a supportive kiss. “Go get ‘em, Tiger!” She encouraged, softly guiding Peter towards the bridge.

“How did you do that?” Y/n asked Peter as he held her to his side. She’d tried to watch as much of his fight with Venom as she could. But her view was somewhat restricted from her position and she knew Peter would’ve been upset if she’d moved to see better.

Peter hummed as he tightened his grip on y/n as he walked beside her. “The same way I separated him from me,” he explained quietly since the two of them were headed home and he had taken off his suit earlier -after the police had dismissed him-. “You’re safe now,” he said, echoing the promise he’d made countless times already this evening after he’d trapped the symbiote again.

“I know, Peter,” y/n cooed, leaning into Peter’s embrace. “I was just curious as to how it all went down,” she explained. “Speaking of,” she added, squeezing his side as she hugged his torso from the side, “I’m patching you up the moment we get to the apartment complex”.

Peter chuckled and crooked his neck towards to kiss the top of y/n’s head. “I know, sweetheart,” he whispered sweetly, having heard her declaration as soon as she’d seen the impacts of the battle when he’d returned to her side earlier. “I’m all yours, do whatever you need to do to feel better,” he replied, thumb stroking her far hip.

Y/n hummed in acceptance. It was something that as much as she didn’t want it to be a reality, was a solution they’d once again indirectly settled on. If Peter was going to do his vigilante work, y/n was going to patch him up after so she felt she was doing something to keep him safe; even if after the fact. She had a feeling this was going to be the norm for them from now on. And, as long as it meant she had Peter, she’d take it; any day.

“I’m proud of you,” y/n informed Peter as he held the door to their building open for her. When she saw his confusion, she smiled warmly and took his hand on hers. “You handled it all really well,” she complimented. “Thank you for trying to not hurt Eddie,” she whispered hesitantly.

Peter smiled softly and squeezed y/n’s hand. His cheeks were red over her compliments. “Course,” he nodded, “he’s your friend”.

Y/n nodded. “And that’s all, I promise,” she said, wanting Peter to know that whatever feelings Eddie had for her were one sided. She sighed in relief when Peter smiled more and nodded in signal that he already knew that information. “Hey, uh…,” she mumbled as they made it to their floor, “what’s going to happen to him?”

“Police made it seem like he’d be institutionalized,” Peter explained with slight hesitation, uncertain how y/n would take the news. Relief hit him when she seemed satisfied with the outcome. He leaned over and kissed her temple as they reached their doorways. “Mine or yours?” Peter asked.

Y/n giggled breathlessly as Peter -in his Spider-Man suit- picked her up and held her up to the fire escape of a random building a few streets away from the diner she’d just finished her shift at. She let him guide her up the fire escape and onto the roof. While she knew he didn’t need it, she offered her hand to Peter once she was standing. Y/n smiled as he took her hand and pulled himself past the last step and over the edge of the roof.

Y/n beamed as Peter removed his mask and pulled her to him. She pressed one hand to his chest, her palm right over his Spider-Man emblem, and the other held his cheek. “How is patrol so far?” She asked supportively.

This was a routine for the couple. Wherever y/n worked late at the diner, Peter would start his patrol an hour or so before she was scheduled to get off. He always made sure he was at the diner when her shift ended. From there, he’d walk with her, from above that is as to keep anyone from questioning their connection, until they reached a safe distance away. Then, he’d guide her to a rooftop where he could safely remove his mask and they could spend some brief quality time together before he resumed patrol and she went home to study.

It had taken Peter some time to get comfortable with y/n’s position in his life; given that Venom had essentially confirmed his fear over such things. But, after several long, deep, and emotional conversations over the last few nights, he had calmed. He still -of course- took as many precautions as possible. But the fear no longer ruled his life.

Peter’s cheeks were extremely flushed as he broke up his and y/n’s light make out session. He hadn’t wanted to, but he needed to catch his breath. It was ironic, really. He could patrol all night without getting slightly out of breath. But, the feeling of y/n’s lips on his, and Peter was instantaneously breathless.

Peter chuckled at himself bashfully. “I really like kissing you,” he admitted in a hushed voice.

Y/n bit her bottom lip as she grinned widely. “That’s good,” she hummed, peering into Peter’s eyes. “Because, I really like kissing you too,” she smirked, leaning in for another kiss.

Y/n was the one to pull away this time, resting her head on Peter’s chest as she snuggled into his comforting embrace. “Are we trying it tonight?” She asked, slightly anxious.

Last night, when y/n’s eyes were so heavy she was teasingly told Peter he might have to carry her the rest of the way home, Peter had offered to see if she could handle him swinging her through the city.

“If you want,” Peter nodded, his gloved hand playing with y/n’s hair. “There’s no pressure, we can always do it another time,” he offered. “Or never, it’s your call babe,” he encouraged, “if you’re wanting to, we can wherever you’re ready”.

Y/n leaned back, lifting her head off Peter’s chest. She gazed up at him with a timid smile. “I’m as ready as I’ll ever be,” she stated with a nervous giggle. She practically melted as Peter tenderly cupped her face as he scanned her eyes to see if she was trying to cover up other emotions.

“Alright,” Peter hummed, lowering his hands from y/n’s face. He smiled at her and guided her closer to him as he walked to the edge of the roof. He wrapped an arm around her waist and securely held her to his side. “Hold on tight, okay?”

Y/n nodded and wrapped her arms around Peter’s neck. She felt Peter’s grip on her lower back increase and pin her to his side. When he looked down at her in question, she nodded again and tucked her head into the crook of his neck.

Peter lifted his gaze back up and held his free hand out, aiming for the building across the street that was slightly taller than the one they were on currently. He double-checked that his hold on y/n was secure before he shot his web across the street. “Here we go,” he warned just before their feet left the ground.

Peter chuckled in relief as he stopped trying to analyze y/n’s feelings over having swung with him the whole way back to her apartment. He’d been worried about how she was holding up as she hadn’t said much during the trip. He tried to check in along the way, but only got one weird responses back. However, once they were inside her apartment and her feet were steadily on the ground again, she was smiling widely at him.

“That was so fun,” y/n said, her voice a bit breathy. She giggled shyly as she bit her bottom lip.

“Yeah?” Peter questioned, stroking y/n’s cheek with his gloved thumb.

Y/n nodded rapidly a the adrenaline continued to surge through her. “I much prefer this mode of transportation to get home from work than taking the subway,” she commented with a laugh. “Especially this late”.

Peter beamed proudly. He placed his hands on y/n’s hips and pulled her to him. His grin grew as she buried her head into his chest. Once he sensed her heartbeat had returned to its normal cadence, he squeezed her waist. “I think I can arrange that”.

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[dr3amscap3]

Hello! if you're accepting requests can you do one where we die in their arms 😗🥲 (you can choose which characters cuz I'm indecisive af-)

before I go- Thank you for taking time out of your day to make these awesome fics for us 😊❤️ stay hydrated, eat properly and stay safe ❤️✨

My requests were actually closed but I wanted to make this so here ya go Anon! Thank you for the lovely message by the way! You’re so sweet! Also there will be a tad bit of book 6 and book 5 spoilers on both Vil and Rook’s part but other than that I believe the rest is spoiler free!

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐒

-Drabbles

-Riddle, Cater, Jade, Floyd, Vil, Rook & Sebek

-Summary: He always expected to live without you at some point, he just never expected it to be so soon.

-Warning: Angst, Mentions of death, Blood, [Gunshots, Guns, & Suicide](Mainly on Sebek's part)

-Word Count: 2.2k

𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐋𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐄𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒

"Hey... stay with me now..." Riddle whispered as he held you in his arms. "My sweet Rose please stay with me now..." Riddle begged as he held your body closer to him. "Please... I can't lose you, please..." If he had protected you as he promised, if he had gotten there just in time, if he had just been here with you, this wouldn't have happened! "Please I can't do this without you... I need you (Name)... I need you, so please... don't go..." His pleas for you to stay alive broke your heart. "Oh, my sweet Riddle... you can do it... I know you can... graduate for me alright? You've got it from here..." Such a sorrowful end to this love story. Yet the two were never meant to be, for the one he loved didn't belong in this world. They never did and never will belong in the world that is Twisted Wonderland. Yet... maybe the sevens were too cruel to the Rosehearts boy. Hearing the sobs of the Heartslabyul Housewarden broke the hearts of many, and his cries will continue to shatter those whom he calls his friends.

"You said I've got it from here but I don't! I can't do this without you... please... come back! I followed the rules, didn't I? So why am I the only one who doesn't get a happy ending?"

𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐈𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃

"Hey...(Name)... you promised we would do this together... us against the world right?" "So please... don't leave me (Name)." Cater pleaded as he sobbed in the crook of your neck. "You said you wouldn't leave me like the rest!" Cater's salty tears dripped onto your face, mixing with your tears. "I'm scared Cater... I don't want to die..." You admitted, gripping his uniform weakly. "I know... I know... I'm here... It's okay... just focus on me... you aren't going to die I promise..." Cater reassured, more to reassure himself than you. "Hey... Cater..." You whispered grabbing his attention quickly. He nodded, alerting you that you have his attention. "Live for me... please..." "Heh... such a beautiful place it is, to be with friends. I'm happy to be with my greatest love... Cater Diamond..." You gazed into his eyes one last time before you breathed your last. "(Name)...(NAME)! Wake up! No! No! NO!" Cater screamed, trying to shake your body awake. "Don't go... please... don't go..." Cater pleaded, rocking your body back and forth. "I'm sorry Cater... I never meant for this to happen." Riddle apologized, walking towards Cater cautiously. "You liar! Look at what you've done!" Cater shouted, holding you protectively in his arms. As a card soldier he should not be one to defy the queen, yet he never truly saw Riddle as the ruler of Heartslabyul. He wanted to hate the red-haired tyrant but he couldn't... perhaps it was because you wouldn't have wanted him to. Yet he still cries for you, but he learns to live for you... it's all for you.

"Tell me (Name)... did my love reach you?"

𝐉𝐀��𝐄 𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇

"You weren't supposed to be here, you were supposed to run away and get help from the stupid headmaster!" Jade scolded, yet tears streamed down his face as he hugged you oh so tightly. "I'm not going to lose you too, so stay with me, just until the nurses come, please..." Jade's voice cracked, his voice held so much pain and sorrow, as if he went through this before. "Hey... Jade... smile for me please... I don't want the last image of you I see is of you crying your eyes out... so smile for me. Please...?" You asked, tears in your own eyes as well. He gave you a strained smile yet his face was still painted in tears. "I don't want you to remember me like this. When I die, all I want is for you to remember me with a smile..." You continued you on, lifting up a shaky hand and wiped away his stray tears. "Go easy on Azul... okay Jade? I don't want you to blame him for something that he cannot control." You whispered. "And before I go... I love you Jade..." Your eyes that Jade once loved oh so much dulled. "No... please... I already lost my brother to Azul I can't lose you too... please..." Jade cried in the crook of your neck. Yet in some twisted way he will remember you with a smile on your face, for you died smiling.

"If I could tell you, tell you everything I see. If I could tell you how you were everything to me, but we’re a million worlds apart, and you were so cruel that you didn't get me a chance to say 'I love you'..."

𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐘𝐃 𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐂𝐇

What's happening...? You both were just laughing a while ago. So what... happened? Why are you bleeding out in his arms? Why does his face feel wet? He shouldn't cry, for he has no right to cry. "(Name)... you'll be alright, right?" Hearing him speak your actual name felt foreign yet so familiar to your heart that he hurt so much. Your relationship with him was most definitely not a happy one, yet somehow it still hurt your heart as you saw his tears fall. Perhaps all you could do is lie, lie until his brother comes to pull him away from your corpse. "I'll be fine Floyd... I promise that I'll be fine..." You whispered, cupping his face in your hands. Perhaps you could pretend that your relationship with the moray was indeed a happy one. Perhaps for a little longer you could pretend that you would be alright. As your hands fell limp from his face he remembers... he remembers your tears, your daily arguments with him, the fear in your eyes... he remembers it all. "I'm sorry... I'll be better... (Name) please... I'm sorry..." They say one never truly appreciates something until it's gone... he just never expected to lose you so soon... "I treated you so badly... I don't deserve to sing this requiem... so I will sing no requiem tonight..."

𝐕𝐈𝐋 𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐄𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐓

"Why... didn't you run away (Name)?" Vil asked, gently rocking your body back and forth as you continued to bleed out in his arms. "You were supposed to leave it to them (Name)... It wasn't supposed to-- it wasn't supposed to be like this." Perhaps for a spilt second, the beautiful tyrant broke composure. "I didn't mean for it to be like this, I didn't mean to hurt you (Name)..." Vil continued, running his fingers through your hair repeatedly. "I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I didn't mean to. I'm so sorry." His shoulders shook hard, perhaps he wasn't trying to seem strong in front of you anymore, perhaps he'll finally fall and break into shambles. No matter how many roles he played this role was one he hated the most, for he played a role in your upcoming death. He had blood on his hands. He always wanted to play the hero of the story, yet he ended up being the villain through and through. Even those he loved shall see him as the villain he truly is. Ugly, he felt so ugly. How dare he show his darling such an ugly side of him, how dare he be the one to hurt them. "I'm sorry (Name) I'm so sorry..." Vil finally let out a painful sob as he held you closer to him. "Don't go, please don't go..." Vil begged, his tears falling onto your face. "My sweet queen, don't apologize." You whispered as his hold on you tightened. "It's ok... It's not your fault Vil... you couldn't control it..." You spoke as your vision started to darken. "Hey, Vil... it's getting so dark... I can't see you anymore..." You whispered as Vil let out a choked sob. "I'm here my love, I'm here... .you're okay, you'll be okay," Vil whispered, his lips trembling with each word he stuttered out. "I wanna rest Vil... but I'm scared... will you be here when I wake up...?" You asked weakly as you heard ringing in your ears and the world became darker than it already was. "Yes... of course I will... I'll always be here when you wake up..." Vil's tears fell on your face as you said your last words-- "I'm glad... I love you... Vil..." What a sweet yet sorrowful to die, your lover's arms being your final resting place. He blamed himself, for he, as a villain was the reason for your death. He wished you didn't have to see him cry in your final moments, but even villains break and shatter. "I'm sorry (Name)... please... wake up... I don't want to live without you..."

𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐇𝐔𝐍𝐓

He was used to the topic of death, but why was he crying as he held your body in his arms? He always thought death was such a beautiful thing, yet why... why did this hurt so much?  Why did your death feel like such an ugly thing to witness. He always thought he'd get to spend more time with you, he never expected time to be so cruel. "My sweet, sweet, trickster... hang on now... I'll go get some help okay?" Rook spoke in a shaky tone,  his eyes holding fear and sorrow. "You don't need to get help... Rook you and I both know that there isn't saving me..." You whispered out, coughing up blood. "Don't say that!" Rook protested, tears pricking from his eyes. "Just please... stay alive a little longer... please..." He finally let the tears fall, he's done being strong, for what's the use of being strong when there is no one to be strong for? "I thought you stopped crying so much after you moved to Pomefiore? But... you've come of age with our young nation and I am so proud of you my love..." You whispered, wiping away his tears, causing him to stifle a sob. "You've grown so much since you left Savanaclaw and I am so proud of how far you've come since then... keep growing okay...? I love you so much..." The hand you used to wipe his tears fell limp. He looked up to the sky, lip trembling in sorrow, he cried, perhaps if you were still alive you would be disappointed at how hard he was crying. But he'll cry until he can cry no more. When one sees him at the funeral they won't see him cry, for he's done crying, he's cried all he could.

"Je t'aime, mon amour... au revoir..."

𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐄𝐊 𝐙𝐈𝐆𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐓

He should've been concerned with how curious you were with death, he should've been concerned whenever you had your episodes, he should've been concerned when your happiness seemed to wither as the days went by, he should've been concerned when you seemed happy the days leading up to today. He should've been concerned, yet he brushed it off, saying how it was normal for humans to act like this. Perhaps he regrets it now, as you lay in his arms bleeding out from a gunshot wound you inflicted on yourself. He should've held you closer to him, he shouldn't have let you slip away. He should've loved you more, he should've asked what was wrong. He can't say a word, he's in shock, he can't believe it, he won't believe it. "You're going to be fine! Okay?!" Sebek finally blurts out as he tries putting pressure on the wound. He lies to himself that you'll be fine, but the amount of blood pooling under you says otherwise. "I'm sorry..." You whispered, you then closed your eyes. Perhaps all you wanted was to leave him with a single apology, an apology for everything. "No, no, no, no! Wake up! Wake up!" Sebek begs, gently shaking your body. He lets out painful scream as he holds you to his chest, his tears freely cascading down his face. It was his fault, and he had to pay the price by losing his you, his precious darling.

"It's all my fault... I'm sorry... please... come back..."

WOOOOOO DONE!

AHAHAHAHA I CAN SLEEP PEACEFULLY NOW!

Tags: @raix-lv @deimospheres @kitsuwolfy  @blankescapades @luxaryllis-primaryacc @kalims @hisjinny 

[pinkjeanist]

- KINKTOBER DAY 5. PUBLIC SEX, WITH SHIGARAKI

➢ I don't think I can repent for this one. sorry, Jee Jee. [kinktober] [navigation]

➢ content/warnings: major noncon, under the influence (of alcohol), exhibitionism, shiggy is fucking PACKING, public sex, nonconsensual recording

He'd been watching you all night.

You'd tucked yourself into a corner of a dim, crowded room right after you arrived at the party with your friends, intent on staying put until they came back. But it was close to midnight, three hours after you'd gotten there, and you hadn't seen them since. So you sipped on your cheap beer and waited some more. It was that or walk home, which was the last thing on your mind, since home was a thirty minute drive away.

So you stayed in your little corner, wary of that hooded, creepy dude watching you from afar. Just as lonely, but with much more intent.

The beer was cheap, but it was definitely doing something to you. You were at one of those parties where people got drunk and ground on each other until they either passed out or left, and the couple on the couch not too far away was doing a lot more than that. The room was dark and awfully loud, but you were pretty sure he was fingering her while she tugged him. Had you not been drunk, it would have weirded you out. Now it just made you horny.

But you weren't about to look for a fuckbuddy while you were drunk, especially if you had plans on walking home or catching a ride. You set your beer down and headed for the bathroom before your tipsiness gave you any ideas.

The house was only one floor with two bathrooms, connected to the bedroom (which you weren't even going to bother going there), and another down the hall outside of the living room. You squeezed passed the crowds of people and kicked aside beer cans until you found it.

You twisted the knob. Locked.

Lovely.

To make your life more miserable, now that you were at the bathroom, you actually kinda needed to pee. So you stood in front of the door, arms crossed, staring at it and daring it to open.

Then, you felt a breath on your neck from behind. For some reason, you didn't will yourself to turn around. You somehow already knew who it was.

His hands came to rest on your hips, toying at the hem of your skirt as his pelvis pressed into your back. You elbowed back at him but he didn't budge.

"What the fuck, man?" You spat, getting a raspy laugh in reply.

"Those two on the couch were pretty hot, huh?" He breathed. He pressed harder into you. You felt his erection through the layers of fabric. Again you tried to elbow him, then half-heartedly break away from his hold, but he kept you still, facing the door. "Did it make you wet?"

"Fuck no, you pervert."

Yes, yes it did. Which was probably why you weren't moving. You could snap this guy's arm like a twig, or at the very least scream and get away, but you remained there, letting him grind his dick into your ass like some sort of animal. You wanted to blame the alcohol. You really did. But you'd only had one drink, and even the wasted version of you would know better.

You felt his finger rub at you through your panties, feeling the wetness that had soaked through. You grimaced.

"Liar," He rasped. "I can take care of that, though."

Lifting up your skirt, he took your panties and dropped them around your ankles, then nudging you forward until your hands were pressed against the wall. You began to panic, looking around to see a couple guys watching the stranger behind you undo his pants.

You could scream. You could run. A stranger was about to fuck you in the middle of a party, and for some twisted reason, you were gonna let it happen.

The tip of his cock didn't so much as tease your cunt before he was pushing in. You gasped and fell forward into the door at the painful intrusion. He was small, but his cock was big- long enough to nudge against your cervix with every shallow thrust and thick enough to make your mouth fall open as he stretched you open.

"Fuck," He swore under his breath, "You really are a slut, aren't you?"

He gave a firm slap to your ass before you could bite back, thrusting harder into you. You groaned at the painful stretch. You could feel your pussy dripping all over his cock, and even through the pain, it felt good. He was definitely not the best guy you ever had (he fucked like an overexcited virgin) but his cock was making your head spin. You looked over to see those two guys recording you, now, and while your mind was telling you to run, your pussy only sucked his cock in deeper, eager for more.

He fucked you hard enough that the sound of skin slapping together got the attention of everyone around. You held yourself up on shaking legs as you started to hear cheers and whistles, the phone lights blinding you as more recorded and stared. Your chest was drawn tight with panic. But the pain started to subside until all you felt was his fat cock ramming into you, and all you heard were perverted men cheering him on like it was a sports game.

Moans started forming in your throat, torn out of you with each thrust and each jeer from the crowd around you. Your cunt was practically drooling for him and wetting each slap of his balls against you until you were squelching for him. He was panting behind you, his thrusts becoming more shallow and frenzied, and the cheers picked up as he prepared to finish.

He reached under you to rub furiously at your clit. "You better come with me, slut."

You let out a broken moan in reply. You were close already. He was bending over you now, panting and groaning into your neck as he assaulted your greedy hole and puffy clit, his snapping into you faster and faster until you felt like a bitch in heat in the wild.

"I'm gonna cum," he moaned, and you moaned back. You were right there, spurred on by the attention around you, your wetness dripping down your legs as he plowed into you. You felt the coil in your snap when he groaned into your ear, "Cum on me like a whore you are."

Your whole body stilled before a tremor shook your whole being. Your cunt spasmed around him, drenching him in your wetness and earning a thundering of hollers and cheers. he spilled into you not a second later, hips snapping weakly into you before stilling and pressing all of his seed into what felt like your guts.

The lights dissipated, followed by a crowd of men shouting to be next to have you, but the stranger now holding up your limp body snapped back at them all. Your head spun in the aftermath. He slipped out of you and flipped your skirt back down, standing you upright and holding you against his chest.

His cum was spilling down your legs when the door opened to a scarred, tattooed man, a fog of weed smoke spilling out behind him. He looked you up and down, then at the man behind you.

He grinned. "Finally got lucky, huh? Fucking pervert."

[xmalfoyweasleyx]

Infuriating- D.M (smut)

Summary: Draco is mean to you, he always is. But it turned you on, it made you go crazy. What you didn’t know is that it was obvious. What you didn’t know is that Draco knew. And it made him want to destroy your innocence.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT!, cursing, innocence kink, dom!draco, choking, praising, daddy kink and slapping

A/n: I absolutely LOVE this! I love the story line behind all the filthy stuff lol.

Words: 2k

He was a git. He was mean to you the whole time, for years already. You never knew otherwise, you were used to it. He pushes you, he yells mean things like "silly Y/H" or "stupid little girl" or he humiliates you in front of everyone.

But it did something to you. Those mean words and actions, it made your stomach tingle. Something about it made you crave him, it made you want him.

It turned you on.

You didn't know what it was but every mean word, it did hurt your feelings, but it made you wet.

Yup, there was definitely something seriously wrong with you.

Even after what just had happened. You sat in potions, thinking about the event that took place only 10 minutes ago. He literally pushed you on the floor when you tried to walk in the classroom. "Get out of my way" he said while pushing you.

You fell, your head smacked on the cold floor. You were mad this time, so so so mad.

"Fucking Malfoy! You're... your'e.." you tried to come up with a word to describe it, but failed. The anger overtook your body but the familiar butterflies in your belly were there too. It confused you.

Okay, it's not rocket science, you're just in love with the stupid little douche. But why? That was the big question. He was horrible to you.

"Infuriating? Is that the word you're looking for darling?" he answered, adding a little wink in synchrony with the typical smirk. It made you gasp. Did he just wink? Did he just say darling?

It took you a while to obtain. And now you sat here, in potions. Still so confused. Did he want you to get bent out of shape?

You sighed looking at the Slytherin boy, his light hair perfectly styled, his eyes focusing on professor Snape, while writing with his oh so perfect hands. Oh what those hands could do to me, those long fingers...

Fucking hell, why couldn't you just feel those things for some nice boy, someone who didn't push you on the freaking floor!

"Miss y/n, is mister Malfoy here more important than my class?" you heard Snape who was standing right in front of you. Where did he come from?

The whole class looked at you. This was the most embarrassing thing ever. Your face got red immediately.

"I-I-I'm sorry, sir" you mumbled.

"You can write an essay for me as punishment y/n" Snape ordered.

"WHAT? Just because of not paying attention for a second?" you snapped. Snape furrowed his eyebrows.

"You'd like detention instead?" he warned.

"I just mean, this isn't fair sir!" you trembled.

Smart. He's so angry now. "Detention at 5" he sighed.

"Of course she couldn't take her eyes off me, what a pathetic slut" Draco suddenly screamed for the whole class.

God you once dreamt he said that to you while he was pounding into you, but you didn't want it here, not in front of the whole class. They all laughed. It was horrible and you wanted to cry.

"Detention for you too Malfoy" Snape added.

Malfoy gave him a glare, squeezing the parchment in front of him harshly, trying to control himself, to not punch the professor in the face.

He looked at you, your eyes met and he saw the tear falling down. You dried the tear as quickly as you could.

You swore you saw a glimpse of guilt in his eyes.

*

5 pm

You were scribbling faster than ever, deeply concentrating on your work, trying to end this detention as fast as you can.

And then you heard the door close. Fast footsteps, walking to the desk next to you. Before you could look, you already smelled him. A big wave of the expensive cologne filled up your nose.

He didn't look at you. He was obviously not happy to be here and glared at the parchment in front of him.

"You're still staring y/l/n, didn't learn your lesson?" he hissed.

You glanced away as fast as possible, not answering him.

It made you nervous. You fidgeted with your skirt while tapping the table with your other hand.

"Stop it!!" he snapped. It scared you to hell, it almost made you fell of your chair. You flinched while shutting your eyes.

"I'm sorry" he whispered.

Dit he just...

Apologize?

“Why do you always act like this? What did I do to you? Did I do something wrong in the past?” you asked, not knowing where the courage came from.

He stood up from his chair, walking towards yours. To your surprise, he sat down on your table, facing you with a dark look.

“God, you look terrified princess. What’s wrong? Normally you always watch me with that lust in your eyes, when I humiliate you” he whispered coming closer.

You gulped, horny and embarrassed at the sime time. So much was going on in your head right now. First of all, he called you princess, where did that suddenly come from? The nickname went straight to your pussy. Already wet, but that was nothing new with that boy in front of you.

And second, he saw that you were feeling those things? Was it that obvious?

“You.... y-you see it?” you asked not wanting to look in his eyes. You stared at the big clock on the wall. Out of the blue, he grabbed your face.

His fingers pressed on your cheeks when he turned your face to look at him.

“I even see it now” he chuckled while looking you in the eyes. He probably thought you were weird, that something was wrong with you.

What you didn’t know was that Draco knew it all this time. He noticed it the first time a year ago, when he yelled something (not very nice) at you.

He noticed how it made you angry but most of all he noticed how you always gasped for air and how you looked at him with thos doe eyes. Those innocent eyes that were practically begging him to fuck you, to destroy you.

That’s why he kept doing it. He almost got addicted to the way you kept looking at him like that. So he kept torturing you, humiliating you. But you didn’t know he knew, until now. He knew you must’ve thought he was just a git, an asshole. But the truth was he never wanted to hurt you, he was just addicted to the look in your eyes when he did.

The look you were giving him now.

“I know you want me” Draco admitted.

“I, I don’t know what you mean” you stuttered trying to sound convincing.

Draco stood up and stood behind your chair now. You breath hitched when you felt him breathing in your neck.

“Oh no?” he whispered in your ear from behind. His hands slowly made his way down your body, ending on your skirt, while he kissed your neck. He lifted you skirt up gently and pressed his fingers on your clothed pussy, making you gasp.

“Then why am I feeling al this wetness here?” he asked daringly, still rubbing you.

“I still don’t know what you mean” you added, playing the game with him.

“Oh, and what about me taking your panties off? Still don’t know now?” he asked while slowly pulling your panties down.

“N-no..” you breathed loudly.

Before you even realised he placed you on the table, his legs pressed in between yours. His lips smashed on yours and you pulled him closer, your legs wrapped around his pelvis.

The kiss was passionate, it was heaven. It made your stomach twist and spin.

You grabbed his hair and deepened the kiss, moaning in his mouth when he grabbed your ass.

“You have to be a good girl now” Draco whispered when sinking down on his knees. Was this really happening?

He placed kisses on your thighs, going closer and closer to the place you wanted him.

“Please Draco, please” you begged breathing heavily. “Patience princess, patience” he answered, pushing you down on the desk, making you lay down on it now.

He did a silencing spell and locked the door.

You moaned when you felt him kissing your clit gently. He opened his mouth and sucked. His soft lips felt beter than you imagined. “Draco” you moaned. He inserted a finger while still sucking and licking gently. Your legs where trembling and you took off your shirt while he added another finger, making you moan louder.

“Please Draco, fuck me” you hissed. Draco’s pants grew tighter, his erection now painful, he was finally going to do what he wanted to do for so long. Fuck you into oblivion.

But not just yet.

“You want me to fuck you baby? You want me to destroy you the way I like to do? Just like all those times I destroyed you but now for real, now while I fuck you?” he asked huskily, still pumping into you, while holding your legs down.

“Yes please, hurt me, hate me, do what you want but please fuck me” you begged, not even feeling ashamed of it any more.

You heard his belt clicking, giving you the sign it was happening. His dick finally faced you.

God he was big. You couldn’t wait any more and whined.

“Is my little slut a little desperate?” he grunted with a raspy voice.

You nodded eagerly. “Yes daddy” you said.

The name made him crazy, almost made him come there and then. Without a warning he slammed into you, making you scream.

He didn’t move, letting you adjust a little but not for long.

Draco grabbed you, pulling you close to him. He was still standing in front of you while you were sitting on the desk.

You bit your lip while moaning. “Daddy’s going to make you feel good, because you deserve it, because you’ve been a good girl, okay?” he whispered in your ear, while you placed wet kisses on his neck.

He started moving, making you gasp. You grabbed his back and he grabbed your ass, allowing him to move deeper and faster.

Your forehead was on his, looking straight into his dark lustful eyes. You scratched his back, while he squeezed your ass harshly.

“Oh yes Dray, feels so good” you moaned. “That’s not my name” he grunted. “Sorry daddy” you answered looking at him with doe eyes.

He grabbed your neck, his fingers fitted perfectly around it and he squeezed gently. It made you clench around him, making him move faster. A delicate moan left his mouth.

Draco felt euphoric, waves of pleasure and excitement going through his body. He slapped your cheek. Making you gasp but also a filthy moan escaped your lips.

God it made you so horny. The pain turned into pleasure and the only thing you could hear were the fast, slapping sounds and his grunts and moans, even the table under you moved with you. For a second you were scared the table might break.

Without thinking you slapped him back. He was shocked first but a little grunt escaped his mouth. “You like that don’t you? Little slut? Does that make you feel good princess?” he grunted in your ear, making shivers go down your spine. His pace quickened, faster and faster.

“Please daddy, can i come, please” you begged while grabbing his hair and tugging on it. The action made Draco almost come too. This was the hottest moment of his goddamn life.

But he didn’t want it, not yet.

“A little patience, love” he said while turning you around and now pounding into you from behind. You gasped in shock.

He pulled on your hear when you arched your back. Your back was pressed up against his chest now and he pounded into you in an unbelievable pace.

Your head rested on his shoulder while he kissed you neck again.

You tried to not fall by grabbing the desk in front of you. His fingers were digging in your hips, pushing you up and down, clearly leaving bruises.

“Fuck” he sighed in your ear. He saw your ass wiggling while he fucked you. He was close.

“Come for me you pathetic slut, show me how good you are, come for me baby” he grunted now louder. He grabbed your boobs and trusted deep and sloppy now, still trying to hold the fast pace.

That was it for you, and you let go, seeing stars. You screamed and moaned his name. “Fuck dray” you moaned, not even caring about the name anymore. You wanted to say his name, to show him he was making you feel this good.

Hearing you moan his name like that, feeling your pussy clench and your boobs resting in his hands, made him come immediately after you. A loud grunt left his mouth: “Fuck y/n” . You both breathed heavily.

“Good girl” he sighed while placing a gentle kiss on your shoulder

You both stayed like that for a moment, still trying to process what just happened. After a while he pulled out and cleaned you up. You both put your clothes back on.

“Y/n?” he asked with a sudden shyness.

“Yes?” you answered with a little smile on your face.

“Would you... like to go to Hogsmeade with me? This weekend” he stammered, making you smirk.

“Well, if you won’t push me on the floor anymore, or scream at me or humiliate me” you smiled jokingly.

“Oh I’m going to keep that for in the bedroom from now on, darling” he smiled back, adding a wink.

***

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

let me be your ruler.5

Warnings: guns, dubcon, noncon, fingering, treats.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Pairing: (dark!mob!) Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: You find more to worry about than just Peter.

Note: We get the long awaited update for mob Peter and I hope you like this twisted little chapter! Tomorrow Zemo and Wednesday the finale of Birch!Loki. I’ll try to keep up with Zemo and go back to an old series and try to pick away more at finish WIPs.

Hope you enjoy it. Thank you. Love you guys!

Please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Masterlist

Peter’s intensity did not let up. If anything, he grew more insistent and more suffocating. After the pool, there was the bed, then the shower, then another romp that kept you from logging into your work email. You were sore and drained by the time you laid down, too exhausted to try to wriggle away from him as he joined you and kept his arm over you as you drifted off.

You woke to him drinking coffee and looking out at the lush property. He wore only a pair of short boxers, his muscles lined perfectly along his bent arm and firm stomach. You let out a soft breath and rolled onto your back. 

Your thighs brushed together and made you squirm. You thought once he had his fun, he might let up. You could not predict this man in anything.

“You want a coffee?” he asked as he turned away from the windows, “I’ll send for one. Latte? Mocha?”

“Mmmph,” you grumbled and sat up carefully. 

Those cocktails went down too easy and added to the weight in your head and limbs. The alcohol made him bearable, made your new reality palatable. You were naked still. You held the sheet to your chest and he went to the dresser and pulled out the drawer with his free hand. He dangled the long camisole gown before you as he neared.

“I hate to cover such a pretty woman up but I think we’ve exposed my staff to enough of our fun,” he held the thin straps over a single finger.

You reached for it and he drew it just away from your grasp. He bent and his dark eyes clung to yours, “not a good morning kiss?” he taunted.

You leaned forward and pecked his lips. He purred and stood, draping the silk over your lap.

“So, coffee?” he asked again.

“With just a little milk,” you answered as you pulled on the nightgown and turned your legs over the edge of the bed. Every part of you was stiff, “thank you.”

“You’re learning, princess,” he praised, “such sweet manners.”

You stood and crossed your arms. He chuckled and nudged your chin with his knuckle playfully. He pulled on a robe and knotted it loosely around his body. He went to the door and hit the button right beside the frame. A knock came shortly and he handed over his empty mug and requested one for you.

“I was thinking, we’d extend our stay a while,” he said as he turned back to the room, “I need a break from the city… but if you’re good, I’ll let you invite your friends. They’re nice girls.”

“Is that a suggestion or an order?” you asked dully.

“Both,” he smirked at you as he came closer and wrapped his arms around you, “you’re starting to get it, princess.”

You searched his face and held back a sigh. His brown eyes were smokey as his hands slipped down to your ass.

“I’ll need them around to distract my guests,” he purred.

“Guests?” you turned your arms and planted them firmly against his chest as he bent to kiss your neck. He ignored you easily as he swayed you with him.

“I was woken up early by a call,” he spoke against your skin, his lips sending shivers through you, “we got today and tomorrow, then those two goons will be joining us. I can get away but…” he raised his head and ran his hands up your sides and along your arms, pulled them over his shoulders, “business is business… we can still fit in a little play.”

You stiffened and swallowed. Your brows furrowed and you slanted your lips as you looked past him.

“You mean Bucky?”

“And Steve,” he filled in, “you don’t get one without the other.”

“I thought you guys were all… sorted out,” you said quietly.

“Ah, princess, you don’t know the half of it,” he cooed, “let’s keep it that way. Better for everyone.”

You nodded. He was right, you knew whatever he did was unsavoury and you didn’t need the details. You knew what he was capable of. A flash of fear went through you as you recalled the barrel of his gun pointed at you.

“I don’t wanna do that again, princess,” he uttered as if he could read your mind, “so… let’s not. Give the girls a call.”

A tap came at the door and he parted. He opened it and took the mug from the servant and brought it to you. You took it as the scent promised to fend off the ache behind your eye. You sat in one of the upholstered chairs and took a cautious sip. He watched you with a grin and bit his lip.

“Better finish that fast,” he warned, “coffee stains don’t come easy.”

You eyed him as he pushed open his robe and you saw the bulge twitch in his boxers. You kept your face placid, not wanting to provoke him. What exactly were you holding onto? He already had your whole life in the palm of his hand.

✨

Halle was more than overjoyed to accept your invitation but Molly passed as she wanted to hang out with Charlie. Desiree said it would be good for her as her co-worker turned out to be a total waste of time. 

You hated that you were doing this to your own friends; using them as bait. Peter made it clear that they were welcome only on the condition that they could be an ends to his means. ‘Tell them to bring bikinis’, he insisted before you made the call.

Your second morning at the beach house was just as heavy as the first. The day before was filled with Peter’s incessant touching and another dip in the pool that ended in his delight. The staff was set to cleaning the pool once more in preparation of the guests. You were embarrassed as the servers, cleaners, and chef were all too aware of your activities.

Peter left you after a quick shower and you were thankful for the chance to wash on your own. He pecked your lips as he held his phone to his ear and squeezed your ass before he went. 

You stood beneath the steamy stream of the faucet and melted beneath it. You came out slightly refreshed and wrapped yourself in a plush towel.

You went into the bedroom and sorted through the second drawer as you searched for something more comfortable than showy. There wasn’t much you could categorize as practical. You heard the door creak and didn’t look up as droplets cooled on your arms and you pulled a yellow sun dress out of the closet instead.

“That’s a good colour for you,” the voice made you freeze and you glanced over at the open door. 

You assumed it was Peter or the wind, but the man who filled the doorframe with his thick shoulders, made your chest tight. Bucky stood with his arm against the wood as he leaned nonchalantly and leered at you.

“Wh-when did you get here?” you stuttered as you held your towel tight and shielded yourself with the dress.

“Just a couple minutes ago,” he smiled, “I was just looking for the bathroom but…” he tilted his head as his voice trailed off and his eyes ventured down your body, “...think I found something better.”

“Get out,” you hissed, “or I’ll shout.”

“Why? I’m not doing anything… just watching,” his lips curled lasciviously, “and you are fun to watch.”

“What-- I said, get out, Bucky,” you snarled as you stomped over to him.

You pushed on his thick arm, the muscle firm as it peeked out from beneath his short-sleeve button-up. He didn’t budge as he loomed over you.

“Your man likes to treat me like some errand boy. Sent me off to keep an eye on you. Boring, at first, all those months following you around to cafes and grocery stores,” he reached out and cradled your chin. You tried to pull away but he gripped your jaw firmly and held you in place, “but those things you do when you think you’re all alone… I was tempted to lend a hand but… business.”

“Don’t fucking touch me,” you grabbed his wrist and wrenched it away, “I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about--”

“That little pink dildo, well, not very little is it?” he licked his bottom lip, “I thought he would’ve told you. He’s a careful man. He plans ahead. I respect that, at least.”

“Go!” you shoved him in mortification, “or I’ll scream right now and you know Peter won’t be happy--”

“Calm down, little girl,” he scoffed, “don’t get so worked up. I’m not that stupid…” he squared his jaw and raised a brow wryly, “but he will get careless and I’ll still be watching.”

He winked and turned away slowly. You quickly closed the door as he retreated down the hallway and you locked it with a shaky hand. You staggered back blindly and sat heavily on the cushioned bench at the foot of the bed.

How long had Bucky been hounding you? How long had Peter had his eye on you? Your heart raced at the realisation of how deep in you truly were. You could deal with one, but two? You were well and truly fucked.

✨

You tried to hide in the bedroom until your friend arrived but Peter dragged you out to welcome his guests over breakfast by the pool. You sat quietly and picked at the fruit plate until they excused themselves for more business. You were grateful as you didn’t miss Bucky’s fleeting looks.

Halle and Desiree arrived just after noon. The men were locked away in the parlor so you greeted them as they approached the walk, beach bags on their arms and rolling suitcases bouncing up the stones.

“Oh my god, girl,” Halle chirped, “he sent a car and everything.”

“Thank god, my old piece of shit wouldn’t have made it this far,” Desiree added, “oh, you look so good. I love that dress.”

“Thanks,” you sniffed, “um, I hope you guys don’t mind staying on the second floor. Peter’s staff just got the rooms ready--”

“Staff?” Halle swooned, “you hooked in a real sugar daddy.”

“No, I-- Halle,” you sneered, “it’s not--”

“I’m teasing,” she giggled, “but come on, look at this place.”

“Mm, well there is another hitch,” you said as you led them inside.

Two staff members approached and offered to take their bags. They gave you silent looks of amazement as they handed over their luggage and you rolled your eyes.

“So, what’s the hitch? Don’t tell me the pools out of order,” Desiree whined.

“No, pool’s just been cleaned, but… we have company,” you said tritely, “couple of Peter’s… friends. I’m sure they won’t bother you but--”

“Are they hot?” Halle asked.

“Are you serious?” you blinked.

“I’m so serious. I need to get laid. Bad.”

“And a stranger is the best choice for that?” you scoffed.

“If he’s cute,” she shrugged.

“It’s an important question,” Desiree seconded, “I can’t keep dating boys. You won’t believe what this asshole did.”

“I dunno,” you waved off the question, “how about I show you around first and then we can get to all that later.”

“Ooo, yes,” Halle clapped, “this place is huge.”

“Alright, well, we can’t go in the parlour right now but you won’t really be in there anyway,” you ushered them forward, “the pool’s just through here…”

✨

When at last the girls were settled in, you waited by the pool as they went to change into their suits. You requested some drinks from the staff and thanked them profusely as you felt entirely out of place asking anything of them. The fruity margaritas were left on the round table as you sat in the middle of a lounger.

“Uh, this place is gorgeous,” Halle declared as she came through the sliding doors, “oh my god, are those for us?”

You nodded as she swiped up a drink and sipped noisily from the straw. Desiree took her own but side-eyed Halle, “It’s barely one o’clock, slow down,” she chirped.

“It’s a vacation! Sort of. I had to use sick time for this so no Insta please,” Halle sang, “I can’t wait to get in.”

She set down her glass and strode over to the pool. She slid out of her sandals and dipped her toes in. She surprised you as suddenly she dove in and sent up a splash of water. Desiree giggled as she swallowed her mouthful and placed her drink beside Halle’s and raced over to join her.

You dragged yourself to your feet and sat at the side of the pool with only your legs in the water.

“Come on, don’t be such a party pooper,” Desiree splashed you.

“I’m not, I’m just… all pooled out right now,” you shrugged, “you guys have fun, I’m just happy to have you here.”

It wasn’t a lie. In those last two days when it was just you and Peter, you felt so completely isolated. Even if they were there to act as diversions, you were reassured to have a glimpse of your former life.

“You ladies look like you’re having fun,” Peter’s voice startled you and you looked over your shoulder as he emerged from the house, “drinking already?” He was dressed in his trunks already, “I hope you don’t mind, the guys were hoping to hop in too.”

“The guys,” Halle giggled.

“I told them we had company,” you assured Peter, “and uh, you know Halle, but this is Desiree.”

“A pleasure,” he said as he neared and sat beside you, “why aren’t you in there with them?”

“I will get in, I’m just… enjoying the sun.”

He hummed and put his hand over yours on the rim of the pool, “you okay?” he lowered his voice.

You squinted at him and nodded. He didn’t really care if you weren’t okay. He was only telling you to start acting like it.

You heard the others before they appeared. Peter introduced them as they came out and the girls were all too happy to have them sink into the pool with them. Peter nudged you and you slipped over the edge and he quickly followed. He caught you as you broke the surface and held you to him.

“They’re getting along,” he intoned.

“I still don’t get it,” you pressed against his chest as he waded you over to the other side of the pool, “why do you need them?”

“Part of the deal,” he said, “they want some fun too.”

“What? You mean--”

“The girls seem willing. They’re pretty enough and I wouldn’t say Bucky or Steve are hideous,” Peter chuckled, “it works for everyone.”

“You’re whoring out my friends for a deal?” you spat.

“Now, princess, watch it,” he curled his lip, “I’ve been patient, haven’t I?” he leaned into you and squished you between him and the wall of the pool, “if I was a worse man, I’d just let them have a taste of you… but you’re mine,” he kissed you roughly and drew back, “and so long as you are, you will only be mine. Understood?”

You swallowed and nodded. He relaxed and kept his arm around you as he came parallel to the pool wall and floated beside you. Steve and Desiree were chattering as she came back to the pool with her drink and Halle gabbed on at Bucky but his eyes weren’t on her. He smirked as he watched you and slowly dropped his gaze to your roommate.

“Maybe Bucky will chill out a little,” Peter grumbled as he pushed himself away from the side of the pool.

“Mm, maybe,” you let him pull you with him as he waded around the middle of the pool.

“Don’t worry so much,” he chided.

“How can I not? I hardly know these men and these are my friends, Peter,” you hissed, “I should’ve known.”

“And if you had, you still would have done what I said, princess,” he snipped, “why are you doing this? Everyone’s having fun so join the party.”

You thinned your lips and forced a smile. His eyes narrowed and he latched onto your arm. He pulled you with him to the large round steps along the far corner and you tried not to slip as you climbed out of the water. The others were too distracted to notice and as you glanced back, you found Desiree with her tongue down Steve’s throat.

“You don’t wanna have fun with them,” Peter dragged you into the house, “then we can have some of our own.”

“Not right now, Peter, please--”

“Listen, princess,” he spun and pulled you to him, “you’re not getting this. I’ve been nice. I bring you to my nice house, I send a car for your friends, I get you off… you need to start using that head instead of your mouth…” he eyed your lips, “well, the mouth is good for some things.”

You quivered in disgust and he turned as he forced you further down the hallway. He flung you through the bedroom door and you barely caught yourself on a chair. The door slammed as your damp feet slipped on the floor and you stood to face him.

“I’ve done you all these favours so you can do me one,” he hooked his thumbs in his shorts and pulled them down over the protrusion of his arousal.

You glanced away and he closed the distance between you. He grabbed your chin and made you look at him. He kissed you roughly and shoved you away. He stormed over to the bed and flopped down, his cock bobbing as he moved to recline against the pillows and exhaled loudly.

“Well…” he said.

You stared at him and the bitterness laced your muscles. You huffed and walked to the bed slowly. He stroked himself tauntingly as he smirked at you. You put a knee on the bed and braced yourself. There was a moment you were ready to run and not look back, but your friends were in his pool and the vision of his pistol pulsed in your head.

You climbed up and crawled to him. You sat back on your heels, just between his legs and he tutted, “now, princess, don’t give me that look.”

You wiped the anger from your face and closed your eyes. You grasped his dick and his hand fell away. You moved your hand up then down and tamped down your reservations. You bent over him and your lashes fluttered as your lips pressed to his tip. He gasped at the soft sensation and you stretched your lips around him.

He groaned and put his hand on your shoulder as he urged you down. He met the back of your throat and you eased back, wetting his length to ease the tension in your jaw. He gripped the back of your head impatiently and you strained to let him further as he invaded your throat. You gagged and he let you back only for a moment before he forced you back down.

You followed his motion, fast and deep, until the spit dripped down him and across your face. You clung to his thigh as you breathed with each retreat only to be smothered again. Your throat burned as your jaw ached as you kept your tongue firm to his length. The sloppy sucking mingled with his lusty moans and he held your head between both hands as he thrust from below.

He stopped you suddenly. Your head spun as he lifted you off of him and sat up to kiss you messily. He pushed you over as he got to his knees. You fell back and bounced on the bed as he parted your legs, bending on over his as he moved to straddle the other. You laid at an angle as his hand slid up your stomach to your neck.

He squeezed lightly as he pulled aside the crotch of your suit and angled his dick against your cunt. You moaned as he filled you and pressed his thumb to your clit. He kept his hand at your throat as he held you down and jerked his hips sharply. He jolted your body with each decisive thrust as he watched your face.

“You like sucking my dick, princess? Makes you so wet, huh?” he growled.

You grabbed his hand but he only gripped your throat more firmly. He bit down as he sped up, the mattress shaking beneath you with each tilt of his hips. He rammed into you hard and harder, your leg stretched up his torso as he kept astride your other.

He teased and toyed with your clit as he fucked you. You choked out raspy moans as the coil wound tight inside of you and your muscles knotted around him. Your eyes rolled back as you slapped at his bicep and clawed deep into his flesh as you came. You squirmed in your orgasm and he sped up.

He pulled his hand from your throat to hold your leg to his body. He kept playing with your bud as you groped your chest senselessly and your voice rose unrestrained around you. His deep grunt punctuated each airy cry from your lips and the entire bed rocked beneath your bodies.

“That’s it, that’s it,” he snarled, “oh, princess, that’s it.”

He sank deep and pulled his hips back in a series of cruel thrusts that made your hips throb painfully. Your walls squeezed him as you came again and you milked him as he spent himself inside of you. He slowed and stopped as he hung his head and the muscles in his chest and arms tautened.

“Shit,” he breathed and slipped out of you, flinching as his tip brushed against you.

You stayed as you were as he let your leg fall to the bed and he sat between your legs and pushed his hair away from his face. He sighed and shook out his arms as if to free himself of the tension.

“You’re so good, princess,” he felt along your cunt and played with his cum as it seeped from you, “aren’t you?”

✨

Shamefully, you left the room in a new swimsuit. The former was stained from Peter’s punishment and after cleaning up, he forced you out with a fake smile. You emptied your margarita and ordered another with less reticence than before. Steve and Desiree had disappeared as Bucky humoured Halle’s flirting on one of the loungers.

Dinner was awkward enough as you weren’t foolish enough to think that no one noticed or heard your absence. You emptied three more glasses and Peter excused the two of you as he kept you from a fourth. You wobbled back to the room ahead of him and fell onto the bed without changing out of your shorts and shirt.

“You’re mad again?” you bubbled drunkenly.

“You’re drunk,” he said as removed his watch and unbuttoned his shirt, “I don’t like that.”

“You don’t, ha?” you rolled onto your back, “that first night you had no problem feeling me up while I was--”

“Princess,” he snapped, “you can only blame the drink for so much.”

“You’re an ass,” you slurred and turned your back to him.

He huffed and the light went out. You felt the mattress dip behind you as he lowered himself next to you. He was stiff and didn’t try to touch you.

“I should spank you for that,” he muttered, “but you’re so fucking lit you wouldn’t remember it.”

“I feel good,” you murmured, “for once.”

He pinched you and the bed jostled as he rolled onto his side.

“Go to sleep,” he ordered. 

He didn’t need to tell you twice as the alcohol weighted your eyelids and you were soon snoring carelessly into the pillow.

✨

You woke with a start as your stomach churned. It was still late as you clamoured out of the bed and ran for the bathroom. You hugged the bowl as you retched into it. Your body revolted and the alcohol came up with your dinner. 

You shuddered as you caught your breath and flushed. You rinsed your mouth and steady yourself as you veins were thick from excess.

You stumbled back into the bedroom. Peter was asleep. His even breath rasped up into the dark. It was a rare moment of peace unsettled only by the memory of the day. You recalled his reproach before you fell asleep, you knew that wouldn’t be the end of it.

You groaned and crept to the door and let yourself out quietly into the hall. You went to the kitchen, tiptoeing through the dark, and filled a glass with water. You sipped but a noise pricked your ears. You listened as you kept your lips on the rim and drank to ease the fire in your stomach.

You followed the sound until it was too late to retreat. The whimpers and groans mixed and sent a tingle through you as you realised what was happening. You stopped in shock, frozen as you found Bucky and Halle in the immense front room. He had her bent over a round ottoman, her fingers curled at the seam as he rutted into her from behind.

She squealed each thrust as her head hung over the other side of the cushion. “Slow down,” she wisped, “please, I told you-- ugh, I never done it like this be--”

She cried out and bit into the cushion as he slapped her ass and fucked her harder, his other hand stretched between her shoulder blades. You took a step back and the movement caught his eye. He looked up and held your gaze as his face contorted into a sinister grin.

He sped up as he reached to smother her wails and held your gaze. You gripped the glass tightly and trembled as you backed away from the doorway. You spun and raced back to your room and tripped through the door. 

You crashed to the floor and the glass shattered as water splashed around you. Peter sat up with a snort and reached to flip on the lamp at the bedside. 

“What’s going on?” he asked sleepily.

“Just getting water,” you croaked as you sat back on your heels in the midst of the broken glass.

“Shit, did you cut yourself?” he asked as he saw you.

“No, no, I’m okay but-- stay there, you’ll get hurt. I’m close enough, I can… I’ll clean it up… I’m sorry.”

He stared at you and slowly nodded. The anger crinkled in his forehead and you stood carefully.

“So, now we know not to drink like that, huh?” he girded.

“I said, I’m sorry.”

“Mmhmm,” he leaned back against the headboard, “go on, princess, clean up your mess.”

[lilxberry]

I Watched You Die} 6 - Natasha Romanoff

Synopsis;

Someone from Natashas’ past makes the most of unsuspected arrivals and begins to cause issues, not only for her, just everyone they come into contact with. HYDRA uses them as a simple puppet and Natasha believes that maybe, just maybe, she could get them back to her in the way she remembers.

Warnings: Language. Fighting. Terrible writing (this chapter was terrible.)

Words: 3,123

Pairings: Natasha Romanoff x Reader (female reader) (super soldier reader) (HYDRA reader)

(A/N: There’s some time jumps that aren’t stated but it’s still relatively easy to follow in that sense. Also, this chapter is more so a filler but nonetheless is related to the story.)

(A/N 2: Strucker and interactions with him are in German and a small interaction with Wanda is in Slovak as a substitute for Sokovian. There is some Russian in this but it’s quite easy to distinguish between the languages’ used.)

< Chapter 5    Chapter 7 >

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Her head throbbed and her neck was stiff and pained from its lolled position it had been in hours on end. Even with her head tilted forward and down towards the hard floor beneath her, the light felt harsh against her eyes, a stinging, burning sensation appearing each time she cracks an eye open.

“Ah, I hope you slept well, Miss Romanoff.”

The familiarity in the voice caused Natasha to tense and she willed her eyes to open and remain as such. Raising her head, her eyes automatically lock on to the figure before her in which everyone believed was dead.

“How are you here?”

The man chuckled and began to take steps towards the tied up red head, his hands folded together behind his back, a smug look etched into his features. “It is quite incredible the technology we have within this day and age, yes?”

Her features twisted up into a sneer, glaring at the one of the few notorious HYDRA leaders they, the Avengers, had come to face. “Why can’t people just stay dead?”

Strucker rounded her body leaving her to look at the room they held her within; bland in colour but crowded with technology. “I believe you’re also not referring to only me now, are you?” He clicks his tongue. “Yes, Y/N. Our best asset yet. The twins were exceptional, yes and the winter soldier was successful until recent years, but Y/N is our best creation.”

His German accent is thick as the words pass into her ears and registers his words, but his next sentence as he leans down to whisper right beside her head makes her blood run cold. “Finding her on the brink of death was undoubtfully wonderful, on our part at least.”

The man chuckled as he straightened himself back out, standing to his full height before rounding her seated position once more to stand before her. “How are our previous assets, anyways? The updates Ghost gives are quite minimal in unnecessary data.”

Silence. Strucker tsked at her lack of response and spun on heel, taking one, two, three steps forward before coming to a standstill. “I suppose you’d like to know why we have you hear,” he called over his shoulder to her. When he was met with silence once more, he continued.

“S.H.I.E.L.D. and the Avengers have certainly been a right ganz schlimmer, a large spanner in our works. We run smoothly when you and your little friends keep out of our business. Perfectly running machinery. So, we’re simply removing the issue with our operation. You.” (Fucking pain.)

Slow and intimidating were his steps as he little by little made his way over towards a board of panels which, much like every other piece of technology was surrounded by people in off-white lab coats. His fingers danced over the multiple of buttons that littered the deck of the panel.

“You may not think so yourself but, we believe you are the strongest of your little band of heroes. No, not physically. Mentally? Yes. We also believe, if we break you, the rest of the team will surely follow in crumbling down.”

His eyes linger on one spot in particular on the panel, his finger hovering over it. “Now you’re also wondering why I’m electing to tell you all this. The answer is simple, really.” He pushes down on a button, resulting in the chair that Natasha is strapped to, to recline backwards, much like a chair in a barbers’, before laying her flat.

“You’re stuck here.”

Natashas’ head looks from left to right in a frantic manner as Strucker steps away from the lengthy panel of buttons and stalks towards her, his boots quietly squeaking against the cold, smooth floor of the room.

Above her is some form of machinery she could best describe as terrifying in appearance, harsh glinting metal and a mass of wires. Movement to both her left and right signify to her that people are beginning to close in on her and surround her. Panic rises in her body further as someone steps closer to her head holding what she believed was a mouth guard; something she’ll be biting down on.

She shakes her head in a desperate attempt to avoid the object but with no such luck. Someone had violently grasped her jaw in a bruising grip and forced the guard into her mouth. Strucker leans over her laying form and the evil grin on his face is purely sickening.

“Have you ever felt 450 volts of electricity surged through your body before? No? Oh, don’t worry. IT should be over before you know it.” He pulls back, making Natasha follow his with her eyes. Her protests are muffled by the guard in her mouth. “But, please, be mindful when it comes to the convulsions that follow. You wouldn’t like to break a bone, surely.”

Strucker walks towards yet another panel, this time with AMP and voltage gages along with other gages she couldn’t quite make out from her position. He places his hand atop a dial and nods his head once to one of the many people scuttling around the room. She feels something be attached to each temple and it reminds her strongly of the old school, brutal electroshock therapy that doctors used to dole out.

“Shall we move this along and see how long it takes until you break?”

Natasha spots your body stood stiff and squared near the door at the foot of the room, features lacking any show of emotion. Her eyes widened, and she desperately hoped that her eyes asked what she couldn’t.

‘Help me.’

Your being, unmoving and unchanged, is the last thing she sees before searing hot pain shots through her body. She bites down on the guard and releases and ear-piercing scream around it as her whole-body tenses and her back arches up, fists clenched tightly, and toes curled.

Her body falls limp for a short moment before the process repeats, over and over. Like an unending, destructive cycle.

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The team had tirelessly put in every effort to find the missing ex-assassin. When Natasha had taken too long to return to the others, Clint did what was asked of him. He waited until the end of the following day when she had left before telling the others.

With no sightings and no communication from the Avenger, they were at a lost.

4 days had passed, coming close to 5, with no such luck in finding Natasha. Every member of the close-knit team had put in hours and hours on end into locating her; everything had been fruitless. The team had chewed out the archer for not mentioning anything sooner than he had but he had argued that he valued his word and believed Natsha would be fine, that she could look after herself.

They couldn’t argue with him on that.

“I’ve got nothing. We haven’t found shit and it’s been what? 4 days since anyone had last seen her?”

Their hopes in finding her were dwindling quickly, its rate in decrease sped up after the three-day mark. Stark groaned and leant back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly between his pointer finger and thumb.

“Honestly, I blame Fury for making us use phones that I can’t hack. We’d find her a lot fucking faster if I could just get into it.”

“Language,” Steve muttered before releasing a lengthy sigh. As he went to open his mouth to respond, Tony perked up, this time looking extremely more optimistic than previous.

“HOLY SHIT!” He spun his chair to face the computer on the desk and began to rapid begin typing. The others watched him with scepticism before slowly moving to crowd the billionaire.

“You wanna explain to the class, Stark?”

“You know how I never listen to Fury?” He heard a collective of hums in agreement before continuing. “Well, when I was encrypting the phones we all use, I may have purposefully left out my location cloaking software.”

“So, you’re saying you can ping her location and you failed to mention this?!” Wanda exclaimed.

“One, ouch. Don’t scream in my ear like a damn banshee, Matilda. Two, I forgot. It’s not like we actually use it.”

The team watched in anticipation as Tonys’ fingers continued to rapidly tap at the keyboard. Moments pass by with bated breaths before a small red dot appears on a map that pops up. They stare at the bright red dot in a prolonged silence before Steve straightens out with a hardened face.

“Let’s move.”

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“I don’t understand. Why San Fransico?”

The statement from Sam was what each of them wanted to voice but none did. Each step through the city was following that damn pinged location. The day before it had been in Washington, the day before that was Oklahoma.

They could be tracking a ghost trail for all they knew, certainly with how quickly the location seemed to switch between states so quickly.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. Update.”

“Location has remained the same. The Railway Museum is just one block away, sir.”

Tony rolls his shoulders before turning to look towards those who walk with him. He and Steve share a look, already knowing that this is more than likely a trap or mislead.

“Only a few of us will enter. Everyone else is going to surround the building, cover each possible exit. Buck, I want you with me, Sam and Wanda. Clint, you think you can take to a nearby building keep an eye on the roof and the main entrance?”

Clint nodded as Steve doled out orders for the group to follow. With the archers’ non-verbal confirmation, the captain continued.

“Thor, I want you to take the West side of the building with Banner. Pietro, you take East. Stark, I want you to take the back with Vision.” Everyone nods followed by them splitting off in the direction of the respective positions.

Dressed as civilians was helpful with entering the museum; they turned no heads when entering the building. The four inside had separated themselves, hoping to search the interior in record time rather than they be grouped up together.

The comms the team had donned before splitting ways crackled before Tony’s voice sounded through into each team members’ ear. “I’ve had F.R.I.D.A.Y. put the location on each of your phones, make it easier for you guys to know if you’re closing in.”

Simultaneously, Steve, Sam, Wanda and Bucky pull out their smartphones and allow the screen to open up correctly, a simple map of the interior showing a blinking red dot in the centre of the building.

The small team inside opposed to those outside slowly close in to the centre of the museum, covering all sides.

Adrenaline begins to heighten as they inch their way closer and closer. Emotions are running high and minds are swirling with possibilities and before they knew it, they surround the exhibit at the very middle of the building.

A large group being led by some guide moves on with their tour and reveals a lone person still stood there; hood up and phone in hand. Steve glances down at the phone in his own hand and sure enough, the dot hasn’t moved.

This is what they’ve been chasing.

With their head down, both Sam and Bucky who face their front can’t identify who holds the phone, Natashas’ phone.

Between the four, a look was shared and with a nod of their head in the figure’s direction, they begin to slowly close in once more. Wanda, Sam and Bucky slow to a stop, only a short distance away as Steve continues to stalk closer and with a few more steps, he’s stood behind the figure.

He reaches an arm out and clamps his hand down on their shoulder which begins to shake slightly as the person laughs quietly. The person slowly raises their head with a shit eating grin on their face and both Sam and Bucky tense, their jaws clenching, teeth grinding.

Wanda freezes up along with them as the figure slowly turns to face Steve; easily catching a glimpse herself.

“At ease, солдат,” your voice rasps. (Soldier.)

You hand moves quickly to clamp on to the blondes’ wrist and before he could react, you bring your head forward in a quick, whip-like motion, slamming it into his nose; a satisfying crunch is heard and blood already beginning to trickle out.

Twisting his arm, you land a hard kick to his ribs and send him back, him falling to the floor with quite the thud, even sliding across the floor a good foot or two. The others had quickly reacted, Sam and Bucky charging over towards you.

You alternate between the two as they dole out a choreographed offensive; punches, kicks, full body hits. The two had been going a solid minute and had done zero damage, even with Steve standing himself back up on to his feet and charging at you himself.

Wanda had dealt with the screaming and panicked public from the first sign of retaliation, giving firm orders to leave the building and to get a safe distance.

The second the first of the civilians exited the building in a rushed and yelling fashion, the team was on high alert.

“Someone talk to us,” Clint crackled through the comms, his sights down the length of the arrow he already has notched and ready to release.

“It’s Y/N.” Just that simple statement made the whole team know exactly what was currently going down. “They had Natashas’ phone. HYDRA put us on a wild goose chase.”

The grunts from Steve, Sam and Bucky brought Wanda’s head back into the fight at hand. The three were being easily overpowered by just yourself and she’s unsure how to proceed. With quick thinking, she uses her powers to push her teammates aside and away from you, the swirl of red like mist dancing around her fingers.

Your attention snaps from the three that had been thrown away from you to the little witch who stood off to the side. You roll your shoulders and smirk before stomping your way over to her aggressively.

You feel your movements slowly become restricted and it’s harder and harder to move forward. Wanda, with a struggle, brings to down to your knees before you could reach her and all you could do it look up at her with a devious smirk.

Tongue peeking out between your lips, you wet them and trail your eyes up and down the length of her body and the action makes her sick to your stomach. “Som ohromená, princezná.” (I’m impressed, princess.)

She takes step towards you, slow, precise, and what she hoped was menacing. “Where’s Natasha?” she spat between her teeth.

You chuckle darkly and shake her head, noticing how she lacked to remember to keep her distance. “You’re in no position to ask questions, little witch.” With perseverance, your left arm shoots forward, grasping her wrist much like you had done with the caps. Shocked, the moment forces Wanda to lose concertation and drops her magical hold on you.

You swipe at the opportunity and raise to your full height, towering over the Sokovian and delivering a hard right hook to the girl, knocking her unconscious the moment your fist made contact with her jaw.

Turning, you look at the trio of men who look at an unconscious Wanda by your feet with wide and worried eyes. You smirk once more as you pull Natasha’s phone from your pocket and wave it slightly before tossing it in their direction. “Keep it. I’m done with it.”

You take small steps backwards away from the four before turning tail and running, closer and closer to the back entrance.

“She’s heading to you guys at the back,” Steve rushes out, struggling to come to a stand and give chase.

“Understood, capsicle.” Tony and Vison both prepare themselves for your arrival, to burst through the doors and go into combat just like the four inside had done. But they waited and waited and waited. Nothing. “Uh, no sign of her. Anyone got eyes on the slippery bastard?” Stark reaches out to the others.

Sam and Bucky left Americas’ sweetheart and Scarlet Witch with the intentions of cheeking the inside of the building, running around the whole of the museum as the team converse.

“Nothing here.”

“Nope.”

“No clue.”

“Nada.”

“Zilch.”

The team’s response came in like clockwork and the entire team felt baffled. Where did you disappear to?

“So, she just evaporated? What the fuck? Are you sure no one has eyes on her?”

“Look,” Steve started. “As much as I want to find them and get some answers, we gotta focus on Wanda. She’s down.” He was kneeling beside her unconscious form and like a lightbulb being lit from a switch, Pietro was right beside his sister on the opposite side of Steve, absolute panic and concern shifting through his eyes.

Steve hears a sigh through the comms followed by Banners’ voice. “Let’s get back. It’s clear they’ve disappeared somehow, and we should focus on Maximoff right now.”

Steve shakes his head and moves to stand, Pietro already holding his twin in his arms. “Let’s go, team.”

_______________

“Wie ich sehe, können wir ihr Telefon nicht länger als Ablenkung für sie benutzen,” Strucker spoke as his back was turned to you, hands folded behind his back, looking at the painting hung on the wall with disinterest. (I see we can no longer use her phone as a distraction for them.)

“Sie werden sie nicht finden können, auch wenn wir sie nicht mehr auf Gänsejagd führen, Sir,” you respond, you own hands folded behind your back. Your eyes are trained on his form as he slowly turns to face you, casually rounded the desk to stand before you. (They won't be able to find her even if we no longer lead them on such wild goose chases', sir.)

“Hoffentlich nicht, Soldat. Es liegt an Ihnen, wenn sie sie finden.” His eyes look you up and down subtly, scrutinising you before turning away from you and striding over towards his desk. “Es ist jetzt zu heiß für dich, Ghost. Zu viele Leute werden dich nach deinem kleinen öffentlichen Stunt erkennen. Du sollst in der Einrichtung bleiben. Sie bewachen Romanoff und begleiten sie zum und vom Labor. Verstanden?” (They better not, soldier. It will be on your head if they are to find her.) (There's too much heat on you now, Ghost. Too many people will recognise you after your little public stunt. You are to stay within the facility. You will guard Romanoff and escort her to and from the lab. Understood?)

“Verstanden.” (Understood.)

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THIS WAS SO BAD LMAO

I just needed a filler honestly so, this will do for the time being

If you want to be added to the taglist lemme know

Anywho, I hope you enjoy

As always, constructive criticism and requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated :D

_______________

Marvel taglist:

@thanossexual​ @iwazoomingouttahere​ @xxxtwilightaxelxxx​ 

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‘I Watched You Die’ taglist:

@diaryoflife @username23345 @drpepperobsessed @fayhar @d14n4ol @srtamercurio @gabbygabbie @lostandsearching @afuckingshituniverse @thea13sworld @nelouath8 @navs-bhat @pistachiomilk3 @peggycarter-steverogers @b-5by5 @trikruismybitch @anxiousgoldengirl @when-wolves-howl @whitelotus00 @anxiousgoldengirl @daniescady @unexpected-character @lgtftchan @mitch-cabello1097 @wlwfanfictionss @gottacamz​

(Those whose @ is in bold, I could not tag unfortunately.)

[wreckmetoji]

idfc

An ongoing fic in which you don't realize you have both Fushiguros at your feet.

↳ Toji Fushiguro/Reader

Part 4/?

Part 1, Part 2 , Part 3 , Part 5

content warning. age gap, mention of sex, mild breeding kink if you squint, afab reader, profanity, slight angst, unrequited love, nobara being a supportive friend, mentions of domestic toji

This is part four of a several part story revolving around smut. **Minors DNI**

1.5k words

What can I say, I live to please. Besides..." "You ain't seen nothin' yet." 4:03 am is what the clock read by the time you had settled into your bed for some much needed, actual sleep. Toji had thoroughly fucked you over nearly every surface in your house that night, leaving no part of you untouched. By the third round, you had nearly lost all feeling in your legs and angry bruises were spotting the surface of your neck, thighs, and hips, the occasional hickey littering your chest. That didn't seem to stop the two of you from going another two rounds after that. What surprised you even more than his stamina, was the fact that he lay beside you in your bed, arm lazily draped over you as he slept silently. In all honesty, you had expected him to leave the moment he was done with you, recalling him saying at some point that this was just him throwing you a line, a simple no-feelings-attached fling to get your mind off the mistake you'd made the night before. For the most part, it worked, but some part of you felt disgusted with yourself for what transpired. When you woke up in the morning, Toji was gone. He had the courtesy to at least plug your phone in and place it on your bedside table, as well as lock your front door. How did he do that? Not seeing your phone for more than twenty-four hours meant you had a lot of messages and calls to catch up with, your chest squeezing slightly seeing that the most recent one had been a missed call and text at 2:47 am. It was from Megumi. By that point in the night, you were sure Toji had you bent over the railing on your balcony, but it was all hazy by this point. That same part of you that felt guilty for what, or rather who, you'd been doing all night is the part of you that texted Nobara first. Incoming call... "Nobara Kugisaki" "WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN, BITCH?!" Nobara screeched into the line, causing you to hold the phone at an arms length away as she hurled several choice insults at you. "We thought you were dead, no one's been in contact with you since you and Megumi left the bar," She chastised once she managed to calm down. "I know, I'm sorry. Some shit happened and... promise to keep a secret?" You whispered into the line, as if someone might be listening. You trusted Nobara with your life, Yuuji too but that boy couldn't keep his mouth shut if his life depended on it. So you entrusted your drunken mistake with your mutual best friend to her, and her only. "I was wondering when he was gonna make a move," She sounded so nonchalant, as if everyone but you had expected this. "He's had a thing for you ever since our last year of high school. You didn’t know?" Her words made your stomach churn. Megumi had been secretly pining for years, and you went and fucked his dad. "That still doesn't explain where you've been since you got home, did you go into a coma?" "I was... busy." Nobara gasped, your name falling from her lips in shock. "No shit. Rebound, who was it?" You both loved and loathed that she could see through you so easily. You two couldn't keep anything from each other. How could you tell her this without making it sound as bad as it actually was? "He brought my phone over, and I was just in a really bad place emotionally..." The line was silent. "It was his dad. It was Toji." Unsurprisingly to you, Nobara was more intrigued than disgusted, considering anyone and everyone that went to the Fushiguro household thirsted for Megumi's hot, ripped dad. Although she had a lack of interest in men, she asked the obligatory spill the beans, what was it like? It took nearly ten minutes of just you talking to explain everything that happened, in as little detail as possible. "So that man banged you on every piece of furniture you own and turned you into his personal cum-stuffed twinkie?" Don't make it sound so crude. "More or less, yeah." "I don't see whats wrong with that. Just don't let Megumi know, he already hates his dad." You hadn't planned on it. Nobara and you caught up for another minute or two while you got changed, hanging up when she had to leave for her extra curricular classes. Now left with your thoughts, you sighed, wandering into your kitchen aimlessly. You cursed every couple steps because holy shit your legs hurt. Deciding it was too straining to stand, you sat at your kitchen island, your head in one hand as the other held your phone, your conversation with Megumi opened. [10:20pm]Gumi: I'm sorry.

[10:22pm]Gumi: There were better times to tell you how I feel, this is my fault.

[11:09pm]Gumi: You're the most important person in my life. Just know that no matter how you feel, I'll always be here.

[2:47am Missed call]

[2:47am]Gumi: I'll give you your space. Take care of yourself, please.

Shaky fingers hovered over the keyboard of your phone, nausea building up in your gut. You were about to put your phone down, leave it for later, before the three dots popped up, letting you know he was typing. He must've seen your read receipts.

[. . .]

[9:56am]Gumi: Thank god you're safe

[9:57am]Gumi: Can I call?

The call notification popped up before you could even send the message you'd typed out.

Incoming call... "Gumi Bear"

Your thumb hovered over answer, hesitating for just a moment before answering and bringing the phone up to your ear. You could hear the concern in his voice when he whispered your name into the receiver, a guilty knot twisting in your gut. "You don't have to say anything, I was just worried about you." There was a click on the other end, followed by some rustling. "You left so quickly, I was gonna come bring your phone but... it was probably best that I gave you some space. When my dad didn't come home I assumed it's 'cause he couldn't find you." A long sigh came from him, but your brows furrowed. Toji still wasn't home? The sound of your balcony door sliding open made you jump out of your skin, having to slap a hand over your mouth to prevent from screaming right into the receiver. From the phone you could hear Megumi calling your name, hearing the sudden commotion, completely unaware of the brief staring contest you had with the tall man stopped mid-step into your house, cigarettes and lighter in one of his hands, the balcony handle in the other. Both your eyes were wide, seeming to surprise each other. Had he been out there this entire time? "H...Hey, sorry, I... a spider, I saw a huge spider and it scared me." Mentally face-palming at your sorry excuse for your outburst. Toji seemed to find it entertaining as well, chuckling to himself as he slid the door closed. Megumi was silent for a moment, but ultimately accepted the explanation. He continued, promising he'd only take a minute of your time. You couldn't hear anything he was saying over the pounding of your heart as it leapt in your throat, watching Toji slide his shoes off and stride over to the kitchen, the flat of his palm brushing the small of your back as he passed by. "Let's just forget this happened, we can start over. Okay?" His voice dropped in tone, obviously hurt by the decision. "I think... I'd like that, yeah." There was a brief silence. "Okay, well," Megumi breathed in deeply, "That's all I wanted to say. I'll let you go. Text me if you need anything." A noise of affirmation came from your throat, the line going dead soon after. Small hands placed the phone face down on the countertop, hands overlapping on top of your phone as you stared up at Toji through your lashes. He didn't ask who called. The rest of your morning was spent with Toji, not much was said. It wasn't awkward, it was a surprisingly comfortable silence, for the most part. He'd made coffee and toast, his capabilities of displaying qualities of domesticity surprising you to say the least. The kitchen clock read 1:02 pm when he said he'd be leaving and you walked him to the door. As the two of you stood in the doorway, you found yourself unable to piece together the right words swimming in your head. Toji seemed patient, smirking with his hands stuffed into his sweatpants pockets as he faced you, back to the apartment hallway. "Well, um..." All night, and you decide to be awkward now?! "Thanks for everything, I guess?" You extended a hand, offering it to Toji for a handshake. The action made him snort, one hand coming out of the pocket of his soft cotton pants and placing it in the dip of your waist. Firmly, he tugged you closer to him, leaving a searing kiss on your lips. It was as fiery as it was short. He left you dumbfounded when he parted not a second later, waving as he walked down the hall. "Let's do this again soon."

[queenshelby]

Locked Down (One Shot)

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: SMUT

Words: 1806

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Today was the day you’ve been waiting for. Your boyfriend was due to return back home from filming Season 6 of Peaky Blinders.

Due to the pandemic and the strict isolation requirements on set, you didn’t see him for four months. This was the longest time you hadn’t seen each other and, despite the fact that you skyped every second day, it was the most difficult time of your life.

Dublin was in full lock down for the entire time he was away and you felt extremely lonely.  

The upside was that, for the next 14 days, he was all yours, being required to isolate with you after having returned from the UK. Whilst the recommendations were for him isolate separately, you were willing to take your chances and insisted you be locked down together. After all, you had lots to catch up on.

You tidied up the house and put on some nice clothes and then the moment had come. You finally heard the key in the door.

‘Hi Babe’ was the next thing you heard as you shot of the lounge.

‘Hi…I missed you’ you said as you fell into his arms, barely giving him a chance to let go of his bags.

‘I missed you too’ Cillian said before kissing you gently.

You could tell that he was tired. Due to the pandemic, his earlier flight from London got cancelled and he had to wait 5 hours at the airport for the next one.

After giving you some attention, he sat down on the lounge with a loud sigh.

You sat down next to him and asked him how everything went on set. You would usually skype when he was away but this time around, he was filming back-to-back and you were lucky if you got to speak to him for 10 minutes when you did.

Cillian was fairly short and you soon began to realise that he wasn’t in the mood for talking about work.

You changed the topic, but Cillian still seemed somewhat disinterested and distant.

‘Are you alright babe?’ you asked as he continued to give you short answers.

‘I am just tired’ he responded as he gave you a small kiss.

Over dinner, he wasn’t really talkative either and you became quite upset with the lack of interaction from his side.

‘You know, I might go to bed. I am a bit tired myself’ you said at about 9pm after you sat together quietly and watched a movie.

‘Alright babe’ Cillian said before giving you a kiss and walking to the wardrobe to get himself a towel so he could have a shower.  

After he came out of the shower and walked into the bedroom to get dressed, he noticed you sitting on the bed in your nightgown. Tears were running down your face,

‘Hey, what’s wrong?’ Cillian asked gently, taking you into his arms.

‘Nothing babe, it’s nothing’ you said, wiping away your tears.

‘Common, I can see that you are upset’ Cillian said determined.

‘It’s just, having been in lockdown without you and not seeing you…it was so difficult and I was lonely and now I feel like you aren’t even happy to see me’ you said.

‘Hey, look at me Y/N’ Cillian said, cupping your face. ‘I’ve just had a long day. I am glad to be home with you, alright’ he added before giving you a gentle kiss.

‘And I love you so much’ he whispered as your lips drifted apart for a brief second.

‘I love you too Cillian’ you said before crashing your lips back onto his. Your lips tasted like salt from the tears but he didn’t seem to mind.

Cillian then moved your hair aside and his mouth began to trail from your lips down to your neck.

You closed your eyes and allowed the sensual kisses and nibbles, taking in the love and energy you could feel being transferred from him.

‘I am sorry for having not given you much attention today. Let me make it up to you’ Cillian said as he lifted the nightgown over your head and you let your back sink into the mattress.

Cillian then leaned over you and continued to place kisses over your neck, but now wandering downwards until he began rolling his tongue teasingly over one of your nipple and blowing his warm breath over the wet nub causing it to swell and harden more.

You moaned, arching your back to his mouth as jolts of electricity flew through your body.  

You grabbed his hair in your hands, grinding his mouth onto your breasts, your thighs moistening with want of him.

In response, Cillian tugged at your panties, lifting your bottom to pull them down over your thighs and legs, tossing them to the side.

The sight of your naked, laying in front of him, caused his breathing to stop as his eyes began to drink your every curve and crevice.

‘Hmm I missed this’ Cillian hummed while his erection pushed against the towel wrapped around him.

With a teasingly light touch he slid his fingertip over your skin crossing over your stomach. You sucked in a sharp breath as goose bumps formed over your body and jolts of heated electricity passed through you.

‘I missed this too Cillian’ you moaned as he gave your nipple one final tug before sliding his tongue down the heated trail his finger traced.

He nips and bites at your flesh, flicking his tongue against you and rolling it in a light circle around your bellybutton as he moved his mouth lower.

As he reached his destination, he briefly leaned his head back drinking the sight of your trimmed mound; moist and swollen with want.

Within moments, Cillian groaned against your flesh, sliding his tongue towards your treasure.

He then gently slid his tongue down your wet slit curling his tongue as he lapped up your sweet juices.

His fingers soon found their way to your sweet lips pulling them slightly back as he ran his tongue up finding your hard swollen clit. He flicked his tongue against it causing you to grab his hair and grind your hips up with a loud moan.

‘Please Cillian’ you said with a deep lusty groan. ‘Please make me cum’ you added.

With piercing eyes, Cillian glanced up at you. He sees the want and the need in your eyes and it immediately made his lay his mouth on your nub sucking hungrily, twisting his tongue over it.

In response to his actions, you began to fist his hair and buck your hips against his lips.

‘Fuck Cillian...that's it right there, oh my god’ you moaned.

Cillian groaned against your nub as he slid a finger inside your soaking wet hole. The feeling of your tight sheath grasping at his finger hungrily made his cock even harder.

Cillian blew a warm breath against your clit causing you to moan just as Cillian slid a second finger inside of you.  

He curved his fingers upwards finding your most sensitive spot as he slides them in and out of you while his tongue continued to circle over your clit.

‘Oh my god, yes’ you moaned as your body began to tense and you felt your release coming.

Your breaths came in short gasps as you thrusted your hips against his relentless fingers.

Within seconds, electricity was bolting through your limbs making your toes and fingers curl.

Just as your orgasm washed over you, Cillian could feel your walls tightening around his fingers as your screams of pleasure began to fill the air.

He absolutely loved seeing you like this, squirming beneath him.

Cillian then began to kiss and lick his way up your body, sending your body shuddering in little aftershocks of your orgasm.

His lips crashed down on yours with an unquenchable need, the taste of you still on his lips. You parted your mouth to let his tongue explore and taste.

Groaning against your mouth, he sucked your tongue into his mouth twisting his against yours.

After a few seconds, he broke the kiss looking down at you with a wild look in his eyes as he positioned himself in between your legs.

As Cillian finally placed the tip of his cock against your hot, dripping entrance you pushed against him, not being able to take much more. You wanted to feel his hard cock deep within you.

‘You want this baby?’ Cillian smirked as he pushed the very tip inside teasingly. You moaned deep in response, pleading with him as you began grinding against him.

‘Cillian please, stop teasing. Just fuck me already, it’s been months’ you said demanding.

Not wanting to disappoint, Cillian reared back and slammed deep inside you, filling you to the hilt.

The feeling of your hot, tight sheathe around his cock made him shudder.

For a second, you stopped breathing when he slammed into you.

His cock always feels so good filling you just right, hitting all the right spots.

Your body began to tingle as his hardness hitting your cervix forced a shuddery moan to escape your lips.

Your noises and your tightness drove Cillian to pull out completely and slam into you again.

In and out, so it continued for several minutes. You missed this, the passionate sex with Cillian.

‘I love you babe’ you moaned as he made love to you with deep but firm thrusts.

‘I love you too’ he moaned, just as he was hitting your g-spot once again.

After a while, you began to feel the coil of tension in your stomach as you felt another orgasm building.

Cillian could feel your body tense, your walls tightening around his cock feeling like they are milking his hardness.

Just as your orgasm washed over you, you took hold of Cillian’s shoulders with a death grip as your eyes rolled back.

Your back arched upwards as your body bucked wildly against him, your body quivering with every movement he made.

You screamed his name at the top of your lungs just as Cillian could feel his own release coming on.

‘Fuck’ he moaned as he released hot, thick ropes of his seed deep inside of you with a few final thrusts.

You groaned in response, your body still shuddering from your orgasm and Cillian collapsed next to you, trying to catch his breath.

‘God, I missed this’ Cillian said with a smirk on his face as he took you into his arms. He was exhausted to say the least.

‘So did I’ you said, cuddling into him gently.

‘Well, we are locked down together for 14 days now. This is one way to kill the time’ Cillian grinned.

‘You will not be leaving this bed for 14 days Mr Murphy, trust me’ you smiled.

[fruitydiaz-archived]

my darkest nights

A post 5.01 sort of speculation fic

Eddie makes it back home after the shift from hell and is grateful that he escaped Buck's persistent questioning - until a nightmare wakes him up and Buck shows up at his front door anyways. Because of course he does.

2,877 words

AO3 link

Eddie’s never been more grateful to be so exhausted after a shift. He’s never found himself standing in the locker room, staring at the slope of Buck’s slumped shoulders, the weight of his head pulling him down, and feeling grateful for it. He slips out of the locker rooms and to his truck without anyone noticing—everyone worn too close to the bone to focus on anything other than stripping off their uniforms and leaving for their respective homes.

What was supposed to be a 12-hour shift had turned into a 24-hour shift that dragged on, the ransomware attack sending first responders all over the city, wild goose chase after wild goose chase after literal wild goose chase. All the while Buck’s eyes rarely left Eddie. Normally, Eddie felt comforted by Buck’s constant presence, the way his eyes never strayed too far from him, especially when he found himself retreating into his head too much on calls.

But ever since the hospital—ever since running into Dr. Salazar—Buck’s eyes on him weren’t gentle and reassuring, equal parts check in with me and I’m checking in with you. They were worried and persistent and they made the hairs on the back of Eddie’s neck stand up.

By the time the power had been restored and the team had been cut loose, even Buck was too tired to chase Eddie down.

For the most part, Eddie is grateful, as he pulls into his driveway at 9 am, walking into his house and finding it quiet and empty. He’s thankful that he decided to leave Christopher with Pepa the day before, not knowing that his half shift would turn into a full shift from hell. For a moment he considers stopping in the kitchen to clear out the fridge of all the food that was definitely spoiled during the city-wide blackout, but his body screams for his bed and he listens.

He’s grateful when he pulls the curtains shut, switches off all the lights, and slips under the covers.

He’s grateful. Until the darkness settles around him again, until the sheets wrap themselves too tight around his body, until his eyes fly open and he finds himself searching frantically through the dark for a pair of wide, equally startled blue eyes.

He’s grateful until he realizes that he’s alone.

It’s not a panic attack that wakes him up—because Eddie doesn’t panic—but it takes him 10 minutes to get his heart rate back down. This sleep pattern is becoming painfully familiar to him, like finding an old t-shirt in the back of his closet that he hasn’t worn in 5 or so years, the material tight and constricting around his shoulders and chest. It’s 11:45 in the morning and he knows that trying to fall back asleep is useless, so he takes a quick shower and decides to clean out the fridge anyways.

When there’s a knock on his front door 30 minutes later, Eddie thinks he really shouldn’t be surprised.

But he still is when he pulls open the door and finds Buck standing in front of him, curls fresh and wet against his forehead, the circles under his eyes no less prominent than they were three hours ago. The spike of annoyance is almost immediate because Eddie knows that Buck got just about as much sleep as he did—if not less—and it was Eddie’s fault.

“Buck,” He starts to say, ready to wave him off again, turn him around on his porch and shove him back towards his jeep.

“I—is Christopher here?” Buck cuts him off, eyes darting over his shoulder. Eddie presses his lips together and shakes his head gently.

“He’s with Pepa,” He starts again but this time it’s Buck’s body that cuts him off, shoving his shoulder between Eddie and the doorway, pushing his way into Eddie’s house before he’s even had the opportunity to protest.

“What the hell is going on, Eddie?” Buck’s long legs make easy work of the distance between Eddie’s doorway to his kitchen and Eddie follows right on his heels, helpless and frustrated.

“Nothing’s going on, Buck. I told you to drop it.”

“Well I can’t, Eddie,” Buck says emphatically, spinning around and leaning back against Eddie’s counter. He pauses for a moment, wide eyes searching Eddie’s face before they drop to the floor. His fingers fumble with the hem of his sweatshirt and Eddie’s struck by how small he looks, shoulders hunched, bent inward.

He knows Buck pushes because he cares. Hell, if it were the other way around and Eddie had found out Buck had been to see a cardiologist and didn’t tell him, he wouldn’t have ever let them leave the hospital without finding out why. But Buck can’t know about this—whatever it is. Because Buck won’t drop it even after he finds out and all Eddie wants to do is move forward. He doesn’t get why no one else understands that.

“It wasn’t anything serious, Buck,” He tries again, but the way Buck stares back at him makes him feel like his body’s made of glass.

“Because if it was you would tell me?”

Eddie swallows. He holds Buck’s gaze and nods, a jerky aborted movement, before averting his eyes.

“Good, because four months ago you got shot.” Eddie ignores the way his entire body tenses as Buck continues. “And then you sat in the hospital room and told me that if anything ever happened to you I would be Christopher’s legal guardian.”

He doesn’t say anything and when he looks up again Buck has taken a step closer. He hovers over Eddie slightly, eyes soft and imploring.

“If something happens to you, I need to know. I want to know.”

“It was—it wasn’t a heart attack,” Eddie says quietly.

“But you thought it was.”

“The doctor said…they think it was a panic attack.” Eddie’s stomach twists at the gentle recognition that crosses Buck’s face. He’s not surprised in the slightest. Eddie can picture him easily, back at his loft, sitting on the edge of his bed, phone in hand, searching google for an explanation as to why Eddie would think he was having a heart attack if he wasn’t.

Realistically, Buck probably knew what was up while they were still in the hospital. But if Eddie can just pretend for a little longer—

“You don’t agree with them,” Buck says eventually and Eddie feels heat crawl up the back of his neck.

“I don’t panic,” He says as a reflex, the words familiar, having taken up residency on the tip of his tongue over the last couple of days. But the moment they’re out in the air, the moment he says them to Buck, he knows he’s lost the battle.

“Everybody panics.”

“I don’t.”

“Eddie, you got shot—”

“Why does everyone want to talk about that?” Eddie can’t keep the frustration from bleeding out into his words, not even through his gritted teeth. “I lived. I lived and he...he’s dead. I’ve moved on, why can’t everyone else?”

Eddie’s eyes are wide and frantic as he looks at Buck, pleading, and for a second Buck gets a glimpse at Eddie as a child. He gets a glimpse at Eddie before he closed himself off, before he was taught to build up walls around his heart, before he learned to shove every emotion down further and further until the only thing left was his ability to move forward. Before he learned how to control.

He reaches his hand out, settling it firmly on Eddie’s shoulder, thumb skipping over the pulse point in his neck.

“Eddie, it happened. Just because you don’t talk about it doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. I—I watched you almost die, Eds.”

“But I didn’t,” Eddie repeats, voice small.

“And I’m really fucking glad you didn’t,” Buck agrees on an exhale. “I get that you want to move on but until you actually talk about what happened, you’re not going to be able to.”

Buck hesitates for a moment, his eyes searching Eddie’s face. Eddie stares back at him and eventually, Buck sucks in his bottom lip and drops his hand from Eddie’s shoulder. He steps back against the counter, looking down at his hands.

“Eddie, you’ve been through a lot. You’ve seen things that most people don’t even think to worry about. It all adds up, you know?”

“But I’m used to it—it’s not the first time I’ve almost died,” Eddie says and Buck does his best not to flinch, the way he always does when Eddie casually mentions his own mortality, the number of times he’s stared death in the face only to turn his back on it and fight in the opposite direction. He takes a deep breath and pushes back from the counter, turning and slowly making his way towards Eddie’s kitchen table.

“You know, I still talk to Dr. Copeland about what happened that day, sometimes,” Buck pulls out a chair and slowly sinks down into it, his joints cracking as he does. He looks up at Eddie, who feels frozen in place, struck by the realization that it’s been four months and this is the first time Buck has ever actually mentioned the shooting, the first time he’s ever talked about it as something that happened to him too.

“For weeks I couldn’t look in the mirror because I—I would remember standing in the hospital bathroom after they took you in and seeing…your blood everywhere.”

Buck’s words settle in the pit of Eddie’s stomach like a rock. He wants to say something gentle and encouraging, but his throat feels tight, like it’s closing up on itself, and all he can do is stare back at Buck.

“Some nights I still have nightmares where I wake up and I can feel your blood on my hands. Or—or sometimes I wake up and in my dream…we never made it to the hospital. Or I’m frozen and I watch you die in the street. And it takes everything in me not to call you and make sure you’re alright. That you’re still alive.”

Eddie eventually makes his way to the chair opposite Buck, sliding into it with robotic, stilted movements that feel like they’re made by someone other than himself.

“I didn’t know,” He says quietly, and Buck regards him with a face full of guilt and pain.

“I knew you didn’t want to talk about it. But…maybe I should’ve tried harder. I’m sorry,” Buck says and Eddie’s face twists.

“You don’t have to apologize for that, Buck.”

“The point is, no matter how much time has passed, I still think about that day. And I wasn’t the one who got shot.”

Eddie’s jaw works and lets his eyes fall to the table, trying to find something else to focus on, his heartbeat rattling in his chest. He traces the surface, noting all of the different dings and marks in the wood, the water stains from years of use, from years of living. He doesn’t remember the story behind each mark—some of them weren’t even made by him (or Christopher, or Buck, or anyone else they know). The table was a late-night purchase off of Facebook one of the first nights Eddie spent alone in their house. He remembers feeling a great sense of pride when he made the purchase like he was finally moving forward, achieving something for himself and for Christopher, doing the right thing. And then he remembers the deep sense of dread and loneliness that washed over him immediately after. A table was something he and Chris needed, but Eddie wasn’t used to furniture shopping alone. He couldn’t help but think about how Shannon would’ve hated the table he chose—and she told him as much when she eventually saw it.

He remembers Shannon and the way she had suddenly fallen back into his life, like a rare kind of meteor, a once in a lifetime kind of thing, crashing through the sky, fiery and fierce, ripping through the ozone layer and leaving a crater in its wake. That’s how he felt when Shannon died—torn and empty.

That’s how he felt in the months after the shooting, too. Even as he fought to get up each morning, fought to go to physical therapy, fought through his mandated counseling sessions, fought to regain mobility so he could get some sense of independence back, so that he didn’t feel so useless in his own home.

None of it cured the emptiness. Not even when he reached his hand out some nights and felt the warmth of Ana’s body next to him. Not even when she held him in her arms, ran her fingers through his hair. He doesn’t feel anything.

Or—maybe that’s not true. Maybe he does feel something, something he’s just been ignoring—an uneasiness deep in the pit of his stomach. An uneasiness that spreads, slow and quiet until suddenly it’s taken over his whole body—panic.

He does his best to ignore it but nothing soothes it—and maybe that’s what he’s been doing this whole time. Trying to soothe the ache, the fear. Reaching for the things he thought would bring him comfort, would help him move on. And acknowledging this pain and panic means that it’s not working. None of it’s working. Not this, ignore it and move on mentality, not this relationship with Ana. Because it’s all connected, isn’t it?

Three days before Eddie got shot in the street, Carla reached across the table and took his hand, and told him to be sure he was following his heart. Three days later he was bleeding out on the street, eyes locked with Buck’s, the two moments twisted and tied together in his history, a knot so tight Eddie didn’t think he could ever untie them.

Looking back up at Buck, Eddie remembers the dream he woke up from earlier. The dream itself isn’t important—it was just one in an endless sea of scenarios that have blended together into one long continuous nightmare; an empty street, a shot in the air, fire, blood, screaming, mud, water, gasping for air—but Eddie remembers what he was searching for when he woke up.

Blue eyes, equally startled.

“I don’t,” Eddie says suddenly, his voice surprising him. He pauses, looks back down at his hands. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“Do what?” Buck asks quietly. His hands slide across the table and hesitate just for a moment before they cover Eddie’s own. The relief is almost instant—not total but enough.

“Ask for help,” Eddie responds. Buck squeezes his hands and he looks back up at him. He swallows, hard, at the sight of Buck’s wide, pale blue eyes staring back at him. Eddie could get lost in them. Eddie wants to get lost in them. He thinks he could be safe there.

“You just did.”

It takes a moment for Eddie to realize he’s crying. It takes him even longer to realize this is the first time he’s ever cried in front of Buck. But after everything they’ve gone through, after this whole conversation, he can’t find it in him to feel ashamed of it. Especially not when Buck’s looking at him with nothing but sincerity and honesty in his eyes. And it hits him then that Buck loves him.

Eddie thinks maybe this is what it’s like to be loved in your entirety. He’s not sure he’s ever felt anything like it before. He doesn’t have time just yet to unpack the way it feels to have Buck look at him like that, to feel like he’s been cracked down the middle and opened up to reveal every ugly vulnerability and be met with nothing but love.

But it feels right. It feels like a step forward. A step in the right direction.

Eventually, he’ll have to go back to therapy. He’ll have to unpack the events from that day, the anger he never let himself feel, the fear that his life was about to be cut short, the regret he felt staring across the 20 feet of asphalt at Buck, covered in his blood.

He’ll have to talk to Christopher because he knows his son is too attentive for his own good, and if his trip to the hospital taught him anything (and it taught him a lot) it was that Christopher had no intention of playing along with this charade Eddie had going, and he saw right through it.

He’ll have to talk to Ana. He’ll have to confront the fact that when he searches for comfort in the middle of the night, in the midst of his panic, he doesn’t find it in the shape of her body, but in the image of Buck.

One day, he’ll have to face those feelings head-on. He’ll have to untangle this web of repression and fear, the threads of which had been spun so long before Eddie was ever aware that they’re practically embedded in his DNA.

But for now, he finds peace in his kitchen, his hands in Buck’s, blue eyes on his.

And he feels safe here. If only for the moment.

[whump-tr0pes]

Honor Bound 6 - 9

This is a series. Start here. Continued from here.

This is a sequel to Honor Bound, Honor Bound 2, Honor Bound 3, Honor Bound 4, Honor Bound 5, and the prequel Vera.

AO3

Content warning: post-rescue, referenced starvation, scars, referenced attempted murder, noncon body mod, referenced nonsexual noncon nudity, PTSD, referenced noncon (that didn’t happen), self-blame, flashbacks, hallucinations, unsure of reality

For those of you who pointed out I forgot about Zelda in the last chapter with Vera... thank you!!

~

There was a sense of warmth to the light in the bathroom. Gavin could almost feel it on his skin like the brush of a breath, like the sun on his face. It was nothing like the cold light in the basement. Nothing. Even as his head felt both too heavy and too light at the same time, even as his stomach adjusted to the feeling of being full, he felt the light pressing into his eyes and felt real. 

He felt safe. 

He could still taste what he’d eaten for dinner, savory and sweet and sour, peanut sauce and chicken and noodles swirling together in what may have been the best thing he’d ever tasted. He’d only been able to finish half before he’d sat back, feeling almost too full to move. But Gray said that might happen. Gray said it might take some time for his stomach to get used to eating enough. 

He met his own eyes in the mirror. There were dark circles marking the skin beneath them, and the shadow of a bruise on his left cheek where Schiester had struck him as he dragged him to the gallows. His lip was split at the corner of his mouth. He pressed his tongue to the spot and winced at the burst of pain and the coppery taste. The scars on his face were carved deep, now, puckering the skin around them on the bridge of his nose, across his left cheek, and from the corner of his left eye to the hairline at his temple. The lines were reddish, almost purple, like they had been when they were fresh. It had taken three surgeries with the best surgeons in his parents’ region to make the skin lay flat, before. His face would look like this forever now. He was marked like this forever. 

His gaze dropped to his neck, to the ring of worn, weeping skin where the collar had rested. There were spots where the skin had been rubbed raw from the constant pressure, from Schiester dragging him into place and holding him down while he hurt him. Gavin bit down hard on his lip as he tried to look away from the marks there. As he did, his fingers brushed the scars on his right forearm.

Stormbeck.

He shivered. 

“You ready?” Vera croaked behind him. He jumped. 

“Y-yeah,” he murmured, turning to look at her. She was staring off to the side, her eyes unfocused – as if she couldn’t make herself look right at him. His throat tightened, and he raised one hand to run through his hair. It still smelled like the family’s shampoo. He let the scent wash over him, calming the rapid thrum of his heart. “Yeah, Vera.”

“Good,” she rasped. She stepped forward and plugged the sink, then grabbed the electric trimmer from the counter. “Um. Are you good to, um…” She blinked, and her throat bobbed. “You good if…”

“I can bend over the sink,” Gavin said softly. “That’s… th-that’s fine.”

Vera raised her eyes to his for the first time since… 

She’s not a monster. She’s not going to hurt me.

“O-okay,” she whispered, nodding jerkily. “Good.”

“Vera,” Gavin murmured, and reached out to take her wrist. Her gaze flicked down to the scars on his forearm. She shivered and looked away. “I’m not… Whatever it is you’re thinking right now, I… I didn’t have to… He never…” Gavin blew out a shaking breath. 

Schiester never bent me over anything. Even though I—

Gavin winced at the thought that followed: even though I deserved it.

But he did. Every moment of what happened was recompense, come too late to save any of the twenty-three lives he’d ended before he ever met Isaac.

Vera chewed the inside of her cheek and nodded again. “M’kay,” she murmured, her gaze faraway. “Good.”

She reached for a spacer and slid it onto the blade. Her hands were shaking. Gavin closed his eyes and leaned over the sink, bracing his elbows on the counter. He shivered at the cold ceramic against his forearms. Bent over like this, the collar of his shirt brushed against his face, and he caught Isaac’s scent with his next breath. The trimmer switched on. 

“You still sure you’re okay with this?” Vera said, her voice oddly distant. “I mean…”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured against the counter. “I don’t… I don’t want to look like… him.”

There was a long silence. The only sound in the bathroom was the sound of the trimmer, and the sound of Gavin’s breaths against the counter. Then, a cool hand settled on the back of his neck, and the spacer touched down a moment later. 

Gavin jerked. There was an electric razor against the back of his head, his hands were tied behind him, he was naked and on his knees on the linoleum washroom in Schiester’s basement. One of Schiester’s men was holding the razor to his head – “he used to cut hair, in his previous life,” Schiester would say, “back before your family destroyed everything good about the world” – and every now and then Alvarado would look at the picture Schiester was holding up for reference, a picture that Schiester would force Gavin to look at while whispering in his ear, “that’s your father, that’s the man who destroyed my life, that’s the man you are, and you’re going to die when I’m finished with you, you’re going to die, you’re going to die, Stormbeck—”

“Gavin?”

Vera’s voice. 

Gavin sobbed weakly, trembling, his knees pressing against the tiles of the bathroom. His wrists burned like they were tied. He shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, blinking tears out of his eyes. Vera’s gentle hands settled on either side of his face and eased his head up so she could look at him. 

“Gavin,” she said again. “Gavin Uriah. You’re okay.”

Gavin’s heart pounded against his ribs and his lungs burned with every inhale. He reached out and grabbed at her wrists. She released him but his grip tightened, and she hesitantly cupped his face again. Gavin’s gaze darted around the small bathroom as he gasped. 

“V-Vera…”

“Do you need me to get Isaac?” she said evenly. 

Yes.

No.

Gavin wet his lips and forced himself to take a breath. “N-no,” he wheezed. “I don’t…” He swallowed hard. His neck felt so strange without the collar. “I d-don’t want him… seeing this. Please, Vera, don’t… I c-can’t hurt him, he… he hurts when, um, wh-when I hurt.”

Vera sat back on her heels and brushed Gavin’s tears away with her thumbs. “Yeah,” she croaked. “He does.”

“I…” Gavin dragged in another slow breath. The room wobbled around him and his eyes darted around the bathroom. No hose in the corner. No cold white light above him. No rope on his wrists, no knife at his throat, no men holding him down, no collar on his neck, no icy blue gaze on him. 

Safe, like Isaac said. Safe.

Gavin cleared his throat. “Um…” He gripped the counter and dragged himself to his feet. His legs were shaking so hard he could barely stand. Vera staggered to her feet beside him. “M-makes me think of, um… of… him… cutting my hair, and…”

“Shit,” Vera breathed. “I mean, I can… I can try and do it with scissors, I’m shit at it, I mean… you’ve seen Sam’s hair when we’re on the run…” She huffed out a laugh. It sounded forced. 

Gavin shook his head. “N-no,” he murmured. “I… I mean, that’s going to… feel similar, too. And I can’t…” He shook his head. “I can’t just… n-not have a haircut ever again, I…” He raised his gaze and met Vera’s eyes. “Please,” he whispered. She blurred with his tears. “Please. I don’t want to l-look like him.”

Vera’s mouth twisted. “Yeah,” she said heavily. “I don’t particularly want you to look like him, either.” 

It felt so unreal, the half-hearted laugh that bubbled in Gavin’s chest. Everything felt real, and unreal, a dream and a memory and a thing that was actually happening, all at once. Shaking, he pushed out a breath and bent over the sink once again. 

“Just talk to me,” he murmured. “Just… just t-talk to me. I want to hear you.”

“Yeah,” Vera said gently. “Can do, Uriah.” 

Heat bloomed in Gavin’s chest at the name. The trimmer switched on again. He drew in a deep breath through his nose. 

“I’m gonna talk about my puppy, because I’m fucking obsessed with her,” Vera said. Gavin could hear the smile in her voice. This time, when the spacer touched the back of his head, he latched onto her voice, let it pull him out of the memories that threatened to suck him in. He kept his eyes open, staring into the sink. The white porcelain reflected the warm light above him. His fingers gripped the counter like he would go tumbling off a cliff if he let go. 

“So her name is Zelda,” Vera said, her voice sounding a little stronger. She drew the trimmer up the back of Gavin’s head. He shivered with the sound, the sensation. He clenched his jaw and forced himself to hold still. 

“Y-yeah?” he croaked. His fingers ached from clutching the counter.

“Yeah,” she said. “She’s a German shepherd. I got her from someone east of the farmhouse in this place called Eden. This lady breeds shepherds as like… her job.” Another pass of the trimmer across the back of his head. “She breeds them specifically to avoid their hip problems, and for temperament. I told her I wanted a chill dog, but I’ll probably still train her to guard the place.”

“That sounds nice,” Gavin said. His throat still felt raw from screaming, even after—

He wasn’t entirely sure how long it had been since he’d been dragged from the basement. 

If I’m not still there—

NO.

“Yeah,” Vera said with a chuckle. “She’s at home right now. I figured dinner might be a little much for you, and I didn’t want to add to that with a crazy puppy.”

“Dinner was good,” Gavin said weakly. “It was… it was good to see everyone.”

“Everyone was glad to see you, too,” Vera murmured. “I mean…”

“Edrissa doesn’t have to be happy to see me,” Gavin said. The trimmer paused in its path across the top of his head. Locks of his dark brown hair lay in the sink. “She doesn’t.”

Vera drew in a deep breath and let it out. The trimmer moved slowly across his hairline. He lifted his head to give Vera easier access. As he did, he felt the cold press of her teeth against his neck, the white-hot agony as she tore through his throat, the pulse of blood on his skin as he fed on his flesh. He shuddered and whined softly. 

“I’m… I’m sorry she couldn’t make it tonight,” Vera said. “She—”

“It’s… not that,” Gavin gasped. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Ahh…” Sharp teeth flashed at him in the dark and his eyes flew open. 

“Hey,” Vera said, placing a hand on his shoulder and gently pushing him up. “We can—”

“I just want to finish this,” Gavin rasped. He stayed bent over the sink. His breath riffled the short, single bits of hair on the porcelain. “Please, Vera.”

Please.

Everything he was feeling, felt like memories. They didn’t feel like hallucinations. There were no cold blue eyes watching him. 

This was real. It had to be real, or else…

There was a long pause. Then, the gentle touch of the trimmer against his temple again. “Alright,” Vera murmured. “I’m almost done anyway.” She drew the trimmer across his forehead, down the other temple, around his ear. Back and forth across his head, sending showers of tiny bits of hair into the sink. Gavin scratched at an itch behind his ear. Vera did one more pass with the trimmer and then shut it off. Gavin looked into the sink, breathing slowly.

“Gavin?” Vera murmured. “You… you still with me?”

“Yeah,” Gavin murmured. “I’m… I’m here.” He half-stood, until Vera placed a hand on his shoulder again. 

“Hang on,” she murmured. She gathered the clumps of Gavin’s hair from the sink and pitched them in the trash can. “Just a second. You don’t want bits of hair all over you, believe me.”

“I know,” Gavin mumbled. He remembered all too well the incessant itching after the first haircut, how Schiester had laughed – and how Schiester had decided that from now on he’d have Gavin’s hair cut in the room where he was washed, naked and freezing and ready for the hose when he was done. Gavin shivered as Vera turned on the tap and guided him closer to the sink until his head was level with the stream of water. 

“Just real quick,” Vera murmured. “Just to get all the hair off.” She poured a handful of water over the back of Gavin’s head and gently scrubbed. “Yeah, there was still quite a bit left.”

Gavin forced himself to stop gripping the counter. He reached up, too, and scrubbed his head under the tap. He flinched when a stream of water rolled from his forehead and down his nose. 

“I think that’s probably good,” Vera said, and shut the tap off. She gently eased him up. “Here…” As he stood upright, she wrapped his head in a towel and scrubbed at his short, wet hair. She pulled the towel away and dropped it to the floor. 

Gavin felt a wrenching sensation in his chest as he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked so… young. He looked years younger than when he’d been taken, even with the bags under his eyes, with the sallow tone of his skin. He reached up and ran his fingers through the short, soft hair. His gaze wandered over himself and he took a deep breath.

“I… d-don’t look like him anymore,” he murmured. His eyes smarted. 

“Nope,” Vera said, popping, the p. She shivered and rubbed his shoulder. “No. You don’t.” Her lips quirked a bitter smile. “Now I can look at you. Thank god for that.”

Gavin nodded absentmindedly as he ran his hand through his hair, short enough to almost be fuzz. The scar on his forearm caught his eye and he dropped his arm. He shifted his eyes down and swallowed hard.

“Ready to go join the others?” Vera said gently. “I know they’ll want to see the new haircut, too.” This time, when she smiled, it was easier, brighter. Her shoulders weren’t so tense and pulled up to her ears. Her hands weren’t shaking as much. 

Gavin chewed his lip and sank down, sitting on the edge of the bathtub. “Not, um…” He cleared his throat. His skin ached for Isaac’s touch, and the thought of seeing Gray and Sam made his eyes brim with tears, but… he just needed a moment. 

He needed to look at himself and see someone who wasn’t his father. He raised his gaze to the mirror again. He could only see his face; the rest of his body was cut off by the bottom of the mirror. His throat tightened. 

“Okay,” Vera murmured. “Well… okay.” She turned towards the doorway, then paused, turning back. “You… you want the door open, or closed?”

“Open is fine,” Gavin murmured, his hand drifting up to feel the divots of the scars on his face. The scars Schiester had torn open again – after Isaac put them there, more than a year ago now.

Vera nodded once. “Okay. Come join us when you’re ready. We’re all…” Her eyes swam with tears. She pressed her hand to her chest as she swallowed hard once, twice. “We’re all really happy to see you.” Her voice was ragged.

Gavin wrapped his arms around his chest and nodded. “Th-thanks, Vera.” 

Vera chewed her lip, then turned to go. She went around the corner to the living room at the front of the house, where Gavin could hear quiet conversation, the occasional burst of tight, tense laughter. 

Gavin slumped forward and pressed his face into his hands. His eyes burned with tears that would not fall. He scratched at the needle marks on the inside of his elbow, his other hand pressing into his eyes, smearing his tears across his face. It felt real. 

It all felt real. 

Gavin drew in a deep breath and raised his head. Standing in the doorway to the bathroom was a figure – something that looked just like Edrissa. 

Slowly, he sat up straight, understanding crashing bright and powerful through his blood. Her clear, ice-blue eyes bored into him, her mouth twisted in hate. Her pale blond hair was pulled back away from her ghostly-white face. His gaze flicked to the knife held tight in her hand. 

He couldn’t catch the sob before it made its way out of his chest. The tears finally fell, streaming down his cheeks like blood. 

I knew it. I knew it.

Gavin reached up to pull at his hair, clenching his teeth so hard his jaw hurt. The short strands slipped through his fingers. Dread slid into his heart, dull and slippery. Right on its heels was despair. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, never taking his eyes off the specter in the doorway that peered at him with cold blue eyes.

“H-hey, Schiester,” he croaked. “You… you really had me going on this one.” This time, he couldn’t muffle his sob as the specter stepped fully into the bathroom and closed the door behind it.

Continued here

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[writingsfromhome]

Bad Timing I

A/N: This is you and your ex, (Detective) Harry, winding up in each other’s lives again after a traumatic event in your life. I’ve had this idea in my notes app for like a year, and I just decided to go for it this week! It’s a little all over the place as I set it up but I think the next part will go a lot better if you can stick with it (and I appreciate you if you can <3).

Warnings: Violence (guns), PTSD?

Part 1 / (.5) / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

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

I had booked Thursday and Friday off in advance. I made sure my e-mails were forwarded, my clients were told I wouldn't be in, and any internal matters were allocated to my assistant. It was going to be a relaxing long weekend where I could have a homemade meal for once and watch Netflix all day. I was my branch’s youngest director and even though it was a fulfilling job, I hadn't had a day off since I got the position four months ago.

This was probably why, at 9am, I get a call from my assistant. One of our bigger clients was refusing to discuss his loan terms with anyone and wanted to speak to me directly.

"Tell him I'm not in Adam, you shouldn't even be calling me-I have the bloody day off."

"Yess but he said he's coming in at 10 and if you're not here he's switching banks for his personal and business accounts." Adam stuttered. “If you lose this client H-”

"Jesus," I look at my outfit and the time-I barely had any time to make it to the bank; it took me 40 minutes just to get to work. "I'll be there-distract him if I'm late. Oh! Ask about his daughter's new private school!"

I rush to my room and apply minimal makeup, pull back my y/h/c hair and throw on my black cigarette pants and a blazer. I'm halfway down the lift when I realise I was still in my t-shirt. "Shite," I mutter. I button the blazer and put my scarf around my neck so it's covered. That was decent enough for my day off.

I arrive breathless and sweaty 5 minutes early to the bank despite the cool weather. Might have seemed like a win if that wasn’t when everything went downhill. Just as I walk up to the side door, waving at Adam who was walking out to greet me, a crash from the entrance startles me.

"Hands up!” A loud voice booms from behind me. “Don't touch a fucking thing!" I turn, seeing Adam’s shocked expression, just in time to be shoved to the floor by four people dressed all in black, and wearing celebrity masks. In all my time working here, I’d never been part of a bank heist and some part of me is frozen, mind blank. I wasn’t even supposed to be here!

"I said to put your hands up!" The one with a Brad Pitt face points the gun around the room as people scramble for cover. I inch backwards to the counter as I watch them manhandle the customers and pull our bankers to the floor. I release a breath, trying to snap out of the shock I seemed to be in. The base of a column digs into my back and I focus on that to ground myself, scanning each robber, and where my employees were. Adam has his hands on his head, the closest one to me. I try to catch his eye to reassure him but he’s squeezing them tight. I didn’t blame him, Brad Pitt stands over him menacingly. I look to the customers, they weren’t trying to be smart--that was good. I’d watched enough TV to know that was never a smart move.

Just as I think that, from the corner of my eye, I catch Cole, one of our guards reach for his gun. A loud shot echoes through the small space and I swivel my head trying to see what's happened while making sure everyone was okay. The thief wearing a Kanye West mask, manning the front entrance of the bank, had shot Cole in the arm and he was bleeding all over the floor. My first instinct is to help him but I'm yanked back down before I make it a step.

"We’re not missing the next person who moves a muscle. I want you all to drop your phones in the middle! No. Fucking. Funny business." The thief who shot Cole points his gun to all of us and it takes all of me to not hyperventilate. I hear a few people crying but I don't dare look. Instead, I watch on as David Beckham drags Cole to the side and ties his hands behind him. I can see by the wincing that they didn’t care whether they twisted his arms too hard. This wasn’t a petty robbery, they were hardcore.

"Who has the passcode to the vault?" Brad Pitt asks as one of his friends goes around zip tying everybody's hands behind them. When nobody answers he shoves the gun in Adam’s face and I let out a sob. What did we do to deserve this?

"Me," I choke out. “Don’t hurt him, I have the passcode. I know it.”

"You?" The man asks. "You better not be lying bitch or you'll be joining your friend there."

I nod as he pulls me up by the arm and uses my scarf to tie my hands. I try to stay calm, the only way I could get through this before the police arrived was to keep my calm. Everything in me is screaming to do something--fight, scream, swear, cry, but I keep my mouth shut and follow Brad Pitt and the joker to the back. I'm led at gunpoint to the vault and they untie me so I can put in the code and my thumbprint. The one in a Joker mask presses her gun into my back and I know the least of my worries was a bruise but that was the only thing I could focus on.

She shoves me forward when I pause, hovering my finger over the finger pad, in the distance I hear sirens. Please let us all be okay, I pray.

"Don’t be a fucking hero, let’s go!" The female behind me yells in my ear and I rush to press my thumb.

As soon as I finish the procedure, I feel an explosion like fireworks against the side of my head and everything goes dark.

H POV:

I walked into the station around 10, just having come back from a nearby escalated domestic call. It wasn’t the craziest thing I’ve ever been involved in at 10am on a Thursday morning.

"Harry, there seems to be some sort of commotion near Holborn, the director wants you in his office." Serena, the receptionist tells me gravely. I don’t even consider the street, assuming it would be another criminal to go after. But when I go into the office, we get the rundown: there was a robbery happening at the HSBC. That’s when I understand the gravity of the situation.

"We’ve sent a few men right now, they seemed to be armed so proceed with caution." He warns. I had been on the force for over four years; I moved rank fast and knew how to handle myself so the warning was mostly for the junior constables. But my heart thuds violently in my chest when I think about the possibility...no. I had to focus. But I can’t help but try her cell on our way to the scene. When it continues to ring, my thoughts go to the worse place possible. I know I hadn’t spoken to her in nearly a year, like she wanted, but if anything happened to her, I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself.

When we arrive at the scene, the thieves are still inside. I make sure nobody makes any moves, following protocol, and trying to gauge the exact situation inside. But before I could give orders, a man holding up his zip-tied hands shuffles out of the building. I notice the terror on his face and the fact that he's not armed.

"Down!" I say. The restless energy building up inside of me makes every move feel frantic.

"They left out the back! They left!" The man's shaky voice reaches our ears. I gesture a few of the officers to head around back and radio in the update.

"Get his statement, be sensitive,” I snap at the closest officer before I take a few of my officers indoors. The scene inside only reminds me why I do what I do, there's glass on the floor, phones in a pile and bullets littering the floor. Everyone looks shocked, people are crying, and a man in the corner is bleeding profusely.I scan all their faces but I don’t see her. I pray that she might have taken the day off today or something, even though I knew she rarely every did. Where was she?

"Medical," I order. I face the crowd, "You're all alright, If everyone can slowly get up and follow Officer McGregor out, we'll see that your belongings are returned to you and collect statements later. You’re all alright now."

"Sir," a bloke off to the side steps forward from the group getting up. "Our manager was taken to the back...we're not sure how she is, she hasn't come out...”

I reassure the crowd she should be fine. I didn't want them to see me panic, not to mention if we had any casualty the press outside were going to bombard this crowd with insensitive questions and I really wanted to keep this on the low. I was considered young for a DCI and any screw up meant I took it twice as hard. And I didn’t know if I could behave normally if I didn’t find her in any way except breathing. I put on my brave face.

I get an officer to stand by and venture cautiously into the back, spotting an open vault. I hurry into the area when I spot her, laying motionless on the floor.

“Y/N,” I rush forward, skidding on my knees to check on her. “Pleasepleaseplease.” I put my fingers to her pulse and nearly shout in relief. She was alive! I send a thanks out into the universe, to whoever was watching over her. “Y/N! Y/N, can you hear me?”

Her eyes flutter under her lids. I turn her gently onto her back, she was wearing a Green Day t-shirt under a smart jacket and trousers--that was unlike her. She always dressed very smart. I gently remove her short strands off her face to reveal a nasty bruise on the side of her head. I try to stifle my heartbeat; it scared me seeing her like this. I’m about to call my officer but her long lashes flutter and suddenly she's looking at me, dazed.

"Y/N! Are you alright?" I inquire. She blinks, and then again, her eyebrows drawn together as she stares at me. I try again, “Y/N, answer me please! Are you alright?”

"I...do I...bloody look alright? Where did they go?" She snaps out of her daze and tries to sit up but her hand goes to her head which must be throbbing. I place a hand on her back so she doesn't fall back down.

"Oh thank god,” I sigh in relief, she could talk. She was alright. “Th-they’'ve managed to escape. We'll deal with that. You were knocked unconscious so we should get you checked-”

"Those bastards," she snarls. I bite back a chuckle as I help her up. She pushes me away as soon as she's on her feet. "I wasn't even supposed to bloody be here today you know that? It was my day off and....Jesus.” She clutches her forehead. “How's everyone else? Chris? Adam?"

"Everyone is fine, your guard’s being taken to hospital. Everyone else is untouched, we need to have you checked out though." I am mesmerized, as always, by her ability to talk about ten things at once.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“It’s my case, I guess,” I tell her, expecting the question. She scowls. “I’ll have to ask you some questions later, but Y/N we need to have your head checked.”

“I’m sure you’d like that,” she mumbles.

“You’re proving by the second that you’re quite alright but we’ve got to get you to a medic anyway,” I gesture forward so she can walk ahead of me. I didn’t want her falling or anything. The constable at the door watches her walk out and eyes me warily.

"She need her statement taken chief?"

"I'll take her down to the station myself--she's hurt." I dismiss the officer and follow Y/N out. I wanted to keep an eye on her right now. “Can I help you walk?”

“My legs are working fine,” she snarls whilst clutching her forehead.

Your POV:

I could not believe today's turn of events. I was supposed to have a relaxing day off but instead, I’m rushed to work so I could be held up by thieves, forced to help them rob my branch, only to be mildly concussed. And the person on the case is none other than my ex-husband Harry Styles.

The only thing going for me is that I don't cry easily (or i would be a sniffling mess right now). And Harry was the last person I wanted to cry in front of although he’s seen me at much worse. I push aside those memories, ignoring his lingering eyes and try to walk ahead of him.

I cover up my shaking hands by stuffing them under the blanket I'm wrapped in when Harry leads me to the ambulance. He stays to the side while the medic goes through a questionnaire and informs me on what I need to know about being mildly concussed. All I could think about is the feeling of a gun pressed to the small of back, the chill of it through fabric. 

"Miss?" The medic asks.

"Sorry, I got it. Yes. Thank you."

"I asked how you got here?" The medic begins to look concerned. Shit. I did not want more attention.

"I...meant I got what you were saying. Sorry, I rode the tube in."

"Great. You can ride with me to the station," Harry says from the side. I avoid his gaze but I have to agree. There was no way I was taking the tube during a time like this. I had a concussion.

So I'm sat in the back whilst Harry drives with his partner. I catch Harry glancing in the rear-view more often than he should and when we make eye contact, he gives me a reassuring smile. But sitting in the back of the car, I feel like the metal tip of a gun still keeps my spine straight. My lungs feel like they're not expanding large enough for air and I clutch the seatbelt strapping me in. I try to name all the countries I could remember--a coping technique I’d used since I was a kid to try and distract myself.

"You alright miss?" The other officer sounds concerned.

"Yeah," I choke out. "Just a little stuffy back here."

"Oh ‘m sorry," Harry opens the back window and I greedily gulp the fresh air coming in. My panic subsides and I settle back into the seat.

*

"And that's all you remember?" Harry sits on the desk chair next to me even though his own seat remains empty behind the desk.

"Exactly as I've told you, like, 20 times Harry."

It was now two hours later; I'd sat waiting for an hour before receiving my phone only to find multiple calls from the bank’s higher-ups. After dealing with them, I had to wait another half hour before finally being interviewed. I proceeded to drink two cups of bad coffee while giving every detail of what I remember, their masks, and so on. Every time I said something that could help, Harry would backtrack and I would explain it three different ways. It was frustrating and the repetition kicked my anxiety up so that I was on the edge of a breakdown. I grip the arms of the chair and respond to Harry. "Listen, alright, why would I not be telling you the full story? Of course that's all I bloody remember! It's not like I had an out-of-body experience and I saw them leave through the back door.”

"I'm sorry Y/N, it's just routine." Harry keeps a straight face on.  "We have a few suspicions we're trying to corroborate by interviewing everyone involved. I promise I’m just being thorough-"

"Yeah yeah alright, you sound like you're reading from a bloody manual," I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh into the silence. When Harry doesn't say anything, I look up to see him watching me with an amused expression.

"What?" I ask, annoyed.

"It’s been a while...I forgot how charming you can be.”

“What can I say, you bring it out in me.”

"Very interesting outfit by the way," he takes my snark in stride, gesturing to my outfit with his pen instead. I cross my arms in front of me. He's still got the stupid expression on his face, it looks unchanged from the one he used to give me once upon a time. When he found something I did funny but in a loveable way; the feelings that surface are almost unbearable.

"Don’t judge my outfit, I had to rush to work for our client meet-oh shit." I pull out my phone and check my email but there's nothing from the client. Probably avoiding the shit show. I notice the time, with all the time I’d wasted today I may as well not have taken the day off at all.

"So you weren't meant to be at work today except for this client? Bad timing isn’t it." Harry reads to himself from his notes. I stare at him, wishing I could burn a hole into his skull to see if he really had a brain in there.

"I've told you this five times before, Harry. You're literally reading from your notes. If you're just going to ask the same questions over and over I’m sure you can find the answers in there and I can go home."

"Right but something doesn't add up, I just want to make sure I have all the details."

"Do I have to be here to watch you do your mental maths?" I wasn't very nice when anxiety and frustration became my base emotions. But Harry knew that.

He looks at me, eyebrows raised at my snark. "I'm sure that you want to get to the bottom of this just as much as I do-"

"But that's not my job," I remind him. "That's yours. I've done mine, and I'd really just like to go home." My voice cracks, and I feel a rush of embarrassment.

"How about I drop you off home? I can walk through the day with you once more during the drive?”

He looks at me expectantly, “I’d rather stab myself in the eye.”

"Best not to with the concussion,” Harry pushes my buttons, and I’m kind of surprised. The last time we saw each other he’d been accommodating to my anger but he was pushing back today. Like he used to when we were together when he riled me up simply because he found it amusing.

When I scowl though, he gets serious. “Y/N, just let me give you a ride home and we can talk more.”

I didn’t want to stand around arguing, I was tired, so I just agree. He smiles, his dimples making a pretty appearance. Damn him.

H POV:

I’m surprised she agrees to ride home with me. I knew Y/N had a stubborn streak and giving in to my offer was new. She’d made it clear last time we saw each other that she wanted nothing to do with me. I was also curious to know where she lived, I’d only been to her office once since we’d split. And that was usually to drop off papers.

She actually answers my questions on the drive, albeit they’re one word answers, but she gives me space to talk out some theories I had. But she also disagrees with most of them, pointing out their flaws. The comfortable back-and-forth between us is bittersweet. This was why we were married once upon a time. We worked well together; after all, we’d been friends for years before dating the other. It was the friendship I missed the most when I thought about us.

When we drive up to her address, it’s a townhome in a decent part of the city. Her promotion clearly had its perks.

I leap out of the car to open her door before she could but she beats me to it, scowling at me as she realises what I was trying to do.

“So you live here?” I try to ease into a conversation, get her to open up, ask her how she was doing. But she looks at me like I’d asked a stupid question, waving her keys.

“You’re kind of dense for a detective,” she says when I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t look so shocked.”

“Forget I asked,” getting personal was useless.

“Done.” She always manages to get the last word. She climbs her steps but I follow her up. She eyes me as she finds the correct one on her key ring. “What?”

“I just-have you got anyone living with you?”

“What’s that got to do with the case?” She asks, her defenses going up.

“You’re concussed, it’s best you have someone with you for the next 24 hours like the med-”

“I’ll be fine Harry,” her sharp edges soften but still, she only opens her door wide enough to step through. I can barely see anything behind her except for a hall.

“You shouldn’t be alone,” I try again.

“Nice of you to care,” the way she says it implies a deeper meaning, one that borders on a dangerous topic.

“I’m serious Y/N, this--a concussion’s no joke. And it was traumatic what you went through you really shouldn’t-”

“I’ve been on my own for a while now, I’ll be okay.” There she goes having the last word again. I raise my hands and back off.

“If you say so. I’ll...head back to the station but if you need anything, well, you know how to reach me.”

She nods, closing the door softly behind her. I sigh, it was a whirlwind last few hours but I was just grateful Y/N was going to be okay. I know she hated me, but I still cared about her. It was hard not to. We’d known each other for over a decade, and even though I hurt her in our past, and she might not agree with me, I cared. Caring about her didn’t have an on/off switch. I only wanted her to be okay. Maybe even happy.

Y POV:

I go through the motions for the rest of the afternoon, mostly I sit zoned out in front of the window while the morning plays like a loop in my head. Something about having your life hang in the balance of a stranger’s pointer finger made it feel so fragile. It unraveled me, and I can’t focus on anything. I just keep feeling the gun on my back, and smashing against the side of my head.

I keep my head iced, and avoid screens except to send out a couple emails and to call my sister after 8 voice messages that progresses from panic after hearing the news to annoyance as I don’t respond. When she finds out Harry’s on the case she swears.

“That bastard,” I can see her face in my mind, the one where she pursues her lips like mum used to. “You should report him, conflict of interest right? It’s traumatic enough what you’ve been through, you poor thing. I was just talking to Lewis and he said I should come down to stay with you this weekend-”

“That’s really alright,” I nip the idea in the bud. I loved my sister dearly but she was an overly anxious person and I don’t think that would be helpful for me right now. “It’s just a mild concussion, the medic said I should be cleared after 24 hours so it would only be a hassle for you to come down here.”

“Alright,” she says grudgingly. “But you say the word and I’m on the first train out. And I’ll give that ex of yours an earful if he’s anywhere near you again.”

I smile at my sister’s overprotective nature, “I appreciate the offer, but I think I can manage that fine on my own.”

“That you can,” she laughs.

But when I put down the phone, the silence creeps in again. And normally I loved the quiet but like a broken record player, the voices and sounds from this morning continue to play in a loop in the silence.

I give up after 7 and start preparing for bed. But a call interrupts my nightly routine.

“Y/N,” it’s Harry. “It’s me, Harry.”

“I do have call display,” I say dryly.

“Right, I...wasn’t expecting you to pick up.”

“Is this about the case?” I was hoping he was calling to say the bastards were caught.

“Oh...not exactly. I was wondering if you’ve fed yourself. I’m in your area for work, it’s my last call. I thought I could bring you some takeout or...?”

“I was about to get ready for bed.” I reply.

“Oh. That’s early? Have you had dinner?”

I think about the pathetic cheese toast I’d managed to make. My stomach growls thinking about food, I didn’t seem to have an appetite until he’s said something. “Fine, only if you’re in my area.”

Surely, not even 10 minutes go by and by doorbell rings. Harry stands outside with a takeout bag, his pressed shirt from this morning is more rumpled with a few buttons undone.

“I parked on the street--is that alright?”

“I guess? You’re just here to drop this off.” I shrug.

“Actually I uh, I thought I’d keep you some company.”

“I...” I don’t know if I should be offended. “I don’t need company. I only agreed to the takeout.”

“I’m part of the package,” he hides the bag behind him, a smug smile on his face. I roll my eyes, it was too late to do this with him.

So I leave the door open and head inside, tightening my robe around me. Harry was part of my past and having him here, in the place I’d built myself back again, feels wrong. This was where I’d shed the identity of being a divorcee before 30, and here he was. When I turn to see why he was so quiet, I find him scanning my gallery wall and smiling at the pictures.

“Hey, I’m on here,” he points to a small group picture.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I walk back to him to get the food. “I just looked good there.”

It was a shot from my sister’s wedding, Harry and I with the newlyweds. It was taken a few weeks before we’d made us official actually--moving from friends to lovers was maybe one of the bigger mistake I’d made in life. Another was agreeing to marry him.

“I look pretty good too,” he leans in closer. I ignore him and take the cartons of Chinese out and grab cutlery. He joins me, I hand him a beer and take a sparkling water for myself. “How’ve you been feeling?”

“Okay,” I shrug. “Just sorting through it all. Trying to avoid screens, all that.”

“That’s good,” he steals a chicken from the container I’m dumping into my plate. I eye him but he just grins, chewed food between his cheeks. I let it slide. “So you’re not supposed to sleep with a concussion or something?”

I sigh, “That’s not true, I only have a mild concussion!”

“Well I’m not a bloody doctor!”

“Thank god for that.”

“You’ll never stop doing that will you?” He rubs his chopsticks together and attempts to eat with him. “Always so snarky.”

“I can’t help it,” I continue to watch him fail with his chopsticks and pick up a fork. “It sustains me.”

“You should try being nice for once.”

“Tried it once, didn’t work out well for me. So...here I am.”

I was being passive, I knew that. He knew that with the way he eyes me over his food. He keeps quiet though, knowing there was nothing he could say in this moment to make a difference. We eat in silence until he receives a call and he leaves to take it. I clean up so by the time he gets back I’ve just loaded the dishwasher.

“I know the sleep thing’s not true for you,” Harry says as he approaches. “But I think I should stay here overnight. Just to make sure you’re-”

“No,” I cross my arms. “There’s no reason for you to stay the night Harry. I don’t need you here.”

“It’s for your peace of mind-”

“It’s for your peace of mind Harry. And frankly, I don’t care about your peace of mind. I don’t want you sleeping over, I’m not comfortable with that.”

“Y/N, c’mon! It’s not a big deal. It’s not like we didn’t sleep in the same bed for years--I’ll be sleeping on the couch! You’re not in your best shape and it’s just for a night, it’ll be like I’m not even here.”

“Don’t you have a girlfriend or something to go home to?” I ask. He shifts his gaze and shakes his head.

“Nope, my bachelor pad just me. I’ll be out of your hair in the morning.”

I dry my hands and watch him, he wasn’t going to take no for an answer. I knew him well enough to recognise the wide stance, shoulders back, and jut of his chin. He wasn’t backing down.

“I don’t want to hear you, Not even a peep. I’ll make up the couch but this is the one and only time you’re wearing me down, you’re lucky I’m not in the mood to argue-”

“Promise,” he holds his hand up to his chest, a grin on his face knowing he won.

I leave him with a comfortable setup and head up to my own room. There was a spare upstairs but I don’t think I could handle him sleeping next door to me. It was weird how in just one day I’d seen more of him than I had in the last couple years and now he was sleeping in my living room like we were okay. Not like he wasn’t the man who’d broken my trust, and my heart.

As I lay awake in bed, unable to sleep as the day replays in my head, another set of memories infiltrates my mind and keeps me from sleeping. The story of Harry and I, the naive beginning, eventful middle, and heartbreaking end. My mind repeats its history and I don’t fall asleep for hours. When sleep finally comes, my dreams are haunted by the same memories.

[gaiuswrites]

King of Cups || Chapter 5

Chapter 5: The Moon

Archive: ao3 | masterlist | four

Pairing: Din Djarin x fem!Reader

Summary: All relationships are about give and take.

Word count: 7k~

Rating: Explicit (Mature until the last few paragraphs)

Warnings/tags: nightmares, trauma, drinking, fluff and pining, drugs/being drugged (medicinal), wound care, blood, shots/needles, mature themes/language, emo shit, masturbation (f)

Notes: Hi friends. This is broken up in two portions: the first, being in Nevarro, and the second taking place some time later (hopefully that becomes clear when you read it heh). I'm hoping I captured the varying, distinct tones in each of the sections. Please feel free to reach out to me. :) Enjoy x (gif credit: @skyshipper)

They come at night.

The visions.

Your legs are rock, crumbling - eroding - with each weighted step, trudging through the city you once knew, laid bare to waste all around you. The air is grey brown, chalked with dust—with ash. There are bodies lining the road like trimmed hedges, floating by their ankles—ugly, corporal zeppelins. They’re pale. Their eyes are burned to coal and their tongues hang dead and waxy from their mouths.

They begin the same, choreographed like this; you follow the paths your mind has carved out for you, time and time again.

You spot him, plated in silver at the end of the row. Your feet stop. You see him, and he sees you. You feel his eyes - hawkish, piercing - under the murk of his visor. A predator’s gaze. He’s got a man in his fist—you think you recognize him, you might not—held by the scruff of his neck.

Sometimes it’s X’elo, bending to break in his gloved grasp. Other times, a stranger—a half remembered photograph—a memory of a memory of another dream entirely.

And sometimes, it’s you.

You hear the howl of wind scream through your bones—through the bones of the ruins there—but you don’t feel it. There’s only heat—the kind that’s unavoidable and omnipresent, as heavy as guilt. The hunter brings his hands to frame the man’s temples—yours too, sometimes— pebbles and slate trembling off you as you move towards them. You’re running, you realize, immobile but running and you’re not sure how or why—you never get there in time to find out.

He snaps his neck. You hear the crunch in your own ear—inside your own head.

It becomes night—blood moons drip wet from the sky. They splash onto the dirt. It turns to mud, caking the underside of your boots, squelching as you walk. You round a corner and—

You don’t recognize this. This is new. This— no, this is wrong.

A door. Rutted, freestanding—a dark monolith.

You stutter in your sleep, a crease in your brow.

It’s just a door.

No, not here—

A door. Black wood, a brass handle. Just a door, and you’re sweating. Just a door, and you’re suffocating—you’re being smothered—like your outsides are clawing to get back in through your throat and it’s sucking you in—this door, it’s just a door, it’s just a—closer, nearer, looming taller overhead—

You gasp awake, clutching at the scratchy blanket drenched cold with your sweat. Your rasps echo against the hull, sharp pants scraping the hollow metal, and you bring a hand to your chest—steadying, steadying, the fear of your racing heart.

You sit up, throwing your legs over the edge of the cot, and rake a shaky hand through your hair—the damp of the strands sticking to the nape of your neck. Your breathing evens out, tampering, with your forearms braced on the plats of your thighs; the rise and fall of your breasts against your sleep shirt quiet until you’ve stilled.

You roll off the bed, the aluminum frame whining with the shift, and you knock a knee into one of the carbonite pods as you stumble out of the storage room—your bedroom, now.

You couldn’t handle much more of it. You bought a bedroll the first planet you stopped to refuel at after Bajic, hermitting yourself away into the bowels of his ship. It was the only smidgen of untapped real estate left in the Crest, and it was far be it from you to complain about location. You were just thankful to be out of that copilot’s chair—no amount of bacta could unwind the knots in your neck after sleeping there night after restless night.

So you bunked with the bounties Mando had brought in, like one big macabre slumber party—the chrome slabs slotted up - watchful - in their chambers.

You try not to spare it much thought.

Padding through the Crest, soft bare feet leaving crescents on the steel deck, you step into the fresher to splash water on your face, jolting you back into the present and out of the nightmare, out of—

Just a door.

No—

You towel off, patting yourself dry. Inhaling, your lungs expand with the massive rush of air, and you hold it there until it hurts, until it prickles the corners of your eyes, and finally - deliberately - you release.

You look into the mirror.

You blink. She blinks back.

///

You make breakfast now.

It’s not something you both agreed to, it’s just something you do. Funny, how quickly you adapt to new normals, to new routines. You have rituals now—you two. You make breakfast, and you leave a bowl for him out on the counter before you slip into the shower. When you get out, the bowl is empty and the dishes are washed clean, drying face down on a rag. You smile. You never speak of it. Like ivy crawling up cobbled walls towards the sun, it happens— without prompt or feed, it simply is.

///

Nevarro reminds you of Dallenor—the craggy blandness of it, the endless black sands—and you fight the urge to hate it solely based on this principal alone.

You stay on the ship with the little one while Mando goes into town, meeting with some Greef Karga character to sew up Guild business. You have no idea how he ever managed to get any hunting done with the kid always acting up, pulling hijinks and inciting anarchy. He’s nearly torn the whole place to shreds. How such a tiny body can produce such a massive wake of damage is a mystery you will never solve.

You make yourself watch.

You force your jaw, set and held, as Karga’s men haul the quarries out of the ship, hovering eerily down the ramp.

X’elo, the smuggler from Vohai, some two-bit thief, and a woman Mando caught before you met, all parading single file out of the Crest like a funeral procession. They’re criminals, each and every one—they’re violent and they’ve done terrible, irredeemable things—but they’re people, too.

And isn’t that what makes it all so cruel. So sad.

The least you can do is give them an ounce of dignity before they’re subjected to their fate— however harsh, however fair.

So, you watch.

Maybe they don’t deserve it—they’re here by their own hand, after all, a bed of their own making— and maybe they haven’t earned it back any. But perhaps it’s less about what you can offer them and more about what you refuse to let the galaxy take. Because don’t you deserve to stay unfragmented? Complete? Would you rather be robbed of this humanity, your sense of decency—have it stolen from you?

Doesn’t it cost you nothing to be kind?

You pray neither sound nor fury will strip you of this—this open-eyed tenderness. You beg that you remain, undistilled, despite despite despite.

///

You’re so much more relaxed now then when you first came on board. You were as quiet as a church mouse then, tip toeing around the ship like you were afraid you’d ruin her.

Din will never admit it, but you even managed to get the jump on him once or twice—appearing exactly when and where he least expected. And he didn’t - couldn’t have - he didn’t expect you.

This.

And he looks at you now: lit by lamplight—the kerosene filament flickering warm in the dark hull— slotted back and humming to yourself as you swipe a finger over a holopad, feet propped up on a crate by the table, and it all looks organic. Right.

The drink in your hand, sloshing against the amber jug, no doubt eases your mood. You’re drinking it right from the bottle. He thinks it’s fucking charming.

“Enjoying yourself?”

“Maker above,” you hiss, startling a foot out of your seat. You shoot him an accusatory glare, but there’s no malice in it—there’s laughter ringing around your eyes.

Honestly, that man needs a bell on him.

“Don’t let me interrupt you,” he comments dryly, stepping past.

You move your legs from their perch and sit a little straighter. “You- you could join me,” you chime, “if you want.”

His feet slow until he’s stopped completely and he pans over his shoulder to you. You can’t read his expression—it’s steel all the way through— but you think you feel the air around you both quiver - shudder - with something unspoken, something kinetic.

The scrape of the chair as he pulls it out from the table is deafening, the thunk of his metal body sinking into it even louder.

“What are you reading?” Mando asks.

You cast him a sheepish smile. “CoreWorld News.”

“Anything good?”

Your mouth twists, biting the inside of your cheek. “Never.”

He huffs a breathy chuckle.

There didn’t seem to be any good news anymore. You forage for it—scouring the net for just a whiff of it, of something pure. There is plenty of greatness left in the world, but you find that what it lacks most is goodness— humble and precious. More often than not, you come up empty and disappointed—but never so dissuaded that you do not search again the next day, and the day after that, and after that and after that again.

“How’d it go with Karga?” you ask, setting the holopad down and switching off the display.

“Fine. Good.”

“Good,” you smile. He’s terse—sparse. You think it’s endearing now—vexing too, without a doubt, but the two aren’t mutually exclusive anymore.

“Nothing close to Coruscant yet. More outer rim chaavla,” he grits out, swallowing. “I’m sorry.”

There’s a tickle of bemusement in your voice and a quirk to your chin. “What are you apologizing for?”

“I know you want to get back.”

You hope the glow from the lantern in the galley is dim enough to camouflage the tinge sprung on your cheeks. The truth is becoming more and more clear to you, whether you like it or not: with each passing day, you want to go back to Coruscant less and less. You have to—you know you have to. You have your career, your whole life, waiting for you. But—

But.

“You told me it would take a while—longer than I’d like.”

“I know.”

“I’m happy to be here— I-I’m grateful,” you catch yourself.

He clenches his fist under the table, beyond your line of sight, gnarled tight into a ball. It tethers him down, anchoring him in place—because if he weren’t, fuck, he’d fly out of his seat so fast—

“Alright,” he chokes out.

“Alright,” you smile, glassy.

There’s a kind of mist encircling you two, an incense of a sort, intoxicating and sinewy and lulling you into a hushed calm. It’s thick around you - lush - and you can feel it settle like lead behind your eyes.

“Can I pour you a drink—for later?”

It’s late into the evening, well beyond the hour where the lines of decorum blur. You’ve crossed into the Other—that tarred, limber undertow. Dangerously weightless and free. The liminality between here and there— that twilight place.

Shadows bounce along the walls. Your outline—his too.

“I’d like that.”

///

You’re not as tipsy as you could be, but you’re less sober than you’d like.

Subconsciously, buried somewhere deep, you’re aware that Mando is humoring you and that you should let him get on with his night—but you don’t.

You’ll be annoyed at yourself later for this.

“Okay okay, what are your hobbies?”

A deadpan tilt of his helmet. “I—I don’t understand the question.”

You gape at him, your bottom lip glossed as it parts, plush and wet, and you laugh. “Hobbies,” you reiterate. “You know, stuff you like to do? For fun?”

You see the gears under that helm wheel and spin. It shouldn’t take anyone this long. The question is basic and the answer should be relatively immediate—but Mando has to mull it over. In all of his cycles, as hardened as they’ve been, he hasn’t been gifted the luxury of leisure - fun - and he hasn’t been afforded the time to dwell on the lack of it.

Selfless, without a moment of ownership to himself. This is the way.

“I-,” he pauses, mouth clamping shut. “Skip.”

“Fine, fine,” you tut. “What is... your favorite planet?”

Din stretches back, his beskar groaning against the chair.

All the planets he’d visited were out of necessity—out of demand and credit, never because he wanted to be there and certainly never out of favor. They were tainted—made insipid and unremarkable by the quarries he chased to them.

But there is one in particular that stands out; he remembers a planet the kid seemed to like—how he babbled the whole time, slung in the satchel at his hip, entranced and enthralled. He was on his best behavior, too—the little womp rat didn’t even try to stuff his tiny, wrinkled face with anything. Not once.

“Adega.”

“Adega,” you repeat, testing the name. “I don’t think I’ve heard of it. What’s it like?”

He draws in a long breath, his ribs yawning against the corset of his armor.

He should’ve gotten up by now—fuck, he shouldn’t have ever sat down in the first place. It’s not like he didn’t have anything to do; he needs to downshift the Crest’s power converters, switch off the shield projectors, chart a course to his next job, get some damn sleep if he’s lucky…

But you’re here before him. You’re here and he can’t deny you—not when you’re looking at him like that, like the sun shines out from his fucking face—far softer, far kinder than he deserves. Not when you’re here now, and you won’t be for much longer.

He’s racing against the clock—the swinging inevitability of it. Each moment he shares with you, is a moment that brings him closer to taking you back.

Din is a fool. He knows he’ll lose. He races anyways.

“It’s a water planet—mostly ocean,” he begins.

You allow your eyes to dip close, savoring the description, and you tuck your legs up to fold over themselves.

“But there are islands. Some are small, private—with red trees that go all the way to the sand. Others have whole cities on them.”

You remain quiet - patient - like marble, chiseled and sanded as thin as chiffon, veiling over your face in fine, cascading sheets. Transparent - ethereal - you listen to him blind, letting his words guide your sight.

“The kid-"

Your tongue darts out over your lip and he stutters. Din has to shift his hips, relieving the growing heat that’s tightening below his waist.

“T-The uh, the kid loved it. I’d never seen him like that. The bogwing didn’t want to leave,” he chuckles. He conjures the details he thinks you want—the details he thinks you might like most. “The people are honest—generous. The days are long, and the nights are warm.”

He’s no poet, but it doesn’t bother you.

“I can see it,” you say, before blinking your eyes open. "I'll have to go some time." There’s pink on your cheeks, seeping past your jaw and below the neckline of your shirt to the swallow of your breasts.

You look at him— he looks at you.

A noise hums from somewhere inside the ship.

“Are you scared of anything?” you murmur.

Mando lets a beat pass.

“I don’t think so. Not yet.” You smile at that—small, wistful. You’re not even sure why. “You?” he asks.

Your chest rises with a deep inhale. “I used to be scared of dying. I thought I was gonna die young. I was convinced—I had dreams about it all the time as a kid.”

But maybe that’s not it entirely. Maybe it’s not the fear of dying itself, but the dread of living and dying alone. And isn’t that at the heart of it—at all of this?

I just don’t want to do this all on my own.

He’s never been privy to this version of you—this sloping tone, the liquor buzzing through your speech, churning your words to treacle. You sound nonchalant in way that’s jarring, as if you aren’t talking about death— the fear of your own tenuous mortality.

“But I bet everyone does,” you continue dismissively, “just one of those things.”

He’s almost cautious when he replies. “I’m not sure they do.”

Your expression contorts, knotting for an agonizing moment—until the tension all but disappears. “Huh,” you shrug flippantly, and take a swig. That heaviness, that fog, dissipates nearly as soon as it arrived. “Anyways, favorite color?”

He rolls his eyes; you can see it in the way he tilts his head to you. Really, he seems to say, how old are we?

“You’re right, you’re right— that’s low brow. I can do better…” You melodramatically tap your chin, eyeing him pensively.

“Okay. What’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That,” you nod to his pauldron, “that symbol on your shoulder.”

Tawny fingertips trace absentmindedly over the emblem. “It’s a Mudhorn. It’s-” Mando hesitates, before his hand returns to his lap. “It’s the sigil of my clan.”

You arch your brow. “I didn’t realize you had a clan— is it- is it like, big?” Stars, you sound dumb—and there’s no excuse. You’re not even that drunk. “How- what is a clan, exactly?”

“In Mandalorian culture, your clan is your family. Aliit. Mine, it’s—it’s a clan of two.”

Something in the pit of you stirs, a sickly warmth, pulling at your gut like a rope. You glance over to where the child sleeps, snuggled away in his pram and your lips curl into a smile, hidden behind the bottle you bring to them.

“You’re lucky to have each other,” you say gently, taking another sip.

“We almost didn’t—shouldn’t have.”

His hands tense into his legs—the creak of leather against his thigh plates is audible even from where you sit.

You narrow your eyes curiously. He heaves.

“He was a bounty and I did my job. I turned him in. I went back for him, but—the kid, he saved my life, and I could’ve left him there—I would’ve, before.”

It all comes out like tires grinding through gravel, bruised and roughened. It’s regret, you realize—this is the sound of guilt, frigid and rued, pushing through his modulator. It makes you want to reach out to him, put your hand on his, comfort him, reassure him—something. But you can’t. He’s too far away. He’s on his own sea—untouchable.

You decide it right then and there: you can’t bare that sound, the wracked timbre of it. You hate it. You think you’d do anything to rid the way in constricts his throat—makes him hoarse and clipped, even through the guise of his helmet. It pains you, a visceral stabbing, right to your core. You could go a lifetime without hearing it, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“But you didn’t,” you offer.

“No,” he utters. “No, I didn’t.”

Mando gives you these tortuous, beautiful previews of himself. Like light passing through stained glass, you sneak brief glimpses of the paintings there, the stories and fables and the lessons they teach, until some great cloud drifts past, blotting out the sun, and all goes dark again.

You know this is rare. You know you’ll be home soon. You know to cherish it—to relish what he gives, when he gives it, if he gives it at all.

But—you want more. You’re a simple woman, at the end of all things: all you want is to hold him.

“I think you’re a better man than you let on, Mando.” There’s a knowing twinkle in your eye, a coy lilt to your loosened tongue. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were flirting.

“You don’t know that,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I have my suspicions." You're smirking something awful - deadly - as it sears into him.

He grunts, flames licking up his chest. Din has to bite back his grin, making careful it doesn’t shape the sound of his vowels; grateful for the helmet that buffers him, the mask that seals him away into anonymity, into apathy.

If he can convince you, maybe he can convince himself too. Maybe.

“Next question, dala.”

If he didn’t know any better, he’d think you were flirting.

///

Your eyes are blown wide, gawking at him.

“I’m not a medic, Mando—I’m not a fucking surgeon!”

Mando crashes through the Razor Crest, red dollops trailing in pools behind him. He grunts, hand pressed to his side, blood pushing out of the gash that’s torn into him— a canyon down his unplated body, spewing angry and insistent with each spasm of his heart.

With a broad stroke, he sweeps the clutter off the table and onto the floor, spraying across the deck.

“Medkit,” he barks, hoisting himself up to lie, hulking and pained, out on the slab. You scamper to it, ripping it off the wall, and return to his lumbering body. His breathing is labored—he’s forcing it, seething it out.

Mando’s legs bend off the table at an uncomfortable angle and he rasps when you crane them up by his booted ankles – fuck, he’s heavy – to situate a small crate under his feet. They drop with a dulled thud— without muscle, without resistance. The languid weight of a dying man.

You’re stationed beside him, medkit spilled open. “W-What now, what do you need?”

“I need you,” you heard him say, deep and bassy, as he ascended the ramp. With a colossal drum of your heart, you spun around - I need you - a blush stippling your jaw. The pregnant expectation built behind weeks and weeks of stalemates and stolen glances - I need you - all rearing to a head here and now and finally, finally something—until you saw him, doubled over, bracing himself on the wall, a line of blood smearing behind his palm.

“Bacta-“ Mando wheezes, “bacta shot.”

You rifle through the supplies, littering them as you dig through the box.

Sure, you had gotten your first aid certification with the Movement—it was required, and you retook the courses every few cycles. But that was gauze wrappings and mouth-to-mouth and anti-inflammatory tablets—that was not this, and this is fucking surgery. You’re out of your depth—and Mando must be out of his damn mind.

“I nee-“ He inhales sharply, and his body spasms, gripping the ledge of the table like a vice. “My chest plate—take it off.”

He’s told you bits and parcels of the Mandalorian way—of his Creed— and you aren’t under the impression that this would be strictly sanctioned.

“M-Mando, I thought— are you sure?”

“Yes I’m kriffing sure—do it. Just do it,” he snaps. He hates this—he fucking hates this. Soft. Weak—weak weak weak, he’s so fucking weak. Laandur.

You fumble over the armor, uncoordinated as you unclasp it from his cuirass and Mando strangles out a sigh as soon as it leaves him. At last, you fish the shot from the medkit and hold it up to the light, the medicine like venom as it whirls in the tube. It’s uncomfortably large—simply holding it makes you squirm.

“W-What is that?”

Your eyes flit over the needle and then back to the bounty hunter. “What do you mean ‘what is that’? It’s a shot.”

“That’s a lance,” he growls.

“It’s ebacta-”

“It’s green!” he hisses out incredulously.

“It’s all they had!” you bite back, panic skipping through your veins.

You’re practically yelling at each other, the tension winding and coiling tighter and higher as the seconds tick by. You feel each one, tapping along your vertebra like a metronome, keeping time, keeping time, wasting time—all this back and forth is a waste of time and—

You’re nervous—you’re fucking terrified—and Mando doesn’t frequent this position either—this vulnerability. He doesn’t know what to do with it, where he belongs in it. I need you, he said. He hadn’t needed anyone before and now look at him, bare breasted before you, wounded and mewling like roadkill.

You rap the needle with a knuckle, banishing the air pocket, and test the plunger. Droplets of liquid spurt from the tip, and he begins to rile.

“Dala,” he warns.

“Mando,” you mimic.

“Nu draar-”

“Do you want my help or not?” you spit out, and he shrinks, visor trained on the jab, that unnatural chartreuse swirling inside the glass vial. “Okay. Okay, on three.”

“Wait, wait-"

“One..." You try to sound firm - competent - but you’re a fucking mess. Your breathing is erratic, tunic soiled with sweat, and you’re trembling.

“You don’t-“

“Two...”

Mando huffs exasperatedly, “Ah, fuck it-”

“Three.”

You drive the syringe down, stabbing into him. His body seizes—flexing rigid—as soon as the viscous gel is injected, oozing oozing oozing until it’s pumped empty and spent.

And then— nothing.

All that whirlwinded frenzy, that raging tempest, and now silence— dead silence. He lays there motionless, fidgeting ceased, that ungodly needle pitched like a flag pole from his chest.

… Shit.

“Hey,” you touch a hand to his shoulder.

The smug bastard could be having a laugh under that helmet and you’d have no idea. That’s what you tell yourself—that’s what you’d prefer to believe anyways; it’s better than the alternative, better than—than than than fuck—

“Hey, this isn’t funny...” A little rougher now, you jostle him. He doesn’t react.

“… Mando?”

His head lolls to the side.

With a whistle, the room goes mute. Sound and oxygen alike, it all gets vacuumed out, and your senses invert. You can hear every tick of your body: the bone of your jaw as your teeth mash together, the pulse at your wrist, your stammering heart beating beating beating in your inner ear, the bob of your trachea as it grates against your neck.

Kriff. You killed him—you killed the Mandalorian.

Oh Maker, oh shit-

You press down around the puncture site with a wide palm before yanking the syringe out, flinging it away. You’re shaking him now, wrestling with his limp body, and you’re shouting—croaked with worry, with fear.

“Fuck, Mando—Mando!"

The sound is like glass shattering.

He gasps wildly, gulping down air as if he’d been drowned, writhing like the undead from your operating table. You buckle over him, fatigued and slumped, and cry out in blessed relief.

Your instincts, those poor frail nerves, tell you to smack him—but given that he’s bleeding out, you refrain.

“Don’t do that to me!” you exclaim, breathy and strained.

“Don’t do that to you?” Mando retorts, panting. You let out a weak crackle of laughter and he moans. It’s like he’s been hit by a speeder - twice - forward and then reversed over again.

“Maker, what did you give to me?”

“I got it on Vohai. They uhm- they said it was good quality-“

“And you believed them?”

Your mouth twists shyly. “I-I wanted to believe them,” you correct him.

It’s his turn to laugh now, tired and raw. Oh, you sweet little thing.

You swallow, saliva coating your ragged windpipe. “I’m sorry—Maker, I’m so sorry, a-are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he scoffs, gargled, “but remind me never to have you save my life again.”

That earns him a light slap to his arm. If he’s well enough to dole cheap shots, you figure he’s fit enough to take yours too. He’s spliced open, whole chunks of him missing, and he still has the wherewithal to be an ass.

“Well, you’re not out of the woods just yet.”

///

Regrettably, Mando might have been spot on about the bacta—in fact, you’re starting to question whether it’s really bacta at all.

A delirious grunt ripples through the bounty hunter’s modulator as you cut open his ripped flight suit, careful not to slice him with the vibroblade. His black undershirt is matted to his gaping wound, the blood bubbled over and through the rough material, and you have to peel the fibers out of his coagulating flesh to get to it. You toss the fabric into the bucket next to you with a sloppy, wet plop.

It didn’t even occur to you. You were so swept away by the state of him—by the dizzying carnival of it all as soon as Mando breached the Crest—you didn’t consider the fact that you’d be seeing him. Touching him.

You have to mask your expression when you meet his skin for the first time. He’s golden—he’s golden everywhere—like desert sand dunes sizzling under ripe, afternoon suns—dappled with memories of violence, branded into him.

You’ve never heard him like this. He keeps noising these feverish little nothings— gasping, moaning in a language you don’t recognize—and you do your best to distract him. It’s one of the tenets you recall from your aid training: keep them talking, keep them sharp—engaged.

“Do each of these have a story?” you ask, eyeing the marks that riddle and pucker him.

“Some of them.”

“What about this one here?” You touch a faded ribbon of scarring. It’s older than the others—paler. Your fingertips are cool and he blazes beneath them.

He tries not to twitch. You try not to notice.

“Fell out of a tree when I was a kid—haven’t thought about that in a while,” Mando pants. “B-Broke my wrist, got scraped to shit— my buir, m-my mother, she chewed my ear off.”

“Mm, I bet she did,” you smirk—you can relate to the feeling.

“I-I remember the lines around her eyes. H-Her eyes— they were green, bright green— jade.”

He lets out a wince as you swipe a disinfectant soaked rag over him. You cringe and flash him an apologetic look.

“Sounds beautiful,” you muse, a quiet smile pulling at you as your deft fingers work. “Did you get her pretty eyes too, Mando?”

Something is caught in his throat— a chuckle, or a cough more likely. “No, they’re brown. Just brown.”

Your whole body locks.

Just brown.

Two words - just brown - and suddenly you’re rich— full to the brim with him.

And fuck, if it doesn't feels like a gift. Like he gathered something precious and laid it in your arms and said here, you can have this now. We can share. Sometimes you forget that there’s a man under all those layers; a man— a warm blooded, tanned skin, brown eyed man. You hadn’t often wondered what the Mandalorian was hiding under his armor—he was so finite, so unmovable, the mask he wore became him. He was beskar - indistinguishably - through and through.

But that was before. And now you’re blinded with him— with all the details you cannot unsee.

“S-She was the last person to take care of me—like this.”

It comes over you so suddenly, you’re taken aback by it: that knee-jerking gut wrench. And not because there’s heartbreak in his voice, but because there isn’t. Because he’s had to be so invulnerable—so unyielding and invincible for so long—that he doesn’t even realize what he’s without.

And you, if only for a silly, naïve moment, wish you could give it back to him. Every little ounce of goodness that he’s been deprived of—to dip into his time stream, and rewrite.

To plant but a seed of it there, even if you don’t stay long enough to see it’s harvest.

“Tell me more about her,” you say.

And beyond expectation, beyond reason, he does.

///|||///

This—this is wrong.

He feels pulpy - soggy - wrong. He’s more liquid than he should be—there’s nothing solid about him now. He’s swept away in the tide of it—this green current charging through him and he let’s go - what is there to hold onto anyways? - floating belly up on his back.

Din spills—like the aperture split into his side, he gushes. Whatever dam he’s forged around himself, the beskar and duracrete there, cracks.

The stream trickles until he floods and like any good story, he starts from the beginning.

He tells you of home—his first home. Aq Vetina.

You’re plucking spikes and nettle from his side, and he barely feels it—all he has is this sinking, unending wet—and they hit the tray with dull plunks, punctuated and staccatoed.

He tells you of the adobe dwellings and the domes and columns. Marketplace canopies and caravan bazaars.

plunk

The oak trees, the willow bark, the spires he’d climb until the sun set.

plunk

The tall mountains and the dry, rubbled earth. Of the nameless neighbor children he played with, kicking a ball through the dirt. Red robes trailing, fraying.

plunk

His mother. The shawl she wore. The copper of his father’s ring. The herbs she grew by the light from their kitchen window. How he held her hand while they sat by the fire.

plunk

His tongue doesn’t belong to him—it wags numb and supple. He’s lost his sense of direction, unbound by north or south, and these words are simply happening to him. They keep happening and happening and escaping and—

It’s not just the off-bacta speaking for him, making him pliant. He wants this. He wants to bend—he wants to bend for you.

And now there’s no stopping it—there’s no breaking this, no halting it's downhill momentum. Din describes the attack, the heat of the fire as his town - his world - burned down, of his parents concealing him—a child, abandoned and bunkered away in a cellar to live or die with or without them— being rescued by the Death Watch and raised as a Mandalorian himself.

Your bandaging has long since finished, but you remain, hovering over him as you listen—listen as the jigsawed shards of his life stitch themselves together. Like a moth to a flame, you are drawn in and in and in, until you’re butted against the wick of it. Inseparable.

When the well of his words runs dry, neither of you go to move. Pin-drop silence envelops you. Your hands still on his chest, palms like a weighted quilt—warming him, securing him. He feels-

He feels safe.

“Mando,” you murmur, and the epithet has never sounded so fucking sacred, whispered from you like a prayer. You cripple him; the web of concern along your brow, the sheen in your eyes, the breathy part of your lips.

His throat has gone dry and he shakes his head left right, beskar grating against the makeshift gurney. Mando. No. No, that’s not right—that’s not who he is, that’s not who he wants you to know.

He draws his hand up—it’s so fucking heavy, he can barely lift it—but he tries, he tries, he wants to. You’re right here, you’re touching his chest and you’re healing his body—his mind too, if he’d only let you—and if he could just get to you. If he could just lace his fingers with yours—would you let him? Should you?

“M-My name-"

A warbled wail from the kid’s alcove rips through the cradling hush, and you both react immediately, lurching up to tend to the child. Din forgets—he hears his foundling and his reason leaves him—and he flinches with a grimace. You urge him down, steadying him with a pointed look.

“Rest.”

It’s a command, there’s no question to it, and it’s teeming with all of these unrecognizable concepts— care and assurance, worry and compassion. So impossible to disobey in the way that gentle things are—too soft and too right to say no to. He relents - gives - helmet thudding when it connects back with the table.

Din, he pleads, desperate for you to read his mind. Like a mantra, his subconscious rambles it on a drug addled figure-eight, coming around only to repeat itself again, infinite and wanting. Din Din Din-

Only when the child’s cries muffle into hiccups and his hiccups slur into coos does he let his exhaustion get the better of him. There was too much—it was an assault from all fronts. The blood loss, the drugs, his life like a monsoon as it crushed him open. And all it took was a wound, a brush with his mortality, for him to surrender it to you.

He turns his head, searching for you through the blur of his vision. You’re there in the doorway, rocking his boy in your arms, haloed with light.

I need you, he said. I need you I need you I need you I need-

Din’s eyes shut.

He doesn’t dream. He sleeps like the dead, blissful and undisturbed.

///

You spend hours scrubbing the deck on all fours, spine hunched and aching, cleaning scarlet off silver steel. It got everywhere, the splatter of it—even on the surfaces Mando didn’t come in contact with. The smell of blood, that nickel musk, it lingers long after its welcome—long after the stain of it, the stain of him, has vanished from the Crest. From your skin.

At some point during the night you nod off next to him, curled over a crate, and when you wake Mando is gone—presumably back to his quarters but gone all the same. All traces of him gone - expunged - and the ship feels hollow and gaping— a sterile Mando shaped hole in his absence. You follow his lead, retreating to your bed for a few more hours of sleep.

The next morning doesn’t go as you’d like.

You weren’t sure if he would remember any of it—of what he confided, of what he almost confessed— but by the way the tension ferments between you, you can only assume he does.

They go through their routines, stilted as they are.

He’s up early— unnecessarily early. Mando goes to the cockpit to rouse the ship, plugging in the coordinates from his tracking fob to chase after the escaped bounty. Thrusters set. Repulorlifts and auxiliary engines engaged. Deflector shield generator on. Weapons check. Atmospheric pressure regulator switched.

He’s slower, you note— his movements are crawled—with only half the feline agility he typically possesses and you want to tell him to sit, to take a break—to get off his damn feet and to let you help him—that it’s okay if he rests. That he can take time for himself. That it doesn’t make him any less of a Mandalorian—any less of a man.

But, you can’t.

And so the day is pulled taut like this—a bowed string ready to snap, chalked full of false starts and tinny stoicism. A sharp, intentional air of avoidance with every action. They were out of step, out of sync, and it reminds you of the first days you’d spent on the Razor Crest, orbiting each other—planets apart.

Because he’s shared too much. You knocked, Din answered. He opened the door and he let you past and now he has nowhere left to go but inwards. He’s cornered with no exit strategy - no option - but to close back up again and furl in on himself like a fern in the dark. Curling - evaporating - until he’s nothing but armor—nothing but mirrored edges and metal plates.

But—

you still made his breakfast and he still washed your dishes—and maybe that is enough.

///

You pass each other in the corridor, as you have done before.

You smile gently—soft as sin— and it breaks him, like it always does.

You have a hand on the rung of the ladder when he calls your name, and you turn to him, bright eyed.

“Thank you,” he rasps, “I never thanked you.”

He’s so strikingly sincere— standing there, arms dangling stiff by his sides. He looks different now, somehow— different, but the same. Fuller, bigger—smaller, too.

Human, you realize.

Your heart flutters in your chest. “Of course, Mando-“

“Din.”

You forget to breath. Time forgets to move.

“My name is Din.”

///

Din. Din Djarin.

It takes you almost a week to say it—to even utter the syllable aloud—and you only ever risk it when he’s gone on a hunt and you know you’re alone.

“You like it when I touch you like this?” you hear him say, the fabricated echo of his voice in your skull. He’s got two fingers in you—you can envision them now, clear and potent, the golden hide of them—and he moves slow as he takes you right to the edge, dancing dastardly along that cliff side before retracting himself and backing off. You can’t see his face, but you know he’s smirking; you can feel it in his fingertips, how they mock you—how they scorch into you and leer.

Even in your fantasy, he’s a prick.

“You like it when I make you cum on this filthy fucking cot?”

You keen into your hand, whimpering into your bitten raw lips. The scene is playing on without you now, writing itself. All you can do is lay here and take it, succumb to it, starved and desperate and vile as you thrash on your bedroll.

You rove your palm over your chest—

He snakes up your shirt, twisting your nipple until it’s peaked and perked under him, until you yelp with that muddled jolt of pleasure and pain. He’s lazy and fitfully unhurried, each movement sauntered and proud. He’s coaxing it out of you, this orgasm, as he kneels over you, your vision flooded with the cold menace of his beskar. Finally, tortuously, he traces his thumb over your clit, toying with you in small circles until you’re shaking—vibrating, every molecule of you—like you’re going to burst, incinerate there in your bed. He’s urgent now, demanding, and thrusting into your swollen cunt and the pressure mounting in your heat swells until, until, oh my st-

You fuck your fingers until they prune, drenched with the thought of him teasing you, stuffing you full with anything he’ll give you; his hands, his cock—Maker, his tongue. You let it roll around your mouth when you touch yourself like this in the dark belly of the ship—heels digging into your thin mattress, knees steepled together—and you’re panting, wanton and velvet, before a fist shoots up to muffle the moaned name wafting from your lips like smoke.

“Din”

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