#Got some insane fucking cramps while i was drawing him

[malama-art]

19 whole episodes into my part 5 rewatch

[godivashines]

So let's talk about the first kiss scene cause it's definitely one of my favourite Wilmon moments. Ah! I mean that scene was so good, especially when you start to think about all the beautiful brave little moments they shared before that kiss. It was the perfect first kiss, and not perfect in the way that it was sexy and unrealistic, but perfect in the way that it was beautiful, very realistic, definitely relatable and every body language, every eye movement, every word or lack thereof, made the kiss scene make so much sense.

First the event leading to the first kiss scene is quite important. Here we have Simon and Wilhelm sitting side by side, watching the horror movie. I mean they could have sat down five feet apart, but with the bond that was already developing between them they had to be so close. So here comes the scary part of the movie and everyone's startled, and the normal reaction is to cling to someone or something for comfort (or if you're like me to just continue watching cause you watch so many horror movies and you just remind yourself that it's fake and move on or switch the TV off and think happy thoughts only).

Moving on…. So here we see Wilhelm reacting to this by touching Simon for a moment there subconsciously. From here we can see that he already reaches out to Simon for comfort even if it was like instinctively. After the scary part and everyone's calm, Wilhelm takes that hand and places it gently on Simon's legs, rubbing it just the tiniest bit while apparently still pretending to be focused on the movie when we all know that he was thinking about Simon.

Simon on the other hand notices this gesture from Wilhelm and places his hand over Wilhelm's while looking at him and when Wilhem focuses on him, he maintains eye contact, smiles and squeezes Wilhelm's hand in the most perfect show of assurance and affection. Wilhelm smiles back and that scene is just so beautiful because it is like their first non verbal "I like you" to each other. (Also I just love how he doesn't just place his hand over Wilhelm's and then pretends like something major is not going on between them by staring at the TV instead).

Now I'm not saying that Wilhelm did anything wrong by focusing on the TV while his hands strayed to Simon's leg because we relate to this gesture. Wilhelm wasn't really sure what to expect from Simon before this and vice versa. It was apparent that from the first time he laid eyes on Simon singing, he knew he was in love… or at least was going to be, even though Simon was just on the stage singing his heart out and not really paying attention to the Prince because we know he's like "fuck the monarchy." However we can see Wilhelm showing interest in Simon and Simon picking up on these signs(I mean homeboy was trying to be subtle but failing, still it was cute). Then when they shared that moment at the initiation party when they got so close and their eyes locked and sure their minds were like "okay, there's definitely something going on here."

However they never really said the words out loud, so this was a big move for the both of them. Soon though their hand holding came to an end when Wilhelm notices that Sara saw them and becomes anxious (even though he probably didn't know that Sara knew about Simon's sexuality and was absolutely okay with it). Still we can see that Wilhelm has anxiety throughout the series and he had to get out of there pronto. So he rushes about amidst stares from a certain someone who would not be named (but thankfully nobody followed him out except Simon, or so it seems).

So Simon goes out to meet him and asks "are you okay?" (Cause man it seemed they were having a beautiful moment there and he just up and left). Wilhelm of course says "yeah" and something about it getting hot in there, needing some fresh air and his toes cramping up, all bs actually, but he seriously doesn't know how to lie that well. So he asks Simon "How about you?" And Simon's like "I'm fine (but I'd like to know for sure what's going on between us… or imagine if he had said this *coughs*)

Anyways Simon wants to know what really is going on between them so he leans in for a kiss GENTLY. I love how he did not do the quick kiss thing then act shy cause that's just ugh a certain way. He actually goes in slowly before that normal rush and Wilhelm could see that Simon was about to kiss him and being so brave at this moment. Now if Wilhelm didn't want this kiss he had enough time and chance to say no or push his away, Simon was giving him that opportunity.

However he wanted this kiss, so he didn't refuse but he didn't really do much either. So they had their first simple kiss, then Simon went in for another and we can see that he was actually more receptive of the second one but it was abruptly cut short by the movie sound for the other room.

It startled them, reminding them that they are actually not alone in this whole world and there were actual people right down the hall who could witness this. Literally it brought them down to planet earth.

Now we see Wilhelm trying to tell himself more than actually telling Simon, trying to come up with something with his "I'm not, I'm not, wait, wait, wait, fuck, I'm not, sorry, I'm not…" and at this point he just gives up cause firstly he could not even come up with a coherent sentence.

I think at this moment he was like fuck it! I want this boy and I don't care what anyone else says. So he draws Simon closer by his shirt and even this is just so cute!

Now they are face to face but Simon takes a stand because he knows what he wants and he wants to be sure that they want the same thing. So when they get close they rest their head on each other's. In that moment you can see so much emotion and internal decisions being made.

Now Simon no longer goes in for a kiss because at this moment Wilhelm has a choice to make. So he stays there for a moment and Wilhelm has to make a move this time around and show that he feels something too. (gosh I love this part!). He was not putting pressure on Wilhelm and he was not pushing him away, he was just there with him.

So Wilhelm finally realises that "yes I want this" and he kisses Simon, then Simon kisses him back and it is all just sweetness overload from there…. Cut… end of a freaking awesome scene.

N.B; they had decisions to make even at this moment :To be or not to be, are we going to be together and are we just going to ignore the insane chemistry and attraction between us, and they chose well at that moment.

[that-gt-and-vore-stuffs]

Experiment 05SB

Alternatively titled “I’m sorry 2B don’t hate me please”

I hath given in to the M4dc0m brain rot at the cost of me now having written a 7k+ word fic because I’m not confident enough in my art skills to draw it at the moment. Here we go!

Oh, there’s also implied fatal in this (it’s of unnamed characters, plus this is M4dc0m, but I’ve gotta say it. I guess you could take it as reformation if you really wanted to.). Mentions of blood I guess?

As always, Vore under the cut :)

“Ey 2b? You there?” Deimos’s voice crackled to life through the plastic earpiece currently jammed into his left ear, yanking the hacker and unofficial ‘team medic’ as he was called once (much to his own confusion. Sure, he knew basic medical but by no means was he any sort of doctor) back into reality. A brief moment passed in the silence of his room, more often called ‘the lab’, of their base before everything came crashing back at once. Deimos, Sanford, and Hank were out raiding a A.A.H.W warehouse at his instruction. Meaning he was alone in their base, also known as a breaking down appartement they had taken shelter in. It had electricity and provided shelter from the harsh hell scape that had once been the state of Nevada. A dark red sunless sky overhead, vegetation and any ecosystems completely wiped out from what they’d seen, bandits and zeds equally ready to eat the nearest person if it meant living another day, the Agency hunting you down if they thought you’d possibly be working against them or with the infamous Hank J. Wimbleton, and having little to no essential resources for days at a time to top it all off like some twisted cherry on this sick cake. Home sweet fucking home.

“Doc? Helllloooo?” Shit, right. Deimos.

“Sorry, I’m here. What is it Deimos?”

“And the medic lives!” The small cheer was accompanied by laughter from the smallest member of the team. Jebus, how was he able to joke in even the most dire situations?

“Just get to the point, chucklehead.” 2b could hear Sanford add in over the static, the man’s laughter just barely making it to tired ears.

“Right right, sorry man. Anyway, if we wanted to get food on the way back would you say no?” Pardon? There was no way he was hearing that right. There were several reasons why he couldn’t be hearing that right. A. food wasn’t by any means the easiest thing to come by in this hellhole, B. restaurants weren’t really a common thing anymore so those were out of the picture, and C. there’s no way they could p- actually, scratch that last one. Robbing a corpse wouldn’t be the weirdest thing that those three had done. Not by a long shot. Still though, how was he supposed to respond to that request?

“…what?” Apparently by asking the first word on his mind.

“We saw that one hotdog vendor on the way here and we’re all starving. Can we or can we not get hotdogs on the way back?” Oh. That’s what Deimos ment. How on earth had that hotdog vendor not been killed yet?

“Is this a genuine ‘we’ or is it a ‘me’, Deimos?” That seemed like a more fair and answerable question.

“Hey I-!”

“It’s a genuine ‘we’ Doc,” Sanford’s voice chimed in. By the cursing in the background 2b could imagine that he had flipped up Deimos’s mic to temporarily mute him in the realm of their earpieces. “Pretty sure one of our stomachs gave us away to the last group of agents we had to take out. Not gonna point fingers but I’m pretty sure it was Hank- Ack! I’m just saying!”

“Thought we weren’t pointing fingers.” There was the third voice. Rough from years of fighting yet still all too recognizable as Hank. The same Hank J. Wimbleton on the wanted posters that scattered the walls of almost every nearby building, wanted dead by the Auditor and his whole agency. He must’ve smacked Sanford for his comment. Well at least he didn’t do worse, whether on purpose or accident.

“We aren’t. Now Cmon Doc, you never answered my question.” Hearing the other hacker’s voice ask for an answer again 2b sighed. Always eager, wasn’t he? How the man had seemingly endless energy on missions would forever remain a mystery to him, Jebus be damned.

“I don’t really care what you do on the way back so long as you all come back in one piece and with the stuff I sent you there for. Understood?”

“Aye aye, Captain Doc! Over and out!” And there they went. The earpiece went dead, leaving 2b on his own once again once he flicked up his own mic. Back to silence. Sweet sweet silence. It wasn’t often they got that in their shared apartment of a base. Someone was always awake, someone was always saying something. It was never really quiet unless you were lucky enough to be the only one awake. 2BDamned had seen plenty of those rare times, if only because he overworked himself and didn’t sleep. So maybe it was one of his less than desirable qualities, when living in a hellscape being ten steps ahead of the agency trying to kill you is always good. He had to keep that up, on top of keeping the others alive and well.

And then there was his little experiment. That also was taking a toll on how little he slept. Not all that long ago the trio had returned from a mission with the data he had requested and more. Specifically a duffel bag full of seemingly shrunken grunts and two only slightly bigger shrunken MAGs. Pft, how funny it was to say that. A shrunken MAG. Hell, he wouldn’t believe it if you told him with no proof. The idea seemed insane. Oh but it wasn't. Not by a long shot if the cages sitting on one of his tables said anything. Normally he’d call such a thing like keeping people in cages inhumane, not that there were many humane things in this hellhole to begin with. He’d expect keeping them in cages that probably used to be for pets to be a move pulled by the Agency, not himself, however he had to make do with what they could find and had access to. Also known as: not much at all. He wanted to study them after all. Letting them free was just not an option.

Now that probably sounds bad, studying living beings like himself, but one couldn’t blame 2b when you considered his situation (at least he hopes one couldn’t). Somehow the Agency found a way to shrink living beings. That’s power that could be used against him and the others to make everything turn for the worst, something which he wanted to avoid at all costs. However, if one of his teammates or himself were to be shrunken on a mission it would be possibly lifesaving to know how to reverse the effects. Plus, having the power to shrink enemies on their side could certainly prove useful. All that being said, he needed these few alive in order to try and figure out what caused them to be how they were. Hence the repurposed, beat up pet cages. Two of them to be exact. One held the grunts and the other for the two MAG agents. None of them had killed each other yet, so that was nice. A few simple experiments and a dissection of a grunt that had been dead upon arrival to him proved that they still functioned as they would if they were their normal size. Just on a smaller scale. He had sent Hank, Deimos, and Sanford out for supplies today, yes, though if they found any information regarding the shrinking of their little ‘guests’ then they were to bring it to him. With no information on that though, he had to continue his other work. Tired eyes met the screen through red goggles. Moments later his head found itself cushioned in the crook of one of his arms.

“What the hell.” 2b grumbled, a fresh headache slowly starting to pound against the inside of his skull. What the hell was up with him? He should be fine. This was only his second day without proper ‘longer-then-15-minutes’ sleep. He’d gone longer before, he should be able to function. Why was the screen giving him such a headache now of all times? He needed to get stuff done. He needed to finish up this…this……what was he working on again? Hold on, no, he should remember. This shouldn’t be slipping his mind like it is. Maybe if he just thought back a few minutes. It would come back to him, right?

“Ok right before Deimos called, what was I doing?” 2b thought out loud to himself, trying his hardest to recall what had happened prior to the call from his allies. ”I was sitting here…then Deimos called in. Wait, no. Go back. From the top. Since…however long ago I’ve been sitting here, working on…what was I working on before Deimos asked about getting food? I sent them on the raid, didn’t eat, got to work and- no. That’s not it. Why can’t I just-“

Gggnnnnnnrrrr…

Oh well fuck him. That’s why he couldn’t focus. 2b groaned, not bothering to hide the noise as of now. He was alone, no one would hear him or tease him. Unless you would count the shrunken men in the cages, however it wasn’t likely they’d say anything. When you’re the size of a rat, spare the MAGs who were more rabbit sized, to your captor pissing them off seemed like the worst thing one could do. Clearly the hacker wasn’t at all in the mood to deal with teasing, so their mouths remained shut. That left 2b alone to deal with his complaining stomach, a feat which proved easier said than done when one was going off a day and a half without properly sleeping. He couldn’t even remember the last time he ate something. It was all just fuzzing together at this point.

Pushing himself off his desk 2b flopped back into the worn chair he’d been sitting in for God knows how long. Relaxing into the backrest was certainly more comfortable than being hunched over a laptop screen typing away like he had been for the past day or two. A hand fell to rest over his stomach while the other removed his goggles. Those were not helping the blooming headache. A low growl from his stomach drew a small hiss through his teeth, the sound being accompanied by a familiar empty cramping.

“Oh you can shut up.” He grumbled at the organ half heartedly, “It’s not like I can eat anything right now. There’s a reason I sent Hank and the others out.” His stomach growled back, the empty sound ringing in the hacker’s ears. He needed to eat, that was undeniable. The problem was getting something to eat. He had few options, none of which he particularly liked. Option 1. going out to look for something even slightly edible on his own, option 2. wait and hope the others found and brought back food, or option 3. contact the others through his headset and ask them to get him something on the way back. The first option was clearly undesirable on its own and the other two weren’t much better. Sure, asking them to grab something for him would probably be easiest and most logical, however he was almost certain that they didn’t want to hear that out of the blue in the middle of a fight. That and he didn’t want to deal with any teasing that might come along with asking. He wasn’t about to take that chance when he had things to do. He couldn’t remember those things at the moment, sure, but they were still things he had to do! So asking was not an available option at the moment. That left waiting and hoping for the best.

Rrrrrrrnnngggggg….

“I know. I don’t like the idea either.” 2b sighed as he spun around in his chair, gently patting his stomach. He needed to get out of his chair, even if it was just a walk around his room. He needed something after a day and a half straight of sitting there hunched over staring at a screen. Maybe it’d help with the headache if he was lucky. Probably wouldn’t but hey a man could dream. With a small grunt of effort the hacker found himself on his feet, his balance wobbling and legs feeling like brittle pasta beneath him. Ah, that's what I wanted to do earlier. Go figure taking breaks gets ignored by my brain. “However, I do believe it’ll end with the best result. I’m sure they’ll be home soon anyway.”

They wouldn’t. That was a lie, to himself and to his stomach alike. He likely had a few more hours alone, maybe two at least. The A.A.H.W warehouse he’d sent them to was big and if you account for fighting delays and them stopping on the way back then the chance of them being back in the next two hours would be some sort of miracle. By the way his stomach reacted every time he brushed over the thought that the trio was getting food on the way back then he wasn’t going to be looking so hot by the time they arrived back. Oh he was going to get the short end of the stick no matter what he did, wasn’t he? Talk about luck. 2b sighed, running a hand up and through his hair as he walked along one of the walls of his small room. His stomach clearly wasn’t shutting up any time soon so the next best course of action would be to ignore it. Maybe that would help him wait it out. What could he focus on? There was work, he could clean up a little bit maybe, or he could focus on the rattling coming from the cages and-

Hold on.

That most certainly wasn’t right. 2b cocked an eyebrow, crossing the room to where the three cages were placed. Quite the interesting scene was playing out before him. From what he could see a few of the shrunken grunts were teaming up to try and break out of the cages. This wasn’t their first little escape attempt, no, but it interested him enough as he stood there watching and attempting to grab his tablet at the same time. Eventually he had succeeded, opening up a new document to scribble down a few notes.

Title: Log 073SB

Time: 6:34 pm, xx/xx/xx

Author: 2BDamned

Note: Grunts working together to attempt escape. MAG agent seems to be attempting to cause a distraction by rattling the wall of the cage. Or perhaps they just want out. Very annoying either way. None seem bothered by my presence.

Satisfied with his little note, 2b closed the tablet and set it down on the counter next to one of the cages. Whether it was him being too rough with setting the tablet down or the low grumble from his stomach that startled the cage of grunts was up for debate, but currently he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Right now he needed to have a chat with the little troublemakers. Without hesitation the unofficial medic reached forward, opening the little hinged door located on top of the cage with ease compared to what the grunts inside were attempting before. He didn’t think twice before he reached in and grabbed the two topmost grunts from the pile of attempted escapees before retracting his hand, repeating the process with his other hand, and finally closing the cage. Hands now full, each holding two fighting bodies, the hacker sighed.

“Escape huh? How many times have you already tried that and it didn’t work?” 2b asked, a less than impressed tone lacing his voice. Sure, he needed a distraction from his stomach but he didn’t want to have to deal with escape attempts left and right for the next however long. “What made you think it’d go any different this time?”

There was a moment of silence before a soft voice spoke up, one that clearly hadn’t been used recently. One of the grunts in his left hand. “W-we figured i-if we actually tried and w-worked together then maybe we’d b-be able to manage a successful…e-escape…”

“Really now? Interesting.” 2b mumbled, looking over the grunt in his hand. They were all so small. You’d think he’d have gotten used to their size by now but every time he held one it seemed to slap him in the face. Offing them if they got too rowdy wouldn’t be hard at all. Wouldn’t need to use anything to begin with. How crazy it was. “Though I’m not sure I can let this slide as I have with previous instances.”

“W-what?” His response seemed to temporarily stun the four in his hands, most likely because of how it was different from his previous comments on their attempted escapes. A shiver passed over them like a wave while the hacker only nodded.

“Your previous attempts at escape. While I can understand why one would try I’ve made it quite clear that successful escapes won’t be happening nor tolerated, correct? I need to prove my point here because you all clearly don’t understand words.” He shifted on his feet slightly, a new question wracking his brain. What could he do to show he wasn’t going to deal with constant escape attempts? It had to be something that stuck, seeing as they clearly didn’t understand his earlier comments about escape not being tolerated. Only a few moments of silence passed before his lips were moving again. “You four are going somewhere else. A stronger holding space. If any of the others try anything they’ll join you. Simple, yet effective.” Or it would be if he knew exactly where he planned to stick these four. What did he have that could serve as a stronger cell for them? The cages were already pretty secure in terms of what he could work with. He just needed something stronger, close to him, hard to escape, and threatening that held a sense of danger with it. But what could that be? His eyes darted around the makeshift lab, trying to find something.

Grrrrroowwwllll…

2b’s eyes slowly scanned down from his shaking captives to his stomach. For a moment he just stared, eyes lacking any readable emotion. Well now that was certainly an option. It fit his criteria. Almost too well. Strong, hard to escape, close to him, and it held a sense of danger. Under his mask his torn and scared lips quirked up into a little smirk. “Mmhm. That’ll do quite nicely, in fact~”

The final moments of peace were shattered as the meaning of his words collided with his captives like a well aimed punch to the gut. Hearts sunk to their feet like rocks in water, despair rearing it’s head in their struggles. Those fortunate enough to remain in the cages simply watched with a muted horror as the four bodies were tossed onto the table and held down with little to no effort. The hacker wasted no time removing the mask and bandages that usually covered his mouth, tossing the fabrics haphazardly beside his discarded tablet. Despite the word fresh being the last thing he’d use to describe the Nevada air, 2b knew he’d be lying if he said it wasn’t nice to just breathe the air in alone and not through the layers of fabric like he often did. With the temporary roadblock now gone his eyes drifted downward to the bodies pinned beneath his hand.

“Well, I believe that eliminates any preventable issues we could encounter here.” He hummed softly, plucking the grunt who was covered by his hand the least up into the air. It certainly was odd to watch the little body squirm and fight against him, all attacks on the two fingers holding it proving futile. Their only hope seemed to be 2b letting them go, something which proved less and less likely the longer they studied the look in the hackers eyes. It wasn’t a look one ever wanted to find themself on the receiving end of. The sight of sharp teeth, glimmering with saliva through grinning lips, certainly did not help to lower the grunt’s heart rate at all. 2b simply clicked his tongue. “Meaning stalling time is up. Stay still, won’t you?”

The grunt did not, in fact, stay still. It was impossible to do so as far as they knew when you had a spit soaked tongue dragging up every inch of your front, sharp daggers of teeth only millimeters from their face. A deafening silence washed over the others, only being broken by a small pleased hum from their normal sized captor.

“Not bad…” the man mumbled, dragging his tongue up the squirming grunt yet again. A small voice in the back of his mind, his voice of reason, yelled out the obvious loud and clear to him plenty of times: this was wrong. It wasn’t right to be doing what he was about to do. This was stooping down to the bandits level, something he never intended to do unless absolutely necessary. He shouldn’t be enjoying the taste of another living being like this. And yet…here he was. Ignoring any logic and reason in his mind to proceed with this. Thank goodness he was alone. 2b didn’t even want to think about what the others might say if they were to see him how he was now. Shaking his head softly he shoved away the thought, opening his jaw as far as the joint and scarred tissue that made up his cheeks would allow. He wasn’t sure whether to be impressed or concerned with how easily the small body slipped into his mouth.

Despite their best efforts to squirm free of their new confinement, the slippery surroundings of the unofficial doctor’s maw proved to have horrible traction. Saliva dropped onto the unfortunate grunt’s head from above while they desperately tried to crawl out of the dark cavern. Feet scrambled on the soaked surface of their predator’s tongue as the muscle moved and flipped them around as if they were some piece of candy, all while their hands desperately tried to keep as little of them between the axe like teeth. One bite and they were done for, a terrifying thought. Through it all only three sounds were ever heard from those lucky enough to not be in the current grunt’s position. The sickening sounds of soaked struggle, terrified yelps from the grunt stuck within 2b’s jaws, and the occasional hum from the man himself. The torture, as those watching from the cage would describe it, seemed to continue for hours and hours on end.

Glk

Glp~

Until it all stopped with two simple swallows and a collective gasp of horror from those watching. The relaxed posture of the man they all watched failed to help their situation.

“H….huhh…that was..” the uncertified medic breathed, breaking the silence. His free hand lazily felt down his throat, tracing where he could feel the squirming body slip further down by the second. It didn’t take a genius to decipher that the less angry sounding gurgle from the man’s stomach signaled the end of the unfortunate grunt’s descent. With eyes widened just beyond his natural look 2b gently pressed his stomach. How interesting it was, as morbid as it might sound, to feel something squirming around inside the organ. Before he could even stop to consider a better way to word his thoughts, he finished his sentence. Just not in the way the grunts wanted to hear. “…incredibly easy.”

The last thing any of the remaining grunts wanted to see was those eyes scan up slowly before locking on them as if they were some sort of dessert. The clearly out of place smile on the man’s face didn’t help the feeling of impending doom either. If anything it only made it worse as a rough hand plucked another grunt from the selected three that had remained under his hand. Down, beneath his newfound curiosity and odd urge to continue what he was doing, 2b knew he should have been more concerned about how easy this was coming to him. No sane person would take so calmly to swallowing living beings, especially not of his own kind. Yet here he was, smirking as he licked over his scarred lips with cold eyes locked onto the small shaking body like a cat would after spotting a mouse. Looking at their sizes in comparison to one another? The simile was scarily accurate. Through his whole little mental debate the hacker found it all too easy to slip the small body into his mouth, licking it over to draw out as much of that strangely addicting taste before slowly beginning to nudge it back. Just bit by bit until it was far enough.

Glrk

Grk~

“Two down…haahhh…two to go…” the hacker sighed as he traced the lump down his throat. There was a waiting period once more but it didn’t last long before the shiver inducing gurgle signified where the poor soul had ended up. How the man hadn’t gotten sick yet was beyond the understanding of those who witnessed the event and even the man himself. Surely he should feel at least a little nauseous with two rat sized bodies squirming within his stomach. Nausea and fullness were the two sensations he had expected by now and yet neither had shown their face yet. Deep within his mind, from an area he didn’t even know existed until it spoke, a voice urged him to test his limits. 2b had shaken that idea off nearly immediately. As….enticing as that idea was, he still needed a few of the shrunken grunts alive and well to continue his attempts to recreate and reverse however the Agency had shrunken them before. Four however….well that wasn’t the biggest loss in the world if something happened to go wrong. Leaning a little more heavily over the table he grabbed one of the last two grunts, shoving the struggling body into his mouth head first. Quite the sight it was to watch flailing legs be slurped into someone’s mouth like nothing more than wet noodles. Interesting and horrifying.

Glp

Glrk~

Though compared to seeing someone who had been beside you ten minutes ago disappear down your captor’s throat as nothing more than a barely visible lump would top it in the scarring scale. Nothing could compare to that sight. Good god was it terrifying. The reality that escape was impossible was all but cemented into the remaining grunts' brains now, as that had been what had gotten their companions into this situation in the first place. This was happening because their capturer wanted to prove his point that attempted escape would not be tolerated. At this point they were convinced they’d have to have a death wish to attempt escape now. Especially when their conditions weren’t horrible compared to what they could be in, something which hadn’t crossed their minds till now. Now don’t take their words wrong, by no means did they want to stay here. Especially not now. However, if it meant living another day and not ending up as lunch? Staying definitely was the preferable option.

“One to go. Damn.” The hacker's voice snapped all attention back to him. His position had changed, now leaning back on the table as he looked over the struggling form in his hands. The words seemed to flow from his mouth without too much thought needed behind them. They just felt…right. It was a feeling he never expected to experience in such a context that he was now, much less to have it almost piloting him as it felt now, but he was nearly willing to say he welcomed it. He wasn't well acquainted with the idea of eating living beings after all, so the subconscious help to ease the process along wasn’t something he’d push away. Not unless it were to cause an issue that is. However, nothing of the sort had happened yet, meaning he was going to keep letting his actions flow naturally.

Just as he had with the three before this one, 2b wasted little time starting towards his goal. Raising the grunt just above his head the man dangled the flailing body over his open mouth, a sight that he could assume would terrify anyone in the grunt’s position. All went smoothly as he lowered the small body in. That is until the grunt, having seen an opportunity and taken it, grabbed and yanked down his mic. While he tried to react as quickly as possible, he could only pray the microphone had not managed to pick up the gag he’d made after panic and shock had caused him to jolt forward and send the grunt to the back of his throat. He flipped up the mic as fast as he could, trying to determine the best course of action one could take with a squirming body halfway down their throat and a possibility of having just been ratted out to the others by their lunch. He was screwed were they to find out, what with how at least two of the three always seemed to be looking for teasing ammunition. That and this….well this wasn’t exactly normal, you know.

“Doc? Is everything ok over there?” Fuck. That wasn’t good. Ignoring the sinking feeling of dread in his chest the best he could, 2b took a deep breath and forced the fourth grunt down with a swallow that took a little more effort then he felt it should’ve. Flipping down the mic, he answered.

“Damnit- yes. I'm fine, Sanford. Don’t worry.” The sentence had to be his least convincing lie yet. Between his heavy breathing and dryness in his throat he could tell his voice wasn’t helping him in any way. Now he didn’t take his teammates for idiots, despite how it sure seemed like they were sometimes, but in the moment he found himself wishing they were.

“You sure? You don’t sound all that fine. Did something happen back at base?” The worry beginning to lace the man’s voice through the static filled earpiece only served to worsen the feeling of dread in 2b’s chest. He needed to get Sanford, and the others who were no doubt listening, off the idea something had happened. He needed to deal with the whole I-just-swallowed-four-people-alive thing before they came back, so them returning early was not in the plan.

“No, nothing happened.” He shot back, only realizing the speed in his voice wasn’t too reassuring after he said it. Ok, what was a believable excuse for why he sounded like he did? “I just…spilt coffee on my legs after burning my mouth. Must’ve knocked the mic down in the process.” With a hand to his chest the hacker forced a soft swallow, trying to at least get rid of the uncomfortable dryness that had settled in the back of his throat. Please say they believed that.

“Pft, really? Damn, wish I could’ve seen that. Think you looked like one of those old cartoons, Doc?” Phew, crisis averted.

“Real funny, Deimos. Get back to your mission.” 2b shook his head at the comment. At least they seemed to believe him. It was worth it, even if the mental image of those over exaggerated cartoon characters was now going to show up whenever he even slightly burnt his mouth on coffee. Oh well, some sacrifices must be made.

“Alright alright. We’re going.” The man on the other end laughed. Those idiots. Damn his heart caring for them, now he was attached. “See you when we get back. Over and out, Doc!” And there they went.

Fighting off his own soft laughter, 2b flipped up his mic. A soft sigh escaped him before he could even think to stop it. That could’ve been horrible. While one hand softly rubbed at his neck, sore from what he had to guess was the miniature disaster that just took place, the other gently laid itself over his stomach. The four inside never seemed to stop moving, constantly squirming and slipping about. There were a handful of reasons he could assume was the cause, though the most likely was that being shoved into a soaking wet moving sack with three of your colleagues provided little traction or ability to get comfortable. That and panic. Panic was probably a rather big factor in how they were feeling. 2b, on the other hand, had to be feeling the exact opposite of how they were. The warm weight of his four ‘victims’ was a welcome sensation within the previously empty pit of his stomach. As twisted as he knew it sounded, he would’ve been confident saying that what he was feeling was honestly satisfactory. Why having living beings stretch and actually round out his stomach in a barely noticeable way was causing this feeling was a mystery to him, but at the moment he couldn’t find it in himself to care. Not when it felt this nice.

“I hope I’ve made my point clear.” The unofficial medic hummed, looking over to the grunt filled cage. They had backed away from him by now, huddled in the back most corner of their confines. The sight drew a genuine laugh from the man they all seemed to fear ten times more than before. Well that was proof if he’d ever seen it. Looks like their escape wasn’t something he had to worry about any more. So maybe he sacrificed a little of his ‘I’m not going to hurt you’ act for this. It was worth it in his eyes. And besides, he was probably the most gentle with them out of his whole little gang. If they wanted to be left with one of the others then go ahead. Although being left with the mercenary who you were created to kill didn’t sound like the most fun time to him. Smirking, he collected his goggles, mask, and tablet from the table. “It seems I have. Glad we could have this little -hic!- chat. Heh.”

He gave the cage a pat, the rattling of the metal only serving to scare the grunts further back in the ball of bodies they’d curled into, before turning to walk back to his desk. He needed to sit down. Standing apparently became a lot harder when you had four people fighting against your insides. Thinking back, he didn’t know what he would have expected. Did he stumble a little bit trying to get back to his desk? Yes, he did. It was like he forgot how to walk in all honesty. Another reason he was glad he was alone in their base. Like most things though it proved worth it when he finally collapsed into the worn chair he used for work. Without thinking twice he opened his tablet and started a new log.

—————————

“Doc! We’re back!” The call rang out through the appartement, followed by three sets of footsteps marching their way in and the door slamming shut perhaps a little stronger than needed. As the hinges of the door stopped rattling the three expected to hear a displeased groan, followed by the ruffled form of 2b appearing in the hallway to scold them for being so aggressive or something like tracking blood into the base. Honestly, why he still bothered was a mystery to them, at least Sanford and Deimos for they had zero clue what went on in Hank’s head, for the most part. They were mercenaries, fighters, people looking to not end up with their brains splattered on the wall or something worse. They were going to be bloody upon returning, even if that blood wasn’t their own. It wasn’t like their floors were carpet or anything either. In the end though they never bothered to fight the scoldings. No use making the unofficial medic mad, especially if they needed help. The lack of disgruntled medic in the hallway or at least yelling when silence returned to the room was worrying. After a minute or two with nothing spoken and no ruffled hacker to be seen, Deimos tried again to call him.

“2b?” He called out, peering down the hallway which led to their rooms. There wasn’t any blood on the walls, a good sign to start, and no bullet holes that weren’t there before. Unless the Agency suddenly learned how to do stealth missions, something he and he knew the other two were hoping wasn’t the case, he had hopes. Again, no response from the man. Gun still in his hand he took one glance back to the others, a silent ‘follow me’, before continuing down the hallway. Although Deimos had made it to the closed door first he’d been pushed past by the red goggle wearing giant as he reached for the doorknob. Hank had been the one to open the door to 2b’s room. He’d also been the first of the trio to feel the tension in his shoulders drop. It wasn’t long after he had relaxed that he was shoved into the room by two bodies trying to get in and see any damage that could’ve been done while they were gone. The sight of 2BDamned softly snoring away in his chair, nothing in the room seeming out of place, was most certainly a welcome one.

“Ah. So that’s why he isn’t barking us up a tree for your entrance, Dei.” Sanford hummed with a laugh, careful to watch his volume. If there was one thing he didn’t want to deal with after their mission it was a cranky Doc who got woken up by them. It wasn’t a secret he didn’t necessarily sleep after all and there was no way he could survive off coffee like he seemed to silently claim he could sometimes. They all had times when their sleep schedules were fucked.

“Oh shut up, ‘Ford.” Deimos shot back with a playful punch to the man’s bicep. “It’s not like I’m the one who slammed the door. That’s what he would’ve been on our asses about.”

“You slammed it open then yelled loud enough for all of Nevada to hear you. Don’t act like you’re innocent!”

As the two’s words morphed into friendly bickering Hank took it upon himself to deliver the bit of what they got that couldn’t stay in the duffle bag slung over his shoulder at the moment. Buried in the pocket of his jacket was a small object. Something he hadn’t expected to find, but had snagged nonetheless when it had been pointed out by Deimos. For a second as he walked over to the man a rough hand dug around fabric, fingers gripping plastic as he arrived at his destination. Without thinking he tossed the USB onto the hacker’s desk, eyes wandering over small things like the empty coffee mug or discarded goggles. Behind red-tinted goggles they landed on the man’s tablet, the screen now illuminated thanks to what he could assume had been the small drive hitting the desk. Prying wasn’t something he often did when it came to his teammates, respecting their privacy as they often did his, but after a certain word caught his eye he couldn’t help but read the log that had popped up.

Title: Experiment 05SB

Time: 7:42 pm, xx/xx/xx

Author: 2BDamned

Note: I…cannot believe I’m about to write this. This is update one of Experiment 05SB, an experiment started without much if any bit of a proper plan behind it. Phase I, I suppose you could call it, was a success. The shrunken grunts are, in fact, small enough to swallow whole and…alive. MAGs have not yet been confirmed to be the same way, though I’m sure that answer will show itself one day. I am unsure why I am able to keep four of them down without feeling nauseated, but I can. I will update at a later time when more information has presented itself.

The log ended there, eyes falling away from the screen as Hank’s mind worked to process the information it had just been given. According to what had been written before the man had fallen victim to sleep, it was not only possible to swallow the shrunken beings sitting in one of the cages behind him, but the unofficial doctor had done it himself. Four times to be exact. Curiosity grabbed control of his eyes, slowly panning them up to the cage of grunts who looked noticeably more terrified than they usually did. Had they seen the whole thing go down? His mind continued to wander, finding new questions like how on earth the hacker had managed to keep living and no doubt moving beings down like the log said he did. That is unless he’d spit them up before falling asleep. However that seemed highly unlikely-

“Snooping around Doc’s stuff, are we Hank~?” When Deimos had appeared behind him was beyond the mercenary, though the shock of hearing his voice out of the blue was enough to startle him into quickly powering off 2b’s tablet and whipping around to face the two that now stood across with him with far too smug looks on their faces for his liking.

“Woah there, big guy! We didn’t mean any trouble.” Sanford cooed, the fucking Chad cooed, holding his hands up as if he was under some sort of arrest. “Just wanted to know what you were reading over here is all~.”

“Yeah, exactly. I never expected to find you clicking through Doc’s diary.” Deimos added on nearly flawlessly. Sometimes he really hated how well they worked together. Namely when it was against him. “So, was it a love confession~?”

Hank sighed, glaring at the two through his goggles. He sure fucking hoped they could see the look on his face, despite most of it being covered by bandages and his mask. Because he was not amused and he wanted them to know it.

“No, not a love confession, you morons.” He groaned, shaking his head. Telling them straight off what it said would probably be horrible. At the moment he was still having a few difficulties understanding parts of what he read. Lying just seemed like the best choice overall. It wasn’t like he’d be the only one doing so, after all. It sure seemed like 2b did to them over the mic. Speaking of the man, Hank turned around to take a good look at him. At first glance he seemed like he normally did when he passed out in his chair from overworking himself like this. It was only when Hank took an extra second to look and let the information in his brain guide him did he see the slightly out of place softness around the sleeping hacker’s stomach. Unable to help himself Hank felt his ruined remaining lip quirk up into a small smirk under his mask as he turned around to shove the Dumbass Duo out of the room so 2b could sleep.

“Bunch’a nonsense, is all. Now move. I don’t wanna deal with him if you idiots wake him up and we still have shit to put away.”

[swimfuel]

okay humanstuck thoughts under the cut

i owe a lot of this to @/rhythmic-idealist's kankri/vantasposting bc holy shit theyve got such a big brain (ill link to their individual posts when im on desktop since im using this to keep all my thoughts straight and i agree with most of what they say wholeheartedly)

general status quo stuff:

signless works in an extremely demanding career involving helping others (i'm leaning towards an attorney who works with organizations and does pro bono work), and is also extensively involved in social justice work outside of his job... he is very rarely home

he loves and cares for his children deeply and tries to express it whenever they're face to face, but the couch in his cramped and messy office has seen far too much use over the years for him to have been able to say it enough

his habits of working himself to the point of exhaustion are handily passed down to his kids btw

the kids had to grow up quickly because signless was out of the house so often and so consistently—kankri, who was already pretty high-strung, has to learn to take care of himself and karkat

they grow up near ms firuzeh maryam, who's their pseudoaunt/grandma (she took in a nine year old kavana vantas when she was about twenty), but they just call her ms rosa

they spent a lot of time in the maryam house growing up, with miss rosa's two nieces. porrim is a year older than kankri, while kanaya and karkat are the same age

kankri grows kinda sensitive to people trying to mother him since it rubs against the notion that he's the "adult of the house" and that he can take care of himself and karkat just fine

(and it also kinda underlines the fact that kankri has no idea what he's doing at the best of times)

and ironically enough, kankri becomes overbearing and naggy towards karkat in his own right, which forestalls them becoming close in any brotherly sort of way

they grow up really just... unable to communicate with one another clearly

karkat develops his ornery exterior in response to kankri's constant stream of opinions and frantic attempts at making up for the presence of a guardian in the house

i think there would actually be some really interesting parallels with rose in this au.. maybe i'm drawing from my own experiences as well but i think he'd begin to assume that every time his brother opens his mouth, he's going to criticize karkat

but instead of reacting like rose with the "making yourself more of a puzzle"/passive aggressive stuff, he gets a more defensive/hackles raised/"argue with you before you can argue with me" approach

and the thing is that they do love each other and would take a bullet for the other etc etc etc.. but they don't know how to express it because they've fallen into these shitty patterns

and it really doesn't help that kankri has grown somewhat resentful of signless over the years... that mix of resentment and fear and love gets more extreme and more polar every time signless gets injured during a political demonstration

i think kankri and signless would also be slightly closer than karkat and signless, as signless' job really only started to ramp up when karkat was less than years old and kankri was in his early double digits

kankri autistic btw its word of god (i am god)

karkat has a pet crab. its name is also karkat. he vents his frustrations to it.

i feel like the vantases exemplify both the best and worst parts of their aspects with one another as well... the strength of their bonds keeps them together and grounded, but TOO grounded. [insert Blood rant here]

the Blood rant:

i define Blood as bonds, responsibility, and the "core". if Life is the fertile soil and everything living on a planet's surface, then Blood is the gravitational core of the planet keeping everything together

i also think Blood, Heart, & Mind work in tandem to define a person just as blood serves to connect the pieces of the human body... Heart is the soul and the self, Mind is the application of one's self through active choices (agency), while Blood defines both the self and the choices one makes in greater detail [and, as an aside, Life provides the physical spark of life needed to keep the heart pumping blood]

OKAY wow that got tangential anyways

SO BASICALLY! too much Blood makes you stagnate, so for example:

kankri is split between staying home with karkat or going to college across the country and being truly unbound for the first time in years

another crisis of Blood: signless is caught between his empathy and responsibility to the whole world and his responsibility to his own children

okay so here's more status quo stuff:

the maryam and vantas kids grow up together and its hilarious because you'll see them all together and its just like (girlboss) (girlboss) (physical manlet) (emotional manlet)

the maryam girls are actually miss rosa's nieces but she took them in when they were both pretty young

the pyropes know the vantases well enough considering pyrope senior and sign have known one another from their respective legal practices for years, but they live on the other side of town

the leijons lived in town when kankri and meulin were very young, but they moved and travelled for a long time before coming back and reestablishing their roots

the captors (psii being one of sign's oldest and closest friends) move into town with the peixes family pretty early on though

the condesce is.. a horrible spouse and guardian, to put it plainly. she's very emotionally manipulative and isn't averse to smacking people around, including her own family. she moves herself and her perfect little family into town so she can properly oversee a new business venture close by

feferi is one of the best young swimmers in the country and has a pretty good shot of getting onto the olympic team.. a lot of this drive to be perfect and to be better results from the condesce's unrelenting pressure and thinly veiled resentment throughout her whole life

so yeah psii, )(ic, feferi, and sollux all live together and it's really not great for anyone involved. (meenah ran away years ago, and crashed on aranea's couch for a pretty long while—mituna moved out with latula for college before psii and the condesce got married)

it gets bad to the point of sollux staying with the maryams for two months while the adults try to sort out that absolute clusterfuck and get the divorce proceedings going (meenah finally convinces feferi to get out and come stay with her and aranea for the duration as well)

in terms of relationships i think latula and porrim were really really close in high school, and probably had some kind of unacknowledged thing going on for a while that never actually turned into anything because latula and mituna were going steady

kankri has had a crush on latula for years but never acted on it for similar reasons

meenah still carries a lot of that give no fucks attitude (it's developed moreso as a defense mechanism here) and can't understand why feferi refuses to leave the condesce with her

okay back to VANTAS MANPAIN i also think that karkat feels the weight of a lot of expectations on his shoulders as well

he feels responsible to live up to the example his dad and his brother set, even if it's to his own detriment—and kankri's oblivious rambling about his grades and his teachers and all his clubs certainly aren't helping the matter

kankri is one of those overinvolved kids taking a million AP's while simultaneously shitting on the collegeboard at every single step

hes this super overachiever anal retentive perfectionist type dude and (just as karkat preemptively criticizes others to forestall their criticisms of him only to harshly criticize himself) kankri subconsciously holds the people around him to the same expectations he holds for himself

so karkat also develops this sense of lacking which, in combination with everything else, culminates in self loathing and thinking he has to solve everyone else's problems and getting horribly mad at himself for every little mistake

GOD i have a lot more but lemme post this before i accidentally close out of the app and lose it all

more little details:

vriska's mom and terezi's mom HATE each other like HATE HATE HATE one another it's so bad

karkat wrote a ten page review of my immortal in middle school

jade is one of nepeta's best online friends

sollux can't raise one eyebrow at a time.. karkat gives him so much grief about it

the vantases eat a lot of shitty renditions of persian dishes until karkat learns to cook because literally the only person in the world with a CHANCE of getting KANKRI VANTAS to make an EDIBLE DISH is miss rosa

kanaya is really good at persian dance too but is VERY VERY embarassed to perform in front of people.. however porrim definitely is not

karkat has insomnia while kankri just stays up stupidly late for assignments that really shouldnt be taken that seriously.. but they both have the same rumination/sleep anxiety thing where your brain goes insane with horrible and depressing scenarios as you try to sleep

and more ideas that i thought were interesting but idk how to fit in the context of this au:

signless and disciple getting married pretty late in life after having been in love for years, the vantases move in with the leijons and karkat suddenly has two sisters

nepeta and karkat are both juniors at this point, meulin is probably in her third year at a local college nearby while kankri is about to start his second year at a university pretty far away

the kids in general honestly but ill figure it out

more random hcs this time with kids:

kanaya and rose get into a flame war online that gradually settles into elaborate courtship rituals

also nepeta + jade online besties

also bec can inexplicably still teleport

the first sbahj movie comes out and the next six months of dave strider junior's high school career are absolute hell

actually hc that dave senior goes by d strider professionally. the d stands for a lot of things

aradia and dave frequent a lot of the same forums but never end up really interacting

meanwhile karkat and john frequent a lot of the same forums and DEFINITELY end up interacting. this turns into grudging (at least on karkat's part) friendship after they find themselves fighting for their lives defending an objectively shitty movie together on the same thread

[ambersock]

On the Edge of Forever

Characters: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Lucifer (Cassifer)

Summary: Sam has a plan to deal with the Darkness. Dean is definitely not going to like it.

Word Count: 4095

Warnings: Angst, Minor Sam Whump, Swearing, Sam Winchester Has Self-Worth Issues

A/N: Takes place in Season 11, after 11.10 The Devil in the Details. More notes at the end.

Now: Dean

Baby’s tires squeal in protest as Dean uses up a month of tread taking yet another turn too fast, her back-end fishtailing with only intermittent traction keeping her from spinning out. He’ll apologize to her later. Dean slams the accelerator down as he exits the curve and hits 90 on a straight section of the backwoods road on the outskirts of a town probably called Where The Fuck Are We We’re Lost. He starts to recognize landmarks from the last time he was here almost three years ago; he’s close. Not close enough.

He hurtles towards his destination, praying to who the hell knows what (because, really, there’s nothing out there that gives a shit, is there?), that he makes it in time to stop his idiot brother from doing an idiotic thing. Because he idiotically let his brother go to talk to fucking Lucifer, and of course Lucifer got inside his head. And here he is again, wracking his brain to figure out what the hell he can possibly say to convince Sam to abandon his insane plan.

Five days ago: Sam

Ever since the train wreck that was supposed to be a “safe” visit to the Cage to ask for Lucifer’s help against the Darkness, Sam has been replaying the Lucifer-guided tour of his worst fuck ups over and over on an endless loop, hoping that repetition and whiskey will numb him just a little more each time. For the hundredth time Sam curses his hubris, thinking he would even register on God’s radar, let alone that He would answer his prayers and send him visions. For the hundredth time he curses himself for being so naïve that he never suspected that the visions were just a lure from Lucifer to reel him in, break him down, and use him as a ride out of the Cage. And he hates himself for how close he had come to caving in. More than once.

On his third shot of whiskey and his umpteenth rerun through his trail of regrets, it hits Sam: within the chain of events of disaster begetting calamity begetting catastrophe, there is one moment in time where it could have easily all fallen apart. One small delay, one broken link, would cause a cascade failure and drastically alter everything that came after. He can’t help fantasizing, over and over, about all of the different little things could have happened that would have changed the entire outcome. If only.

On his fourth shot of whiskey, Sam remembers the sigil that allowed Henry Winchester to travel through time, and he huffs out a laugh.

On his fifth shot of whiskey, Sam staggers to the archive room and starts pulling books.

******

Sam continues to stare at the passages describing the Enochian time travel spell. The task he’s set himself is a flame that has both sustained him and consumed him for days on end. There’s a tree’s worth of paper covered in notes scattered across every horizontal surface, held down by mostly empty coffee mugs distributed randomly around the cramped space. His eyes are dry and red, an eyestrain headache thrums in the back of his skull, and his back is aching from being hunched over musty tomes for hours at a time attempting to deconstruct and reverse engineer the spell, to adapt it to his specific purpose. He’s not sure when he slept last, and Dean has started to give him those sideways I-know-something’s-eating-you looks which means he’s got limited time before Dean drags him out of the bunker “for his own good”. Sam forces himself to clear his mind of everything except the patterns of Enochian writing in front of him. He’s close, he thinks he’s found the right figures, he just needs to understand how to combine them with the original blood sigil. As Dean would say, he’s on the one-yard line and it’s time to push through it.

Hours later something finally clicks like a circuit closing in his brain, and suddenly the pattern of the lesser symbols within the larger whole makes sense to Sam. The solution is simple and elegant, and it’s so obvious to him now that he can’t believe he didn’t see it sooner. He adds the figures to a drawing of the original blood sigil and he knows, just knows, that this is going to work. He allows himself to luxuriate in the endorphin rush that accompanies success, the feeling that he’s about to score a win. For the first time since he threw himself into the Cage, he feels like he’s finally doing something right.

The only problem now is finding the right way to tell Dean. He’s going to need some time and distance, a head-start to get out in front of Dean’s inevitable knee-jerk reaction, because Dean is definitely not going to like this. Even if it was his idea.

Yesterday: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel

It was a stroke of luck, really, that Lucifer landed Castiel as a vessel instead of Sam as he had originally intended. Dean might have caught on to Lucifer-wearing-Sam, but it was just too easy to pass himself off as the besotted pet angel when Dean had caught him tearing through the records. A contrite little “I’m sorry Dean” coupled with a soulful look and Dean was sold. It is surprisingly so much easier to masquerade as someone else topside than it ever was in the Cage. He never could fully convince Sam that it was Dean who was carving out his organs.

Fun aside, there is now a possible monkey wrench in Lucifer’s carefully laid and, so far successful, bid for freedom. He stares at the disarray of notes decorated with Enochian symbols strewn all over the small bunker storage room by his erstwhile vessel, and can’t dismiss the growing possibility that everything is about to unravel.

“Oh Sammy-boy, what are you up to?”

His vessel has been mucking around with a time-travel sigil, and it seems like he’s pretty far along. Logically, Sam would be looking to prevent the release of the Darkness, which also certainly means undoing the events leading to the damage to the Cage that allowed Lucifer to escape. There are two lessons he files away for later: one, never speak Enochian in front of a chew toy; two, sending Sam Winchester on a guilt trip tends only results in a manic attempt on his part to fix things, which is exactly how Lucifer ended up back in the Cage the second time. He takes a moment to appreciate the irony of how tormenting Sam with his past regrets might now colossally backfire on him. He questions whether it was really worth it just to see Sam squirm like that once again, but then he can’t keep a smile of contentment from spreading across his face.

Yes, yes it was. Definitely worth it.

So now to the problem at hand: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel has other important, and definitely more amusing, things he needs to attend to, such as feeding Crowley his own intestines. But this potential threat to his plans is not something he can abide. He mulls over the merits of just disintegrating Sam—not very satisfying, but efficient—when he feels a tickle from a small, dark corner of his consciousness. He sighs in irritation.

“What do you want, Castiel?”

I believe I can help.

“Yeah, not really buying that.”

Give me five minutes, and I promise that Sam will no longer be of concern.

Lucifer is loath to cede control, but at the same time his curiosity is piqued. He can always return to Plan Disintegrate later. Or maybe he’ll think of something more entertaining while he’s waiting.

“Five minutes.”

Castiel takes out his phone and picks Dean out of his contacts. As Dean picks up, Castiel reaches for the page holding the altered blood sigil.

“Dean… I’m afraid your brother is planning to do something very foolish…”

Earlier: Dean

“You’re going to what?”

“I’m going to fix this. Fix the Darkness. I figured out a way to take Abaddon off the board in the past. No Abaddon, no Mark of Cain. No Mark, the Darkness stays locked up. Kevin lives. Charlie lives. It’s a no-brainer.”

Dean is standing in the room where Sam had been doing his clandestine research, now devoid of the notes that Castiel had described. After 17 frantic, unanswered calls to Sam, who had gone missing all night, Sam has finally called back and Dean knows that something’s seriously off. He sounds eerily upbeat, which immediately sets off Dean’s alarm bells given how shaken and preoccupied he had been after coming back from the near-disastrous visit to the virtual Cage. Whatever Sam’s planning, Dean is pretty sure he’s not going to like it, and Sam’s not exactly forthcoming with details. Either Dean needs to get Sam to spill, or he at least needs to get a trace on his phone and figure out where he is.

“Aren’t you the one who always says not to screw with time? Mothra Effect, or whatever? And if you go back and meet yourself, won’t the universe, like, explode or something?”

“Butterfly Effect. And I’m not going back, I’m sending something back. Seriously, Dean, do you really think I can possibly screw up the time line any worse than The End of Everything?”

Dean doesn’t have a good response to that, so he switches the topic to keep Sam talking. “So how, exactly, are you gonna take Abaddon out without the Mark and the First Blade? You planning to send her one of your documentary podcasts and bore her to death?”

There’s a huff of exasperation on the other end and Dean swears he can hear Sam roll his eyes. “Hilarious. Look, I’ve found another way.”

“Then tell me where you are and I’ll come help.”

Silence.

Then, “Don’t worry Dean, I’ve got this. It’s an easy spell. You should keep researching the Darkness in case this doesn’t work.”

Sam being evasive confirms that Dean has good reason to be suspicious about this plan, but the trace is still going and Dean plays for more time.

“Don’t worry? Might as well tell me not to breathe. Let me guess: you’re sending a bomb back to blow Abaddon to fucking bits so we can’t sew her head back on.”

“…Huh. Interesting idea, but there’s too much risk that I’d end up blowing up one of us. Anyway, it’s a blood spell. Whatever goes back has to be infused with DNA so that it can latch onto the same DNA. I’m just sending some cloth back. Like I said, it’s simple.”

Dean gives in to his growing irritation at Sam’s caginess and decides to go for the direct assault.

“Sam. What aren’t you telling me?” Dean already has his suspicions of what Sam isn’t telling him; there’s only one way he can think of that takes Abaddon out of play and saves Kevin. He’s hoping he’s wrong. He’s also dying to know how time travelling cloth comes into this.

“Don’t get mad.”

“Sam.”

“Look, just promise you’ll hear me out, okay?”

“SAM.”

Dean can hear Sam take a breath, like he’s getting ready to plunge into deep water. “…I’m going to make sure I finish the third Trial.”

There it is. Damn it.

“LIKE HELL YOU ARE.”

Click.

Sam disconnects before the trace finishes, but Dean doesn’t need the trace to know where to find him. He hauls ass to the garage where the Impala is waiting.

Now: Dean

Dean stands on the brake and Baby skids to a halt next to the car Sam had appropriated, sitting in front of the old, decrepit church. It’s exactly as he remembered it last, like it’s been frozen in time waiting for their return. Overgrown bushes still cling to the rotting siding, and stained glass still litters the ground from the blown-out side window. The only thing missing is the shower of angelic fireballs cascading toward the earth with Sam dying by his side, an image that perversely reminds him of watching fireworks in a field with next to his little brother.

The last time they were here, Sam was half out of his mind with fever and remorse, and Dean’s desperate I’m-Your-Big-Brother-You-Have-To-Do-What-I-Say tone had actually, thankfully, gotten through to him and Sam had backed down. He can’t believe that he has to talk Sam down from the same fucking ledge again, only it’s worse this time because Sam is laser focused on his mission to fix the problem. This time, emotional pleas and yelling and demanding aren’t going to work. This time, so help him, the only way Dean will be able to talk Sam out of this will be to throw logic at him.

Dean launches himself out of the Impala and bursts through the doors of the church to see Sam sitting, chin in hand, in the chair that once held a nearly human King of Hell. A crimson stain is spreading on a strip of cloth that he’s holding to his arm, and there is a bowl of already-mixed spell ingredients on the floor in front of him. Sam has clearly been waiting for Dean.

“Well, that was quick.”

Dean, bent over huffing, heart still pounding from breakneck drive here, is seriously tempted to punch Sam.

Before Dean can take a deep enough breath to start in on forcefully explaining to Sam how idiotic this is, Sam launches into his sales pitch. “Look Dean, I know what you’re going to say, but just listen. I’m not throwing my life away on some impulsive, reckless act. I need you to understand that, that’s why I waited for you. I’ve had days to think this through. This endless cycle of crossing lines we’ve got no business crossing, of throwing away the world to save each other, this is where it all started, and I can stop it before it starts.”

“Damn it Sam, are you even capable of coming up with a plan where you don’t die? Closing up Hell wasn’t worth your life then, and it’s not worth it now—”

“Isn’t it though? I mean, my insides were going to be deep fried whether or not I finished it. You were right when you said you shouldn’t have pulled me back. Look at everything that came after—Kevin, you becoming a demon, and—and the things that I had to do to get you back, to remove the Mark… getting Charlie killed… and how many people died when the Darkness infected that town? I mean, how can you tell me that saving all of them isn’t worth it?”

Dean feels a knot growing in his stomach because he knows damned well that it wasn’t Lucifer who got into Sam’s head. It was the Mark that told Sam that he should have been on the pyre instead of Charlie. It was the Mark that told Sam he should have died finishing the Trials. It was the Mark that told Sam that he was evil. It had said all of this to Sam for his crime of saving Dean from an eternity of suffering.

But it was Dean who never apologized, never tried to set things right.

They have both said and done abhorrent things to each other while under the control of some entity or force, and there has always been an unspoken understanding between them that they don’t take it personally. Mostly. Sometimes. Okay, Dean usually gets mad, leaving Sam to trail after him afterwards apologizing profusely. But Sam always brushes these incidents aside and moves on without a word. Hell, the first thing Sam had done after the hammer episode was to go out and get Dean a double bacon cheeseburger with extra onions and three different pies.

But this… this has really gotten to Sam. He didn’t just dismiss it like he did when they were under the influence of the Siren. He buried it instead and let it set down roots and infest every corner of his brain. And when Sam gets like this—like after he set Lucifer free, like after he found out what he had done while he was soulless—he just can’t let it go until he does something to atone for it. This is ironically what Dean both most admires and most infuriates him about his little brother: his unwavering determination to make things right and his absolute faith in their ability to do so. More than once he has carried Dean along in his wake by sheer willpower when all Dean wanted to do is crawl into a bottle. But these crusades never end well for Sam, and the one thing that Dean will never be able to protect Sam from is himself.

Sam crosses over to the oversized wooden double doors at the entrance, already adorned with the augmented blood sigil. He winds the cloth through both handles and ties it securely as blood continues to ooze from the cut on his forearm. Dean gets what Sam is doing now. He’s using the spell to send the blood-infused cloth back in time, homing in on his own blood in the past, to hold the doors shut back then. Dean had barely gotten to Sam in time to stop him from curing Crowley, and if it had taken him just a few more seconds to push through the door it would have been over. Will have been over.

“Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

The sigil on the door starts to glow dimly, and the reality that This Is Happening hits Dean like cold water in the face. He had every intention of trying to talk Sam out of this with a reasonable, adult discussion, because he knows damned well that Sam doesn’t respond to orders being yelled at him. It all flies out the window at that moment and he’s barking at Sam like a drill sergeant, because if he doesn’t, he’d be breaking down instead. He grabs Sam’s arm and spins him around.

“What the hell, Sam? You know that nothing I said while I had that thing on my arm counts. You can’t seriously believe that I meant any of—”

Sam cuts him off, his gaze intense, his voice fervent. “It’s true, Dean, what you said. Mark or not, it’s the truth. I chose to cross those lines; I chose to let the Darkness out. You told me not to, and I did it anyway. So this is me stepping up and taking responsibility. If I’ve got a chance to undo all of this, I have to take it. And right now, it’s the only play we’ve got.”

Angry words propelled by desperation shoot out of Dean before he can stop them. “Yeah, that’s exactly what you said about your visions of the Cage, and how did that work out for you?”

Sam visibly flinches and pulls away from Dean as his expression hardens. “Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

The sigil blazes.

This is not at all what Dean intended. He came here to talk Sam back from the edge, and instead he’s pushing him toward it. Dean swallows his anger and it tastes like acid going down, and all that remains is panic.

“Sam, just stop. I don’t care what came out of my mouth when I had the Mark, it’s all bullshit. Sam, you don’t need to do this—”

“Yeah, Dean, I really do. I wasn’t strong enough to make the right choice then, but I can do it now.”

Dean flounders for whatever magic words he needs to get through to Sam and comes up empty. He does the only thing he can think of to shock some sense into him or, preferably, to knock him cold so that he shuts the fuck up and can’t finish the spell. Dean’s fist connects with Sam’s jaw, propelling him backwards. Sam goes down, sprawling on the floor, but he’s not out. He sits up, hand to jaw, and Dean expects to see shock or anger on Sam's face, but all he sees is compassion. And Dean knows that he’s lost.

“Sammy, don’t—"

“Kah-nee-lah. Poo-goh.”

A blinding light envelops the cloth holding the doors shut.

Yesterday: Lucifer-wearing-Castiel

Castiel ends the call after warning Dean about Sam’s intentions. He takes a marker to one of the added symbols and alters it slightly. He freezes as Lucifer gets back in the driver’s seat.

Lucifer asks suspiciously, “And what exactly are you doing with this, Castiel?”

I’m just disrupting the sigil. The change I made will prevent the spell from accounting for the current position of the Earth relative to its position within the—

“Summarize, Poindexter.”

With the change I’ve made, whatever object Sam is sending back will end up in space. Sam will think that his alteration failed, and he won’t interfere with your plans. You would know if I was lying.

“So… I’m trying to understand this. You’re helping me by sabotaging Sam’s work… why, exactly?”

To eliminate your motivation to kill my friend.

Lucifer considers Castiel’s response. “Huh. We’ll see.”

I can still expel you.

“Now Castiel, we both know that’s an empty threat.”

Castiel is silent for a moment. Then:

It’s a small world after all, it’s a small world—

“Alright, alright. Just kidding. Grow a sense of humor.”

Now: Dean

The cloth binding the door handles is gone, but as far as Dean can tell, nothing else has changed. Sam is still on the floor, a stunned expression on his face that would be comical under any other circumstances, and all Dean can think is thank fucking God, and he starts to wonder if maybe there isn’t something out there intervening on his behalf after all.

“I don’t… it should have… it didn’t work.” Sam looks around in dazed confusion for a moment before pushing himself to his knees, and he looks up at Dean, eyes filled with defeat. Dean can’t stop the memory from superimposing itself in his mind of Sam kneeling in front of him, resigned in his acceptance of Dean’s judgment of him, waiting for the scythe to swing.

“I’m sorry...” Sam apologizes for not being dead.

Dean thinks he’s going to be sick.

He drops to Sam’s level and doesn’t know whether to shake him or maybe hit him again. He pulls Sam to himself instead and holds onto him like he’s going to blink out of existence if he lets go. Sam doesn’t resist, but he doesn’t respond.

Dean knows that there is something that Sam needs to hear, something he should have said weeks ago. Dean hasn’t been able to tell him, because it’s selfish and the good guys aren’t supposed to be selfish. The good guys are supposed to put the rest of the world first, and happily throw themselves into oblivion for “the greater good”. He keeps his grip on Sam because he doesn’t want to see Sam’s reaction to what he’s about to say; he’s not sure what Sam will think of him afterwards.

“What you said… after you risked the world for me, when you said that you’d do it again in a second…”

Sam tenses in his arms, and Dean takes a breath.

“Sammy, that wasn’t evil. That was the best fucking moment of my life.”

The statement hangs there for a few heartbeats. Then Sam relaxes, lets his chin drop to Dean’s shoulder, and tentatively folds his arms around him. Dean feels him starting to shake.

“I wanted to—I couldn’t save them.” Sam’s words fall out of him between hitched breaths.

“I know Sammy.”

“It should have been me up there instead of—”

“Don’t.”

All of the mourning that Dean hadn’t allowed Sam to express as they watched Charlie’s body burn, all of the grief that Sam has held bottled up ever since pours out of him then, and Sam clings to Dean like a drowning man to a life preserver. He doesn’t know how long they stay there. His knees are aching and his legs are falling asleep but he doesn’t care because Sam is still here and he’s alive. He waits until the tremors slow and finally stop, then slowly pulls back.

“Hey, you don’t get to put this all on yourself. I’m the one who took the Mark without reading the warning label. We’re in this together. We’ll figure this out, both of us.”

Sam just nods numbly.

“Now let’s get out of here before we hit menopause.”

Sam rewards Dean with an expelled almost-laugh and a flicker of an almost-smile, and Dean chooses to count that as a win.

~~~~~~~~~~

More Notes:

I have this nagging need to address all of the drama from 10.23 Brother's Keeper that the writers just decided to drop on the floor.

The title is named after the ST:TOS The City on the Edge of Forever. The theme of the story, at least from the original script, is that it is possible to love someone so much that you would throw away your whole universe for them. I can't help but notice the parallel to SPN.

This is exactly what Dean wants from Sam throughout seasons 8 and 9, and when Sam does it in season 10, Dean calls him evil for it. Sam just can't fucking win.

[hypnoticwinter]

Down the Rabbit Hole part 25

“Jesus,” Erica breathes, “you weren’t kidding,” and I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

I’ve managed to keep my heartrate under control all the way down to the barrows but now that we’re here I’m able to let my breath out and relax a little, ironically. The place is a graveyard, a grisly butcher’s workshop of stinking ichor and dismembered copepods. It is unearthly quiet, even down here in the middle of the Pit’s guts, with the only sound being the dripping of glutinous white phlegm-like vital fluids and occasionally a far-off groan from the Pit’s musculature.

The copepods are everywhere, strewn all over the place like ragdolls, and very few of them are intact. The majority have had their arms ripped off and a ragged hole bored straight through the middle of their armored faceplate that looks like it goes several feet deep at least. Here and there there are dead leeches, the only trace of the leechman, the only thing giving any clue as to what might have happened her. I briefly wish that I still had my camera with me.

Saying goodbye to Elena had made me acutely aware that I may not have been prepared for what I was getting myself into. I had helped her out of the cot and she had stumbled and cried out and then I caught her, prepared for the worst, already starting to panic – had I done a bad job? Had I hurt her somehow while I was tending to her wounds and only now was she able to feel the effects of it, getting up and moving around?

Elena had looked at me, lips already curling into a sheepish grin, and then she must have seen the look on my face and stopped, stood there straight without any assistance from me and then put her hands on my face and cupped me to her and kissed me so long and so hard that I felt a little faint. Erica had coughed behind us, a little uncomfortably, but when we finally broke apart I really had eyes only for Elena, I couldn’t stop staring at her, at the freckles across her cheeks, at the way one of the corners of her lips lifted slightly higher than the other when she smiled, at a dozen little things like that that I wanted to fix in my mind.

I don’t think I really knew, not consciously, at least, why I made such an effort to keep a clear image of her in my head then, to get every detail down in as complete a manner as I could. It only became apparent to me once we had walked out to the Cord and Elena had opened the door and turned around and waved to me before disappearing that I had been so concerned with her safety that I had had no concern at all for mine.

The door clanged shut and Marcus had spun the wheel to seal it tightly and then Elena was gone. Before she left we had hugged again, there in Oyster’s Shame, amid the glistening walls and the sounds of more of the tiny pearly deposits falling here and there like a soft distant rain. “You come back to me,” she had growled, right into my ear, and I could feel her leave a wet spot on my cheek from where she had begun to cry, and I wanted so badly to go with her but I didn’t see any way I could.

“Well,” I had said to Erica, forcing myself to sound brighter than I had felt, “let’s get this over with.”

So we did.

Marcus kicks one of the dead leeches and it rolls a little. It looks like it has some weight to it, some heftiness that isn’t immediately apparent from how slender it is. It’s about the length of my arm. “What the hell is this, E?” he asks, looking up at her, and Erica shakes her head, getting down on her haunches to examine it.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” she says. “It’s a little bit like a gastric bristleworm but not as…I don’t know, bristly.”

I’m standing there in the back with my arms folded, waiting. Next to me is the stinking corpse of a copepod; this one has been crushed, its insides, ropy and white, flooding out in a great mass from its burst sides. Even with the helmet up I can smell it; Erica and Marcus must have cast-iron stomachs. Erica does, anyway; when we first made it down to the barrows we’d had to stop for a moment to let Marcus vomit.

The tracking PDA had lead us almost exactly the way we’d gone the day before, back before everything had gone to hell. I still don’t know exactly what had kicked it off to begin with; my best guess was that the Leechman had showed up and gone on a rampage just after we’d left with the crystal, and the copepods, they must have assumed that it was our fault, that we’d drawn it here or were somehow working with it. Did they know what it was? Did they recognize it? I wish the Big Guy were still around to ask but we had passed his desiccated, punctured corpse, recognizable only by the stump of one of its wrists, as we had made our way through the central chamber. Marcus is carrying the Sergeant’s slug rifle but he does so nervously, as though he’s afraid of it. He clearly isn’t familiar with the thing. I wonder what’ll happen if he does have to fire it, if it’ll just put him on his ass or if it’ll actually break a bone.

The two of them have been decent to me so far. Erica seems genuinely regretful about hitting me earlier; she doesn’t look at me most of the time, and if she does need me for something, mainly to use the suit computer to look at a map, she asks for me politely and in a soft voice. I thought that Marcus might curse at me or harbor some kind of ill-feeling; after all, Elena – after all, my girlfriend attacked him, and I have no doubt that if she had been able to get away with it she likely would have shot the both of them and washed her hands of it.

The thought makes me shudder very slightly, but not of fear or anger but just vague baseless exhilaration, of minor and muted joy that things are finally happening, for better or for worse, for good or ill, that great capital-letter THINGS WILL CHANGE finally rolling over and putting muscle behind its epitaph.

I had been terrified on the way down that the copepods would have torn us apart, would have eaten us. I had no confidence in Erica and Marcus’ ability to protect this little illicit expedition. They have no plan, no notion of what might be waiting for them. And I don’t know what they intend to do if they do actually manage somehow to get their hands on the crystal. Break it? But that’d be counterproductive, wouldn’t it, as if what Erica’s saying is right, that’d just give us that psychic illness.

If I don’t have it already. Was that dream a dream or the start of it? Is it –

No, stop. Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the perfectly normal sort of dream to have when you’re under this much stress, in these conditions. Once you’re out of here, once you’ve – Christ, I don’t know, gotten Elena some vacation time or sick leave or whatever the hell and spent the rest of your savings taking her to fucking Tahiti or somewhere, if you’re still having the dreams then, you can worry about it.

I could tell them, I could tell Erica and Marcus. It’d be easy. I could just say something like, ‘hey, uh, so there’s this giant fucking ogre made out of leeches wandering around down here and it’s got the crystal you’re after, and it killed all these copepods. Oh, and the crystal weighs about a ton and we had to get a robot to carry it, which I notice you guys didn’t bring with you. No, you can’t use our robot, it’s probably smashed to bits somewhere.’

They wouldn’t believe me. There’s no way in hell they’d believe me. Even if I did want to save their asses, which at the moment is not very high up on my priority list. I’m still maintaining the faint hope that they might actually find the damn Leechman and try to get into a fight with it, which would be my cue to run like hell.

“Roan,” Erica asks me, again using that mildly infuriating soft and considerate voice, “have you seen one of these before?” She’s holding the body of the leech out to me, grasping it like one might hold a snake, right behind the head. Its mouth gapes insanely wide and round and the body hangs limp. I can’t stop myself from taking a step backwards.

Goddam it, Erica.

“Leechman,” I say, and then I cough. Our eyes meet for the first time in a half hour. “The leechman’s here.”

Erica’s eyes seem to grow instantly deeper. Her mouth is open slightly, and she stares at me in silence until Marcus nudges her, his eyes flicking between her and me. “What’s the leechman?” he asks, and Erica, broken out of her reverie, licks her lips and glances over at him.

“Nothing,” she tells him, getting to her feet quickly. “A fairy tale. Like the boogeyman.”

Marcus doesn’t believe this; I can tell from the way he looks at her, but he doesn’t question it, just gets to his feet as well and follows her as she pulls out the tracking PDA, taps at the screen a few times, and then points down at one of the darkened vents. “That way,” she says, and where she points we follow.

We make our winding way through the ass-end of the barrows, the part we hadn’t gone through yesterday, and then the trail takes a corkscrewing, winding path downwards. We are very clearly in a section of the Pit that people have not been in very often. Even in the sections leading up to the barrows, where the flesh of the vents is left bare and uncovered, there are still lights strung here and there, little radio repeaters and every now and then a tiny, cramped-looking ranger station, mostly mothballed and closed-off, but still evidence that someone had come before us. In the barrows, though, this stopped entirely. There were little trails of cleat-marks here and there, but I think the majority of them were from us stomping through earlier, they looked too fresh, too new.

We only saw a couple of copepods, and these from far off, across vast chasms of flesh, scarred here and there like cliff-faces. I couldn’t divine their purpose, just – anomalies of anatomy, no meaning, no clear analogue I can draw. Just places where the flesh falls away and vague misty nothing takes its place. As I stand on the precipice looking over and down into darkness, watching the way my flashlight beam peters out depressingly soon, I swear that for a moment I can see something moving around, something large, fluttering and flapping and swooping like some kind of giant bat, but if anything was there, it vanished so quickly as to not leave an impression on me other than a brief glimpse of size and frantic motion.

I turned back to see if Marcus or Erica had seen any of it but they were huddled together, deep in conversation, hunched over the PDA. After a moment I traipsed over to join them. With each step on the way down I had felt my weariness building, both in my body and in my heart – I had shoved so much out of the way down somewhere inside of me where I didn’t have to feel it, and it was only now that it was beginning to creep back out at me.

We’d passed some things I’d recognized from the rest of the squad – there was a torn piece of a suit there, in a small knurled corner, dirty and speckled with red matter that might have been blood or bits of flesh. I didn’t look closely enough to check. A boot, cleated firmly into the ground. Nothing as definite as a body; the closest I saw was a great foaming gout of blood splashed across the floor and up part of the wall of the vent, but no indication as to whether it came from a person, from a member of the team, from Klaus or Euler or – or Peter, or whether it was just natural, some artery in the floor being clipped during the fighting and spraying everywhere until capillary action cut it off.

If I think about it I won’t be able to go on. I can’t bear to –

Alright, Roan. Easy girl. Deal with it later. Right now just focus on staying alive. Get back to Elena and then you can cry about things. God, poor Peter, though; and poor Makado, waiting for him. How would I feel if it had been me up there and Elena down here?

I think of her, alone, making her way up the Cord, no weapon, still hurting, probably, as the painkiller starts to wear off, and I bite my lip, hard. Goddam it, I’m not going to cry. Not down here. She’s fine, she’s going to be perfectly fine. She knows how to handle herself.

I focus instead on the ache in my knees, in my back, in my arms. We’ve been going for so long, it feels like; hours upon hours. I’d check the time on the wrist computer but these damn gloves - !

Erica and Marcus look tired as well, at least. Maybe they’ll want to rest soon. We’ll be able to eat, sleep perhaps…they have to have some kind of tent, or sleeping bags, or something, even if it’s not one of the fancy hexagonal ones the squad used. I think about pointing out that we’re all dog tired, we might as well take a break before we go further, but I nix that idea quickly – I don’t want to seem weak. Erica’s given the impression that she won’t push me but Marcus is still a wild card, I don’t know him, how he handles stress, how he’ll act in a couple of hours when he’s even more tired and hungry.

They gesture and lead on, and I follow, dead on my feet but still forcing myself to continue.

And then, after fifteen minutes of walking, down treacherous polyped inclines, past outcroppings of redundant, keratinous spines, we find, laying in a slump with his neck at an awkward unnatural angle, his eyes terribly bright and aware, Euler.

I cry out when I see him; my stomach makes a horrible lurch as I take in the gnawed markings dotting his once-bright ranger suit, round and puckered and blood-crusted. The leeches have been at him but left him alive for some inscrutable reason. He coughs as we shine our lights on him and shifts feebly but he is unable to move more than an inch or two – his spine is clearly broken.

I hadn’t expected to find any bodies; somehow I had guessed that one way or another, anyone lost down here would be utterly irretrievable. But there is Euler, the one person I would never have expected to survive – I guess I underestimated him.

Or perhaps his current condition isn’t really surviving in the main sense. Once I’ve gathered my senses I rush to him and kneel there beside him. I have nothing to offer him, no painkillers, no first aid, nothing besides companionship, but it’s better than standing and gawking as Erica and Marcus seem to be satisfied with. I wipe his forehead with my gloved palm lightly, the sweat shining on the rubber in the wake of my flashlight, and Euler’s eyes shift up to meet mine and he croaks out my name in a hoarse voice. He says it wrong, like it were one syllable, but hearing someone I care about even infinitesimally say it is like breathing after being underwater.

“Euler,” I tell him, and my voice breaks just a tiny bit right at the end. I lick my lips and try again. “Euler, what the hell happened to you?”

“I’m – it’s bad, Roan,” he says. Rone. Should have changed my name in that rebellious phase, added that accent mark I always longed for. There’d be less ambiguity. I smile to myself in spite of everything and he grins at me, just a little bit, but his eyes stay wide and frightened. They flick over to Erica and Marcus, and I look back at them as well, and then give an exasperated sigh.

“Don’t you two have any damn medical things? A first aid kit?” They glance at each other. “Anything?”

“I thought you might…” Euler coughs. “Might have come to rescue us.”

I frown. Us?

“Euler, are there…more people from the squad down here? Hurt somewhere?”

He shakes his head minutely, then winces. I don’t know what to do, I don’t know where to touch him without hurting him. I tear my glove off with my teeth, just lay my hand against his cheek. It feels like an awkwardly intimate gesture but I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how else to help. If it were me I think I’d – I think I’d want human contact, something skin to skin. I think it might be a comfort.

“What happened?” I whisper.

“The Leechman,” he says, “it – it grabbed me and then it –“

He cries out, gently, and I move my hand downward and grab his. He clutches at me desperately. The last time I had seen him the leeches had been streaming into his open mouth, writhing against him, wrapping him like a hundred pythons at once. I bite my lip and glare back at Erica again. “Will you two fucking do something?”

“He’s clearly past any help we could give him,” Erica says, and Marcus nods.

For a very brief moment I am so intensely angry I feel as though I might burst into flame. Euler cries out softly again and I realize I have squeezed his hand too hard, and I jerk my hand back from his, muttering a stammered apology. He shakes his head.

“They’re right, I’m done for,” he tells me. “You should – you’re going down further?” he asks, frowning, and I nod.

“Those two want the crystal,” I tell him, lowering my voice a little.

“It went…that way,” he says, glancing to the right, further down the vent and into the Pit’s depths. We sit there in silence for a moment longer and then finally work up enough nerve to ask him the question I wanted to.

“Are you in pain?”

He thinks about it for a moment. “It feels like I should be but it’s just dull.” He breathes heavily. “I’m afraid.”

“Euler, don’t –“

“I’m going to die down here,” he says, and there is a terrible layer of finality in his voice that makes my heart fall.

“No, Euler, you’re not –“ I start, but then cut myself off. Because he’s right, isn’t he? I can’t argue with him, there’s no way in hell that we’re going to be able to get him out of here. If he has a broken neck there’s no fucking way we could stabilize him well enough to carry him out of here, and even if we could, I’d need Erica and Marcus’ help, which they don’t seem incredibly inclined to give me. I look back at them and start to get up, but Euler catches the cuff of my suit and I stop, hunkered over awkwardly.

“Roan, I saw – “

He coughs; I can see his chest heaving. I wonder about those leeches; I know I saw them flooding into his mouth, forcing their way down his throat…what would have –

“I saw inside it,” he tells me. I frown.

“Inside what?”

“The Leechman,” he says. His eyes are boring into mine with a horrible intensity, practically bulging outwards. “I saw inside it and – and it was so bright –“

“Euler, I don’t know what you –“

“Don’t leave me down here,” he says quietly, and then lets go. There is a pleading in his eyes that stops me dead. I’ve let my mouth fall open slightly, but there is no mistaking what he means, there is no ambiguity in the quiet desperation in his tone. He wants me to –

I get up quickly. My hands are shaking and my arms and legs feel like I’ve been whipped with a coil of lightning. I walk over to Erica and Marcus, and Erica nods at me. “You ready to go?” she asks, and I shake my head. I open my mouth and try to talk but I choke a little, then cough and try it again.

“Erica, Euler, he –“

“What is it?”

I shut my eyes. “Kill him,” I tell her. “He asked me to but I can’t – I can’t do that. He’s scared and he doesn’t want to have to lay down here unable to move for a couple more days before something fucking eats him or he dies of exposure. Please.”

Erica’s eyes are very dark. She glances at Marcus, then back at me, before she reaches down to her belt and unsnaps the holster there, then hands me the revolver. I nearly drop it; it’s heavier than I had expected. “Do it yourself,” she tells me. Her voice is like glass. “We’ve wasted enough time here already.”

“You – “ I start, but I choke it back. She’s trusting me giving me the revolver; this means something to her. This is a test. But what am I supposed to do? Can I –

But you already did once before, some part of me whispers at the back of my head. Remember Rey? He’s dead because of you. And before that -

Marcus is covering me with his own slim little pistol. I swallow hard and try not to feel the imprint of its muzzle, covering me from five, seven, ten feet away from me, my back itching as I half-expect to hear a report and feel a sharp shock –

But nothing happens. I make it to Euler; he’s watching me, his eyes rolled upwards in a manner that somehow distinctly reminds me of a dog, somehow, and I hate myself for thinking so, but he’s looking at me in the same way a dog will look up at you, not moving its head, its eyes wide and hopeful.

I thought the gun might feel better in my hand after I’d had it there for a while, but it’s still awkward and heavy and purposeful. It’s much heavier than the pistol they’d given me to practice with during qualifications back on the range a few days ago; that one hadn’t even felt like a gun, it hadn’t felt real. This one most certainly does.

Euler nods at me infinitesimally. “It’s…alright,” he says. He seems to be laboring a bit more now; maybe he hadn’t been expending very much energy until we came across him. I certainly didn’t hear any cries for help on the walk up. If he’d been there the whole time, for hours, listening to the Leechman and the copepods duke it out…

“Euler,” I say, “what did you mean when you said you saw inside the Leechman?”

“Roan,” he says. His eyes are fixed on the revolver. I’m stalling, I realize; I’m putting it off so that maybe somehow this responsibility will be removed from me. The inside of my mouth is very dry and I swallow hard, willing some moisture to return to it.

“Okay,” I say quietly. Okay, I think to myself. I take the revolver, hold it in two hands, one on the handle, the barrel resting in the palm of my other hand. I look at the cylinder, fumble for a moment before that trip all those years ago with my dad comes back to me and I find the catch and swing it outwards. Erica hasn’t reloaded since she shot Elena, I note, some dull part of my mind logging the information without any further comment. I can see the tiny mark of the struck primer on one of the cartridges. But I won’t find any salvation here, there are still five more shots that are perfectly serviceable.

I click it shut, remembering, as my dad told me, not to flick it closed, not to spin it. You aren’t a cowboy, he’d said to me gravely, pressing the gun into my chest. It had smelled like oil and metal, like something functional, like when you open the hood of your car. And I had trembled then as I am now, and I had looked out across the flat open expanse of grass –

Even then I couldn’t bear to think of it after I’d done it.

I’m stalling.

Goddam it, Roan, goddam you and your willingness to stick your neck out.

Euler makes a small noise beneath me and I look down at him. “Are you sure?” I ask, willing him to say no, to rethink it, to give me a reprieve. He nods.

“Just do it,” he says. “They won’t come get me, they won’t care. Just do it.”

“Okay,” I breathe, and then I hold the gun in two hands – why does it come back to me so easily? – and put it up very close to his forehead, and Euler shuts his eyes, and I shut mine as well. I inhale and then exhale.

Five minutes later I hear feet squelching up behind me and then Marcus is crouching next to me and prying the gun from my nerveless hands. “It’s okay,” he says, not unkindly, and then he is gently pushing me out of the way. I get to my feet, not knowing what else to do. I meet Euler’s eyes and I start to say something, then I stop. There is no blame in them, or maybe I don’t want to see blame. So instead I turn around and hunch myself against the wall, and when the gunshot finally sounds I flinch, and then I finally let myself cry.

When I turn back around I can’t bring myself to look at him. I instead watch Marcus hand the revolver back to Erica, watch Erica slip it back into the holster, watch Marcus shove his pistol into the waistband of his heavy-duty jeans. I blurt out the only thing that comes to my mind and tell him that he shouldn’t carry one in the chamber like that, it’s dangerous, and Marcus gives me a pitying look and says nothing. When I meet Erica’s eyes they are lighter than before and I realize, with a shudder as another wave of tears rolls soundlessly down my cheeks, that whatever test there was, whatever reason made her give me the revolver, I passed.

And then we stomp off into the darkness and leave poor Euler behind.

 * * *

 The next day I feel better. I slept better than I thought I might have, sandwiched between Erica and Marcus in their tent, cramped and with not enough air mattresses or sleeping bags, but I managed. They shared some of their food with me, MREs scavenged from some surplus store somewhere, which I found faintly comforting, and then the next day, when someone’s alarm blared and woke us, I was disconcertingly and surprisingly fresh-feeling. All the pain and sorrow I thought might have come boiling out of me when I let my guard down never did, and instead it was replaced with a calm, warm, faintly comforting deadness. I was, I realize now, preparing on some level to die. I had arrived at a zenlike state that had me convinced I was either dead or dreaming, a fragile state of mind that I had tried so hard to reach at that dojo in Oklahoma but which constantly eluded me.

Since Friday I am complicit now in two murders, one arguably and one less so. When I think of myself the person I am is thorny and sharp-edged and armored and I do not recognize her when I hold her in my arms. I blow out a breath and pop my eyes open as Marcus nudges me and hands me a cup of bootleg espresso made from two freeze-dried pouches, and I take it gratefully and even manage to smile at him. I feel…clean.

We’ll see how long that lasts.

More walking, more bypasses across stinking rivers of digested slurry, more crawling across meter-wide cords of banded muscle. The anatomy gets stranger and stranger, more open, more wild. Nerves like waving cilia, waggling at us like anemones, retract at lightspeed at our approach. Everything is luminescent down here, everything glows, but what glows brightest of all is the rectangular blocky backlight of Erica’s PDA, guiding us forward like a north star. She seems less certain of it, less sure; she stops and consults with Marcus every now and then and I feel fairly frequently like I have simply been forgotten, like I am an insurance policy for the return trip, a hostage kept in waiting to be revealed and used as leverage later on.

Will Makado care, I wonder, when she knows that they’ve taken me? I hope she will. I think we got close enough that she would. I think she likes me.

Does she like me enough to send a team after me? I’m sure there’s some kind of tracking device in this suit but will it even function this deep down? I don’t know.

I stub my toe on a bloated adipose swelling and it belches a gout of rank, sticky fluid on me. We pause again for Marcus to vomit.

Eventually we make it to a curled, winding passageway, a tight intestinal-feeling loop that circles in on itself over and over again, the tissue struggling against us at every turn, that we have to claw and scrape and crawl through but that the PDA swears is the right way to go, the simplified arrow logo spinning back around and directing us back in every time we think of turning around and trying someplace else. We push through and through until finally it vomits us out, breathing hard and covered in blood and strands of pale-white membrane, and then we stop, eyes wide, staring up and up and up at the space we’ve found ourselves in.

It’s enormous, the size of a stadium and at least twice or maybe three times as deep, great gnarled coils of sparking nerves weaving in and out of the fleshy, irregular walls casting macabre light in regular snaking patterns across the broad flat plate of bone that divides the space nearly in half, knotty and bulging and thick, honeycombed and dripping with thick resinous marrow.

There are things moving, I realize, on the far-off floor of the chasm, great writhing worms or – no, no, they have legs. Squat lizard-like figures, then, moving in fits and starts, their flesh a glistening pale sickly color, like milk that’s gone off. They must be simply enormous for us to be able to see them from this distance. I glance back at Erica and Marcus; their mouths are open, dumbstruck as well – they must not have known this was here. Could we be the first to find this place?

I watch a shadow, a patchy midnight cutout, detach itself from the bone plate and fall swooping to the floor of the chasm, and then it wings its way back up, one of the lizards caught in its claws, dangling beneath like a rabbit caught by a hawk. I watch, overwhelmed, as the – the thing, whatever it is, I want to call it a bird but it can’t be, it simply can’t be – flutters ungainly and graceless back to the bone and vanishes with its prey into a whorled hole in the side, ragged and uneven.

“What is this place?” I mutter to Erica, after I’ve regained enough of my senses to think to speak, and she shakes her head faintly.

“I have no idea,” she tells me, but before I can say anything else I hear a noise from above us; a subtle noise, like a whistling, drawn-out swoosh, and when I look upwards I can only see a diving, dark-furred silhouette with outstretched, foot-long claws and a hungry, slavering mouth.

I don’t have time to scream.

Continue with Part 26

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[unholy-sacrificial-mutt]

A Reel Catch

Pairing: Roceit (fic and fanart)

AU: Mermaid

Word: 3126

Warnings: Mentions of blood, mentions of death, slight panic.

Summary: Would you smooch a merman?

Merry LATE christmas and birthday @suicidal-maffin​

I hope this was worth the wait!

Roman Kingsly loved long walks on the beach, no matter how cliché it was. It was the time he got to himself after a busy day of working at the theater. He was still dressed in the costume he made himself for tonight’s performance. 

A prince. 

A regal white and gold outfit with a red sash.

He stood, looking at the setting sun, the feeling of the sand between his toes as the cold ocean runs over his feet calming him. He let out a sigh as he began walking again, letting his stress wash away with every lap of the cool waves against his ankles. He followed the thin stretch of beach, pausing when he saw what looked to be a sleeping person on the beach. The waves crashed over them, obscuring their body from view for a few seconds at a time, though they didn’t move. 

“Excuse me, Sir, Ma’am?” The man called out, taking a few hesitant steps forward. 

No response. 

“Are you hurt?” 

Still no response. 

‘Calm down Roman, they could just be a deep sleeper.’ 

He walked up to the still form cautiously, his movements slow - unsure. As the man’s body was illuminated in the dying light of the sunset, Roman let out a soft gasp. They weren’t… human. Or rather, not fully. At least half of his body was that of a human, if a little…. Strange. But rather than legs, a long fin wound around itself in the sand. 

“Mermaid?” he breathed out in shock before blinking himself out of his trance. 

Something was wrong.

The creature wasn’t breathing. 

Tangled up in a fishing net. 

Hooks stuck out of their skin. 

A large gash on their side soaked the sand in red.

Roman looked around, knowing he should probably call the police, but… what would happen to this poor creature? Who would even believe him? Most people didn’t even think mermaids were real. 

Hell, Roman didn’t think they were real until hardly a few seconds ago.

He took a breath, working as quickly as he could to get the not-so-imaginary creature untangled from the netting, and picked all the hooks out of his skin. He looked down at the creature and bit his lip in thought. He couldn’t just toss him back into the ocean. He could die. With shaky hands - and a made up mind - he took his handmade princely coat and wrapped it around the creatures tail, cradling him in his arms as though he were the perfect bride. 

“Okay, now to get you to my truck without anyone noticing,” he mumbled to himself. 

Thankfully, he didn’t have much issue getting back as the theater parking lot was empty and the lights inside the building were off. Getting the creature home, having broken a few speeding limits, he brought him inside before he risked being caught by any of his neighbors. He quickly rushed to the bathroom, filling the tub with lukewarm water. Resting the creature in the tub for a moment, Roman turned the light on. 

He gasped. 

The creature was absolutely beautiful. 

His gray-violet skin appeared smooth but for a few scales that were scattered over his chest and face, glittering in the light as though they were made from gold dust. Brown hair fell across his forehead, perfectly framing the beauty of the creature’s face. If not for the insanely long and iridescent tail that occupied most of the tub, immediately drawing Roman’s eyes, he would have spent more time admiring his beauty. 

He felt bad. 

The creature’s tail was all scrunched up, curling over itself to fit in the tub. Roman looked down and saw that the water rising over the creature’s form was a deep red. Cursing to himself, he let the water drain while he dropped to his knees, opened the cabinet under his sink, and dumped everything out until he found a first aid kit. He found some bandages and propped the creature up on his arm before beginning to clean and wrap his torso. 

“How did this happen…?” he whispered softly, though he knew he was speaking to no one but himself. 

Once the creature was bandaged, he plugged the tub again, watching it fill. He noticed that the creature was breathing - albeit very small breaths - which made sense as to why Roman thought he wasn’t breathing when he had only seen him in the dull light outside. He breathed a sigh of relief and sat down on the floor. Once the water was filled as high as it could go, he turned off the tub. 

There was a merman in his tub. 

A freakin merman! 

What do mermen eat? 

He rested his head against the wall, watching the other, eyes feeling heavy. It wasn’t late, but it had been a long day, and god was Roman tired. His eyes slid shut as the creature’s patterned black and yellow tail seemed to shine. 

***

Dee awoke to feeling cramped and in pain. He let out a groan, eyes snapping open as water didn’t enter his mouth like it should. He squinted his eyes as the bright artificial light burned and seemed to be brighter because of the white tile walls of the bathroom. When he turned his head to see a human man - shirtless, the unnatural light showing every curve of his muscled form - sleeping against the wall near him, he jumped, trying to get away. His tail writhed in the already-overfilled tub, splashing water out onto the man, which caused him to wake with a sharp gasp.

“Ah! What the hell?!” He shouted, the noise startling a hiss from the merman. The human blinked as his eyes landed on Dee. “Oh. It wasn’t a dream. Mermaids are real,” he said with astonishment. Dee’s chest was heaving, making him wince every time as pain shot through his side. He was as far away from this human as he could possibly be, given the circumstance he found himself in. Roman noticed his fear and put his hands up as if to show he wasn’t going to harm him. “Hey, it’s okay,” he reassured him, keeping his tone soft. “Do you know what I’m saying?” The creature looked at him with a glare, fear still in his eyes, though it was obvious that he was trying to hide it now.

“Of course I know what you’re saying; I’m not an idiot!” He snapped. Roman’s eyes watched the others mouth, seeing the sharp teeth. He gulped, only now realizing that he had brought a creature - that he had no idea what it was capable of - into his home. 

Fuck.

“Okay, look, I’m sorry. I just discovered mermaids actually exist. Sorry for not automatically knowing that you speak English,” Roman spat out, trying to not seem suddenly scared. Roman went to stand up, the sudden movement startling the merman as his tail writhed again, trying to push him further away from the moving human, but with a wall there, he had nowhere to go. Roman blinked, sitting back down, looking at the other. 

“I’m sorry. I-um…do you have a name?” Roman asked timidly.

“Of course I have a name,” the merman huffed, rolling his eyes. Roman watched as his chest stilled heaved with fear. When the creature didn’t continue, he spoke up again.

“May I know your na-”

“No!” The other snapped again, the tip of his tail rattling slightly, much like a snake. Roman kept his hands up defensively for a second before dropping them in defeat at his sides. “I’m sorry. I didn’t have any other choice but to bring you here. You were wounded.” He motioned to the bandage that had a dark red blood stain on it. The merman looked down, touching his side with a wince before looking up in confusion. 

“You….helped me?” His voice was unsure, his words coming out hesitantly.

“Of course I did. Why wouldn’t I?” It was Roman’s turn to be confused, a single brow raising on his forehead. 

“Well, sorry that most humans I’ve met have tried to capture or kill me on sight. Not that most merpeople are any better. It’s more of an every-merperson-for-themselves situation,” he snapped, crossing his arms over his chest. As he did so, he felt the gash in his side throb painfully, and a wince must have crossed his face, because Roman’s eyes softened, looking at the bandage. 

“Is that how… that happened?” He looked up to meet the other’s impossibly golden eyes. “Humans, I mean.” 

He sighed softly, sinking into the water more, curling his tail into coils so it all fit into the confines of the small porcelain tub. “Both, actually. Some merpeople led me to the fishermen, and then the fishermen tried to kill me from there.” 

Roman gasped softly, covering his mouth. “That’s rude. Why would they do that? What did you ever do to them?” 

“Well,” he stated matter-of-factly. “They were my brothers. Our mom died giving birth to me.” He shrugged, looking out the window of the bathroom. “Mother’s are the only type of merperson one of us will care about.” 

Roman’s heart softened for the snappy mermaid in front of him. “Considering you don’t exactly have anyone to go back to, you’re welcome to stay here if you’d like. Or if you need a place. I can order a bigger bathtub for you. Or a big fish tank? Is that racist? Or…species-cist? I’m sorry if that’s offensive-” 

The man’s gaze lowered away from the merman, his hand coming up to awkwardly rub at the back of his neck. 

He was rambling. 

He was definitely rambling. 

He had just asked this scarily pretty merman to live with him. 

He had just met him.

But it wasn’t like he could just send him back to his brothers. 

He would be killed!

A deep, rumbling laugh pulled Roman out of his thoughts in an instant.

He looked up to see the other’s mouth - full of sharp teeth that glinted in the light - wide open in a laugh as he winced, hand going clutching his side over where Roman knew the wound was, unable to stop laughing. Roman’s face warmed, a blush painting itself across his cheeks as he watched the other laugh, his heart pounding as his stomach dropped. 

Oh sweet Meryl Streep. 

I’m gay. 

I’m so gay.

I’m going to die. 

This is how I die. 

Here lies Roman Kingsly, death by gay.

This is my legacy. 

The merman’s laughed calmed down, cheeks flushed a deep shade of yellow as he looked at the man staring at him with wide eyes. The flush in his cheeks deepened and he scoffed. 

“Take a picture, it will last longer,” he teased, enjoying the way the other’s face seemed to turn even redder. Roman huffed and rolled his eyes.

“I’m going to get up. Are you okay with that?” He asked cautiously, to which the merman nodded slowly, watching the other. 

Roman stood slowly, watching the other for any sign of fear in his eyes. While there was some, the merman stayed mostly calm. Roman stretched, the merman getting a good look at the human in front of him as he did so. He was fit, tan, and dare he say…cute? For a human, anyways.

The merman shook his head to clear his head. 

Roman looked down and held out a hand. “My name is Roman. Pleasure to meet you Mr. Merman!” he grinned charmingly at the other, wanting to ease some of the tension between the two of them. The merman blinked, tilting his head curiously at the outstretched hand before looking up at Roman in silent confusion. 

Roman chuckled, feeling his heart skip a beat at the frankly adorable look. “It’s a handshake. Put your hand out like mine.” 

The merman put out his left hand. Roman let out a hearty laugh, making the merman scowl and withdraw his hand with a hiss. 

“Oh, no, no. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh; it was just cute. You need to put out the other hand.” 

“Don’t laugh at me again…” he said almost defensively. Roman smiled softly and nodded. The merman put out his right hand.

“I’m going to grab your hand. Not hard and not to hurt you, okay?” The sea creature nodded and Roman grabbed his hand, giving him a slow hand shake. “Hello, my name is Roman. Pleasure to meet you. Your name is?” The merman looked at their hands holding each other, his face flushed yellow again.

“Dee. My name is Dee.” Dee looked up at Roman from the tub. “Would you really let me stay here?” It’s not like he had anything waiting for him in the ocean. He kinda hated it. It was boring to him. 

“Well yeah. Your brothers are trying to kill you over something you can’t control. I can’t just send ya back out there. Besides it will take some time for you to heal.” Roman blushed, looking down at the others tail, wondering what would be big enough for it. Finally getting a good look at the other, he noticed all the scars and missing scales, feeling his heart ache for Dee.

“Well I’ll give you an answer once I’m healed.” Dee smirked at the slightly deflated look on Roman’s face. He wasn’t completely convinced Roman wasn’t trying to just keep him captured for money or something of the like, but he did need to heal, so for now, he’d stay here.

***

The next month passed with a domesticity that both of them quickly became accustomed to. Roman ended up buying a big fishtank that barely fit in his living room, but it gave Dee room to stretch out his tail, so it was worth the trouble. Roman would go to work and be gone half the day, and at night, he would come home with fresh fish for Dee, making dinner for himself while Dee. 

Roman made a steak one day and Dee practically started drooling, making a weird chirping sound. It didn’t take long for the human to figure out that it was the sound merpeople made when they wanted to hunt something, and he decided to give in. After teasing Dee with the meat for a bit, he gave him a bite, and it was immediately learned that he loved red meat. 

The two of them got to know each other really well, spending every spare moment talking over whatever tv show or movie Roman had put on. They talked about their lives - Roman’s as a budding actor and Dee’s as a merperson. Roman asked as many questions about Dee’s life as he could, and Dee would give a warm smile for a moment at the thought of someone caring enough to ask questions about him. 

Roman took extra care of Dee’s wounds, changing the bandages every day, even having to stitch one one up. He made sure he cleaned them, even when Dee hissed and clawed at him from the strange stinging it caused. 

Within the month, Roman came to learn that Dee was part eel - rather than the ordinary version of a mermaid that he had come to think about - as he began to “shed” his slime. It became so bothersome to Dee that at that point, Roman had to jump in the tank with him to help him as there were no rocks or plants to swim through. 

Dee’s face was a deep yellow shade at the prospect of Roman having to help him get rid of his slime, but the minute the others hands were on his tail, he let out a gasp and shuddered slightly, his entire tail shivering as his eyes fluttered shut. Roman pulled his hands back, scared he had hurt the other, to which Dee groaned in annoyance. 

“You okay, Dee?” Roman asked, feeling the slime that was on his hands from just the little touch. Dee nodded slightly in response.

“Yeah. Just…not used to anyone touching my tail like that.” Dee kept his eyes cast downwards, which was strange for him. Even when startled, Dee always looked at Roman. 

“Okay. I’m going to touch your tail again…”  Roman said hesitantly, it being made clear by his tone of voice that he was asking permission. 

When Dee nodded, Roman put his hands back on the other’s slimy tail and begin gently rubbing the slime off. Dee, who’s entire face was yellow at this point, shivered at every touch of his tail. With how long his tail was, it took Roman a good 10 minutes to finish. The water was a murky grey color and felt almost thicker than before. Roman looked at the water curiously as Dee, breathless and flustered, looked at Roman. 

“Ro…?” Dee’s voice was soft - which was also unusual for him, Roman noted to himself. 

“Yeah, Dee?” Roman looked up with a soft smile. 

“You know that thing that the people in your romance movies do?” His voice shook and he moved a little closer to Roman, making the other blush, now just fully aware at only being in underwear. 

“Which thing?”

“The thing with the mouths.” Dee licked his lips as Roman’s face flushed, his eyes took a quick look at Dee’s lips. He was shocked when he learned during one of their movie nights that most merpeople don’t kiss. And he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t dreamt of kissing him - sharp teeth and all. 

“You mean kissing?” Now Roman’s voice was shaky. Dee nodded softly, their bodies flush against each other now, the feeling of the merman’s chest cool against Roman’s. 

“Can…can we do it?” 

Roman, once the question was muttered, pressed his lips to the other’s without hesitation. Dee let out a very undignified squeak as he turned deep yellow once more before kissing back, quickly learning how it worked. Dee’s tail wrapped around the others body protectively, keeping him close as they kissed softly in the murky grey water of the tank. They slowly sank below the water, neither caring as Dee just kissed oxygen into the other’s mouth. Popping out of the water a few minutes later, Roman gasped for air as Dee chuckled, wide grin on his face. Roman’s red face looked at Dee’s yellow one before they both stopped laughing, going back in for another kiss. Dee pulled back with a chuckle after only a moment. 

“If it wasn’t obvious, that was my answer as to whether or not I’m staying.” 

At Roman’s gasp, Dee let out a deep, rumbling chuckle before pulling him in for yet another kiss. As new as he was to it, Dee had to admit… he liked kissing.

[asgardianthot]

Hunting Season (sambucky) - Part 4

Series Masterlist

A/N: ello :) I hope you’re all safe and sound, and I hope you’re surviving quarantine. Here’s an angsty update for you to enjoy! 

Words: 3329

Day 3.

The morning had prepared for the happy couple an hour of kayaking. Bucky got his tired ass to the lake with the least amount of motivation possible, for he had spent a sore night. The idea of Brock Rumlow spending the night in that house had his bones rattling. Sam, on his part, couldn’t blame him; Brock only stayed there when the two were an item, so the fact that he was tagging along indefinitely had ‘ill intentioned’ written all over it. Bucky’s theory was that Brock probably thought he was gonna crash the lunch party and win him over again, stay the night at their old bed instead of a small guest room downstairs.

On the bright side of matters, Sam and Bucky were still the only ones to have a hunting clue. The envelope that had fallen out of the Viktor Frankl book had a hand-written note, specifically placed there by Nana. It read as following: If you found this clue, congratulations, you have a brain. Frankl was more than just a man in search for meaning: he was a neurologist and a psychiatrist, as well as a philosopher. It’s not hard to guess why my husband was obsessed with him. Now find out more about the author and try to guess what else he and Theodore had in common. You’ll know where to look.

Those words meant absolutely nothing to Sam, but it made some sense to Bucky. All they had to do was research about the author of the book and find a connection, for now. The rest would be a problem for later.

Right now, meaning at that very exact moment, Sam’s problem was kayaking.

“Okay, so what now?” he asked Bucky, holding the paddles like they were going to hurt him.

The second the word ‘kayak’ had been brought up when discussing future activities, Sam knew he would make a fool out of himself, for it was something he had never done, while the rest of the guests had been practicing every summer since they bought the damn house. Still, he put on his swimsuit and showed up. For Bucky. They were the ones closest to the lakeside, as Bucky was still teaching Sam, meanwhile the other Barnes were already paddling away or messing around in circles, as they prepared for a race.

“Now, you kayak.” Bucky replied simply, which earned a death glance from Sam.

He was already having enough trouble adjusting to the new sport, which left him with little to no patience. Fortunately, Bucky pitied him and laughed as he moved to the front seat, agreeing to help.

“Okay, wait,” he grunted as he struggled to accommodate behind Sam, “let me help you.”

Sam felt the warm pressure of Bucky’s chest against his back without any type of warning, and flinched a little. He could feel the drops of water that hadn’t dried out in Bucky’s skin stick to his own, and it sent shivers down his spine. He decided to believe the shivers were caused by the startling feeling of water droplets.

“You’re holding it wrong.” James explained as he took the paddles from Sam’s hand.

Wilson rolled his eyes, “Of course I am.”

“Someone’s cranky.” Bucky remarked, “Didn’t sleep well?”

Sam thought hard about that one. As a matter of fact, he had woken up plenty of times during the night, only to find Bucky struggling to catch his own sleep next to him. The situation was weird as it was, so Sam pretended to miss it.

“You kick your feet a lot.” Sam lied.

“There’s always the divan.” Bucky reminded him.

“Will you shut up about the damn divan? No one should sleep in anything called like that.”

However, the ridiculous discussion came to an end when Bucky managed to get Sam to paddle correctly.

“That’s about the hang of it.” he congratulated him before turning his body and dropping it into the water.

The water barely reached his chest, so he stood there in waits for Sam who accomplished his goal of successfully kayaking away.

“Now come back to me.” Bucky instructed his apprentice, “Turn.”

Watching him swirl the canoe so concentrated, Bucky couldn’t help but find him slightly adorable. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t seen Sam learn something like that before, but it definitely was a good look on him. A smile creeped up his face, however, it didn’t last long. Soon enough, his ears picked up on a conversation behind him. He saw that uncle Milo was talking to Brock, and he only then figured they probably had been the entire time, which made him feel observed and, most of all, uncomfortable. Bucky was so distracted by the interaction that he almost didn’t see Sam returning to him, but he noticed right on time to stop the tip of the kayak before it hit him.

He shook it off by shooting a smile in Nana’s direction.

“Sure you don’t wanna hop in the water, Nana?” he messed with the woman who looked over everyone from her chair.

“I want another drink, sweetheart.” She messed with him back.

Bucky winked at her and returned his attention to the fake boyfriend, who seemed a lot more comfortable with the sport. They most likely wouldn’t win the race, but at least Sam wouldn’t feel bad for sucking at it.

“You know what?” Nana’s voice was loud and clear this time, which got everyone’s attention, “First one to get me a drink gets a clue."

The bold statement was followed by hesitant glances. Most of the family exchanged weird looks, none of them sure of how to proceed.

"Is she for real?" Bucky said, frowning.

Then, cousin Colin jumped to the water from where he was paddling, and started swimming towards land. Rebecca went second. Bucky and Sam were quick to notice how they were the ones closest to the lakeside, which didn’t make it seem like Nana was unbiased. If anything, it made the couple look like the favorites. Alas, Bucky and Sam climbed onto land fast, hearing people rush across the water behind them, until they heard a scream.

As they both turned towards the noise, they saw Rebecca slapping her hand around, swallowing water, and barely managing to yell the word ‘cramp’.

Bucky dove back on the water to save her. Literally. As Sam awaited kneeling on the shore, he couldn’t help but notice nobody else went to help. As usual, Bucky was Rebecca’s knight in shining armor.

"Rebecca, are you ok?" Winnifred barely asked above her usual tone to be heard.

The siblings were too busy trying to stay afloat –Bucky dragging her to land and Rebecca coughing her lungs out– to answer, so the mother insisted.

"Rebecca?"

Luckily, Sam cut in to get the unhelpful and mediocre concern away from the scene, "She- she's fine! We got this!" he assured the woman.

Once the siblings reached the wooden shore, Sam pulled Rebecca up by her arms while Bucky climbed up, panting. The young woman held her leg in pain.

Right on time, Brock approached them to save the day.

He extended his hand towards Rebecca, "Here, let me-"

"Get the fuck away from us!" James shot him an aggressive warning while placing a hand on Rebecca's back, not dignifying the man with eye contact.

Rumlow raised his hands in defense, "Just tryna’ help, Jamie."

The snap in Bucky’s brain might as well have been hearable. He was so done with the hovering figure he used to call his partner, everything in his head went red with fury. He looked up at him with such rage, Sam anticipated his outburst even before it happened.

"Shut up, Brock, shut up!” He yelled directly at him, microscopic bits of spit being thrown in Brock’s direction, and followed by a uncomfortable, still silence, which Bucky couldn’t stand either, “Are you deaf or are you a fucking idiot? I said leave!"

Rumlow accepted the offense and shook his head, putting on a disappointed façade.

"You're insane." He informed Bucky before turning on his heels.

As the man walked back inside the house, the spectators of the show remained silent. All that could be heard was Bucky’s heavy breathing, until Rebecca spoke.

"Way to go, brother." She whispered, which was only heard by Sam and Bucky.

Bucky’s expression revealed how shocked he was at his own courage to pull off such a stunt.

"That felt so good." He admitted, drawing a big proud smile on Sam’s face.

-

The outburst that morning, no matter how fulfilling, had taken a toll on Bucky. The rest of the day, it was all he could think about, and therefore, it naturally got the paranoid spinning wheel in his brain running at full speed. Cousin Colin, after the lake scene, was the only person insensitive enough to actually go through with Nana’s demand; the man had brought his grandmother a nice summer drink from the kitchen, which the lady received with a roll of her eyes. Unfortunately, she had promised the deliverer a clue, so she reluctantly kept her word and gave him the help in private.

It didn’t necessarily worry Bucky nor Sam, because the couple still felt they were winning so far. They had found the first clue by themselves, no help needed, so the best Colin could do was keep up with them before they got the advantage again.

No, what had them both worried was this cocktail gathering after dinner, right now. It was too early for anyone to be tired enough to go to bed, but it was late enough for people to start making bad decisions. That had been Bucky’s case. Drink after drink, worry after worry, the liquor had found its way into Bucky’s system long ago. In fact, he was sitting down, resigned to his sorrow, with a glass of champaign in hand.

He was wasted, and Sam could tell. While Bucky played around with the almost emptied glass, Sam’s chest felt heavy.

"He's watching." Bucky suddenly said, his enunciation already affected by the booze.

His eyes were fixated somewhere in the room, over Sam’s shoulder. The latter didn’t need to turn around to know who he meant.

"Don't pay attention to him." He shrugged it off.

"He used to do that,” Bucky, however, acted as if Sam hadn’t even spoken, “when he didn't approve of something."

"Hey.” Sam called, demanding his attention, “Hey, look at me. I'm here with you, okay? Not him."

As much as Bucky wanted to lean into those words, embrace the support and such, he knew it wasn’t truly real. Sam was there to help him out of pity, or so he thought. He used to love imagining having a boyfriend who would take away the pain, wipe away the tears caused by Brock. He used to like that image, but sometime in the horrible long-lasting relationship, he just didn’t think it possible. Anyone loving him after Brock? Anyone putting up with that baggage, with the lurking ex-boyfriend watching them at all times?

It simply wouldn’t happen. It’s why he wasn’t there with an actual boyfriend. It’s why he had to play-pretend with Sam. In his head, there was no place for anyone to love him. Not after he’d been chewed on by Rumlow and spat out a hundred times.

"But you're not.” Bucky sad dryly, almost insulting, “Not really. I'll never get the real thing."

Sam’s brain had a hard time with that one confession. Did Bucky mean that getting his friend to play fake boo was the closest he'd ever get to a boyfriend from now on? Or as he implying a world where Sam could have become the real deal? His confusion left him almost speechless.

"And why is that?" he managed to ask with a heavy heart.

Bucky was too quick in answering Sam’s doubts, "Cause I'm messed up. 'Cause of him."

That being declared, James stood up from the table, leaving his company sitting there by himself, rudely. Sam watched him get to the bar, which consisted of a few tables set up for drink service, attended by one of Nana’s kitchen employees. It did the trick in looking fancy enough for an improvised bar, and still, Bucky managed to look fairly pathetic, leaning on the table and ordering yet another hard liquor.

For the next half hour, Sam brought himself to chat and interact with the Barnes, but mostly, he was checking up on Bucky every other minute. Fortunately so, since it allowed him to spot Rumlow as he approached the drunk figure. Wilson excused himself and headed straight for the bar, and was noticed by the man who looked, as usual, like he was up to no good.

"Samuel, we were just talking about you." Brock greeted him cynically.

"Leave him alone." Sam said, not messing around.

Bucky’s eyes were fixated on his drink, avoiding exchanging gazes with his ex, no matter how hard Brock tried to catch his attention.

"I don't think anyone should leave him alone like this." Rumlow cocked a brow, giving off the most pedantic posture yet.

As much as Sam didn’t wish to sound just as condescending as the ex-boyfriend, he needed him to back off. So he stood his ground, planting himself in front of Bucky, and raised his chin.

"Oh, goodie, that's what I'm here for." He clarified with a taunting tone.

All of a sudden, Bucky decided to stand his ground as well. Unhappy with the exchange of words about his state, he got himself in front of Sam, stumbling a bit.

"I don't- don't need anyone to look after me." He managed to croak out, frowning.

After he delivered the words, he propped himself on the table unsteadily, causing Sam to gesture catching him, but Bucky seemed to be partially alright on his own. Brock, on his part, gave him a deeply disappointed look. Suddenly, Sam understood so much; the paternalistic vibe he gave off, like you’re nothing for yourself and are in desperate need of his aid. The way Rumlow judged people could get anyone to doubt themselves. Luckily, Sam wasn’t giving in.

Brock extended his hand to the more-than-tipsy man, "Come on." He said, more a demand than an offer.

The response was even more abrupt than that morning by the lake. In sight of his hand so near him, Bucky’s paranoia crippled through his bones, provoking a different kind of outburst.

"Don't touch me, you fucking maniac!" he yelled, taking a step back.

Sam’s skin crawled. During the tense silence that followed, he felt eyes staring at them three. Brock, however, didn’t seem nearly as shocked, but instead acted like this was just typical Bucky. He did seem embarrassed, though, being the victim of the scandal for the second time that day.

"Let's go." Sam pleaded, not daring to touch Bucky in a jumpy state like that.

That was Rebecca’s cue for approaching the lot, allured by the fuzz.

"What's going on?" she demanded an explanation in a low, but harsh tone.

"Nothing.” Rumlow spoke before anyone else got the change, “He's making a scene, as usual."

Rebecca shot him a threatening glance, to which he simply rolled his eyes and abandoned the bar area. Sam took his place in order to check up on Bucky’s face, and found his eyes beginning to water. He was frozen in place, eye sockets reddened by the drunkenness and lips caught between his teeth.

"James, get it together.” Rebecca whispered, “Everyone's staring."

Although Sam was expecting more comfort from the man’s sister, whom just so happened to be scolding him for no reason, he kept his quiet this time. The two sober characters dragged Bucky’s body to the nearest chair and forced him to sit down, which only attracted more attention towards him, but that way he could remain still and far from tumbling scandals.

"Get him some coffee before he embarrasses himself even more." Rebecca told Sam, sternly.

As she kneeled sat next to her brother in order to pretend normality, Sam just gave her a look of disbelief. He didn’t think she could act so heartlessly before.

"You're a real sweetheart, you know that?" he threw her a sarcasm dagger, refusing to move.

"Believe it or not, I'm helping him.” She spat, looking around frantically in hopes no one was judging them, “Coffee, Samuel, please."

Sam took one last good look at Bucky before obeying the very persuasive sister. The drunken mess was avoiding all sorts of eye contact, and was almost pouting like a child. Wilson didn’t have much else to do but get himself to the kitchen, although reluctantly. At that moment, he hated everything; every person and light were getting under his skin, and even the sound of glasses clinking together pissed him off. Right before he reached the kitchen, the sound turned muffled, abandoned far away, and there was a sense of peace. Silence. And breaking through that silence, there was a sharp voice.

“I’m telling you, this is our chance.” The voice echoed from inside the kitchen.

It was unmistakably Rumlow’s. Of fucking course. The man was a goddamn ghost lurking around every room of the massive house. Sam was determined on turning back, until he heard another voice responding.

“Give me a few days-“

“I don’t have days to give you.”

It sounded like an altercation that had just recently began, right before it could get too heated.

“Is your lawyer not your personal bitch this time?” the other man accused Brock, “You not screwing him, too?”

“You want the money, right?”

The inciting question was followed by a tense pause. Therefore, Sam seized his chance and walked into the kitchen, hopefully being able to pretend he hadn’t heard any of it. He recognized the other man as uncle Milo, when the two angry men straightened themselves too quickly, in an attempt to dismiss their previous altercation.

Sam gave them an uninterested glance, “Am I interrupting?” he asked nonchalantly.

“What can we do for you, Samuel?” uncle Milo raised his voice with false friendliness.

“I’m just gonna make some coffee.” He replied, waltzing towards the busier side of the kitchen, further away from them.

Before he could even get a hold of the coffee maker, Rumlow’s forceful interruption made Sam stop in his tracks.

“Nicole can take care of that for you, right darling?” he called for the maid in a patronizing tone, “She’ll even pour it for you and everything.”

Sam glanced at the woman who was still putting the dishes away when it definitely was the end of her shift. It wasn’t just about Rumlow’s treatment of the staff, it was everything, from the way he put Sam in an uncomfortable situation, to the smirk on his face while doing so.

“No thank you, I got it.” Sam told the working lady.

“Actually, she’s got it,” Brock insisted, this time much more taunting, “that’s her job.”

Sam found himself cornered, and resigned, although not without showing his discontent. He pinched the bridge of his nose and agreed tiredly.

“Fine, uh… Can you just take it up to James’ room when you get the chance?” He forced a smile in Nicole’s direction, whom nodded politely, “Thank you.”

When he was leaving to return to Bucky, Sam took a turn on his heels at the last minute. His blood still boiling, he gave the two plotting men a small but clearly exaggerated reverence.

“Goodnight, Mr. Barnes.” He let uncle Milo know his anger wasn’t directed towards him, then spoke directly to Rumlow, “Fuck you, Brock.”

“Classy.” The appellee complained.

“You’re right.” He lied, then turned to the maid one more time, “Nicole, my apologies for such rudeness. On behalf of Mr. Rumlow, of course. I guess money can’t buy decency.”

After addressing that last insult to the obnoxious man, Wilson headed back to the cocktail gathering in order to retrieve his drunk friend.

[bran-writes]

AK Character Flashback: Devon

Devon could tell Zig-Zag was starting to get anxious, which the eleven year-old could understand- he really didn’t want to be caught dead in an abandoned insane asylum on the outskirts of The Barrens after dark either. But, Devon was spurred on by the burning question in the forefront of his mind.

“You can just stay out here, if you want,” Devon shrugged, glancing behind him. Zig was climbing the vine-shrouded stone steps, sweat glistening on his forehead. The boy pushed his glasses up and scoffed.

“I’m not scared. I’m careful.”

“I know.”

“Plus, I probably would be more scared out here by myself than in there with you… So… There’s that.”

“Okay.”

“Why do you care so much, anyways? You didn’t even know the kid.”

Devon stopped, grabbing the straps of his backpack and pulling them tight. He knew why he was here, he just wasn’t sure if he could explain it. Zig came to a stop next to him and patiently waited for an answer. “You ever felt really alone?”

“Sure, that was like, all I did before I met you guys.”

“Imagine how he felt,” Devon nodded towards the looming, decrepit building. “Nobody should be that alone.”

Zig wiped his forehead with his shirt sleeve. “Okay.”

The two continued ahead, stepping around debris from wreckage they had no context for. As they walked closer, Devin kept an eye on the cracked, dirty, blackened windows above, half-expecting to see the ghost of a young boy staring back at him.

If the rumors about this place were true, Devon would probably feel like crying after he left, but he pushed on anyways. He just wanted to know.

Zig-Zag pulled the door open for Devon and held it while the boy walked through, pulling the cheap drone out of his backpack and clicking the activation button. With a whir, the tear-shaped device sputtered, faltered in the air in front of him as if it was dangling on a string and then straightened out.

“We need a new one,” Zig sighed. “Flashlight.”

A beam of light shot from the front and two sides of the drone. The lobby of the deserted building sat uncomfortably still- the broken down furniture and abandoned desk cast strange shadows on the dirty surfaces. Devon connected the drone to his watch and set it to record video and audio.

“We good?”

“Yeah, let’s get this done so we can go.”

“Speaking my language, Han Brolo,” Zig smiled.

The two kids picked their way around the rubble, while the drone’s secondary set of lights scanned the scorch-marked walls and shattered doors. They kept an eye out in all directions, wary of anyone lurking around the halls. In  any other old abandoned building around town, they’d have to worry about squatters and addicts approaching them from the dark(so they’d been told). But here in Sam Morner Hospital, they probably wouldn’t have to worry so much. Nobody hid out here, not this close to the Barrens.

Following the old floor plans on his phone, Devon lead Zig-Zag through connecting hallways and down a flight of stairs, their outdated drone humming behind between them. The place was stiflingly dark and smelled like old, wet moss and rusted metal.

“He must have been so scared,” Zig sighed.

“We’re close.”

They reached the bottom of the stairwell and paused, the drone shining it’s three lights down down each hallway of the T-Junction. Down the paths to the left and right, Devon saw nothing but a stretch of darkness past the light beams- other than motes of dust drifting restlessly. He was really starting to wish they were back at Zig’s house, where they were supposed to be.

I’m sure he wanted to be home, too, Devon thought.

Ahead of them was a short dead-end hallway- a group of rooms that once served as storage used by the staff of the facility. At the end of that hallway was a single door, the faded and chipped word “MAINTENANCE” stenciled on its rusted bronze surface.

“There it is…” Devon whispered. He felt his stomach turn and that familiar lump in his throat when he was trying not to cry. They stepped forward and got halfway to the door when they heard shuffling.

“Flashlight,” a voice whispered sharply from behind them.

The drone went dark.

The boys were enveloped in the blackness.

Zig screamed.

Devon joined him in screaming when he heard someone scramble towards them too fast for them to react and Zig hit the floor. “Flashlight- High Beam!”

Kwin Bergeron sat on Zig’s chest, cackling in the harsh light of their drone.

“You fucking psycho!” Zig hurled punches up at their friend, who just blocked them, laughing before rolling off the boy.

“Kwin, what the hell?” Devon panted.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it!”

Zig sat up, on the verge of tears, “Yo, that’s not cool, you almost gave me-”

“Boo!”

Both boys screamed again, Kwin laughing even harder after Holly Groene leaped from the shadows. “Jesus! What are you two doing here?!”

“Uh, we showed up at Zig’s house and you guys were gone-zo,” Kwin chuckled, “and so was the dang drone. We checked the app and saw it out in Old Pine. We took a few guesses.”

Devon took a moment to catch his breath and let his nerves settle, while Kwin helped Zig up. “Great, that’s great.”

“Wait, how’d you beat us down here then?” Zig brushed himself off.

“Your brother,” Holly shrugged. “Him and his girlfriend drove us around to Hartley and parked in the back. All we had to do was wait.”

“No fucking way,” Zig scoffed, “Miles would never let you come down here alone.”

Holly pulled at a strap on her shoulder and revealed the hunting rifle she had slung. “I got this baby with me.”

“Anyways,” Kwin sighed. “Let’s do it to it. Nobody wants to be near the Barrens after dark.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, asshole.”

“Wait, what do you think we’re doing?” Devon tilted his head.

Kwin looked confused. “We’re here to pay our respects, right?”

“Yeah…”

“Cool.” Kwin walked down the hall and stopped in front of the door, Holly joining him. Devon and Zig followed. “You do the honors,” Kwin stepped back.

Devon gently pulled the door and it opened with a sad, lonely whine. The room was small, cramped, musty. The drone cast it’s dim light inside onto a dry, filthy blanket, a couple of empty tool boxes an a message sloppily written on the wall:

ILY Mom

A year ago, police in town followed a tip and found the body of 12 year old Charlie Nemitz down here. Charlie was a quiet, reserved hemophiliac and the constant target of bullying at their school. He was small, skinny, frail and had an awful stutter, even when he talked to himself in the halls. Even Devon knew that all Charlie wanted was to be left alone to draw and color his art. That didn’t stop kids from picking on him- and since Charlie never told on his bullies, and he never fought back, it got worse over time.

This was where Charlie Nemitz died. This was where- after a group of bullies spotted him walking alone, jumped him, dragged him into Sam Morner, down the stairs and threw him into the room- his last moments played out. Bleeding out from his internal wounds, Charlie kicked and screamed at boys who were just upstairs. The bullies clowned around thinking they’d let him out in a few hours after they’d downed all their stolen beers. This is where Charlie used one of his markers to scribble a barely legible message to his mother in the dark. Charlie succumbed to the internal bleeding in his brain, stomach and limbs before the three bullies thought to check on him.

Devon unslung his backpack and set it on the ground as he crouched next to it, tears streaming down his face. Zig did the same and pulled out his own belongings he’d brought.

He wasn’t surprised the rumor about the message on the wall was true, he just needed to know. The three boys had all just been convicted, and the message(for whatever reason) wasn’t mentioned in the trial. But the kids around school swore it was real- some claimed to have come down there themselves to see it.

Devon just wanted to know.

“I brought some old comics I don’t read anymore,” Zig whispered. He laid them out neatly against the wall. “He passed by me one day in the cafeteria and saw me reading ‘em. I could tell he was trying to get a good look at the, uh… at  the pages, but when I asked if he wanted to read em… he just shook his head and walked off.”

“These are some of his drawings I tried to replicate one day cause I thought they were pretty cool. Mr. Connors had them hanging outside the art room, so I went and tried to sketch it myself? Like one day before school. He was really good, but he was an older kid so I was scared to ask him about it. I wish I had.”

Kwin stepped forward and reached into his own bag, pulling out a smooth orb that reflected off the drone’s light. “I didn’t really know him… I only saw him a couple times. But I kept thinking about how dark and scary it was in here so I brought a Glo-Ball… I don’t know, it won’t last forever, but-”

“It’s cool, I’m glad you brought it,” Devon interrupted. Kwin had a tendency to doubt himself, so the boy often found himself stopping his friend from getting there.

Kwin shook the glass ball, coaxing it to glow brighter and brighter the more he did so. He cranked a switch in the flat side on the bottom to increase the time and hit the alarm feature. “There, it’ll last for 6 hours every day at noon. At least til the dang battery dies.”

The kids- Devon, Zig, Kwin and Holly- stood there for a few long and silent moments before Devon stood up and brushed his pants off. “He deserved to still be here. That’s what all this means.”

The others remained silent in solemn agreement, before Kwin stood up as well, swiping his hands together and nodding in approval of their memorial. “The dark’s the worst way to go.”

“What’s that from?”

“I forgot, but I have nightmares about this stuff all the time,” Kwin shrugged and turned for the door. Followed by Holly. Zig and Devon followed, back up the stairs, out of the side entrance to the abandoned facility where Miles Sutter’s car was waiting with the teenager and his girlfriend inside.

Before they got any closer, Devon stopped them all. “Hey, I just wanted to say thanks for coming out here with me. It’s cool I didn’t have to do this by myself.”

“No problem,” Holly brushed her blonde locks back, “And it’s cool you did this. You have the best ideas.”

“Yeah,” Kwin lightly punched his shoulder, “It feels good. Like, having an ending to it. I don’t have to pay attention to any of the bullshit rumors and news stuff. We said goodbye.”

“I think he’d appreciate that,” Zig sucked his teeth. He wrapped a skinny arm around Devon’s shoulders. “Good work, Inspector Cooley. Another case taken care of.”

Tag List:

@remi-writes-sometimes​ @writerinafury​ @the-violet-writer​ @anomaly00​ @writinglyra​ @linariouswrites​ @drabbleitout​ @carmina-solis​

[chobit92]

Home: Jacob Seed/OC Chapter 34

Warnings: Sex, Violence

(1 Week Later: Mara is sitting on a boulder by the large pond outside the St Francis Veterans center. She is swigging a bottle of whiskey. She feels a lot better today save for the mild cramping she has in her abdomen. She hasn’t been to see a doctor. She doesn’t want to. She’s afraid of what they’ll say. She wipes away the tears that have been rolling down her cheeks and looks up at the large building. She sighs. Joseph held his usual Sunday sermon this morning and she sat at the back again. Her sister knows something’s wrong. She told her this morning that she’s worried about her and she asked if Holly was still being horrible to her. Mara told her everything was fine. But as usual in her life nothing ever is. She’s glad to be away from that damn compound for a while though. She hates it there. Nobody really talks to her only Evelyn and her sister when she pops by for a visit. She did the obstacle course again this afternoon several times. It’s gruelling and she is always exhausted afterwards. Today though was especially embarrassing. After the second run she threw up all over the floor. Nobody seemed to care or notice though. Nobody said anything. She probably shouldn’t be drinking whiskey. She’ll probably throw it back up in a minute but she doesn’t care. She takes another swig and rubs at her collarbone. She is wearing her black leggings and the knitted jumper of Edens Gate with the logo on it. The jumper is slightly too big for her and hangs off her shoulder slightly. She watches the pond and sees a fish break the surface disturbing the still water. She then looks at the floor and starts tearing up grass. A few minutes later she hears muffled footsteps then a voice that makes her jump and her heart starts to race.). 

Jacob: Any particular reason you’re hanging around outside my place? (She looks up at him and stares at him. She feels a flutter in her abdomen and a tightness in her chest.). Mara: Oh this is your place? Strange it looks abandoned to me. Jacob: Funny. I’m not in the mood. Mara: You always seem to be in a mood Jake. (His eyes narrow.). Mara: Is there any particular reason you don’t want me sitting here? Jacob: No. Mara: Then what’s the problem? Jacob: Why aren’t you at the compound? Mara: The compound...Hmmm. The place where nobody likes me. The place where I sit on my own all day. That’s when I’m not punching things and running stupid obstacle courses. Listening to Joe prat on about the collapse and sin and preparedness. So I thought well if I’m gonna sit on my tod again I might as well do it somewhere that has some nice scenery. I have always loved it up here. Ever since I was a kid. Jacob: Hm. Lots of mountains and scenery. Why this particular spot hm? Hoping to see me? (He smirks which really pisses her off but she tries not to show it. Fucking men.). Mara: Maybe. (She takes another swig of whiskey then holds the bottle out to him.). Mara: Drink? Jacob: What would Joseph say if he knew his little pure princess was downing whiskey like an old drunk. (She glares at him and he chuckles.). Mara: Couldn’t give a fuck. I’ll go and offer him one an all. Jacob: A drink or a fuck? (She glares at him again.). Mara: You what? Why do you act like such a prick? (His eyes narrow.). Jacob: Don’t talk to me like that. Mara: Or what? Hm? What you gonna do? (She stands up.). Mara: Well come on Mr big man. (He chuckles and shakes his head. She sighs and walks off.). Jacob: Where are you going? Mara: Away. (He grabs her arm and looks down at her. She looks tired and pale and sad.). Mara: What? Jacob: Why did you come here? Mara: I thought I already answered that question. Jacob: Hm. Mara: You wanna fuck again? (He stares at her.). Jacob: I think you’ve had too much to drink. Mara: Nope. I haven’t had enough. Sure you don’t want some? It’s good. Jacob: Where’d you get it? Mara: Nicked it. Jacob: Hm. (She takes another swig and goes to walk off. Just then a green truck races around the bend with a squeal of tyres nearly knocking Mara over.). Mara: Oi! Watch where you’re fucking going cunt! (Jacob almost laughs at Mara’s temper but he knows who the truck belongs to. Whitetail Militia. This lot are especially brazen driving up to his front door like this. A man suddenly gets out as Jacob draws his pistol stepping backwards preparing to use the boulder as cover if necessary. The man grabs Mara as she’s walking away and points a pistol at her head.). Man: Come with us quietly and we won’t shoot your friend. (There is silence for a moment. Then Mara starts laughing.). Man2: What’s so funny? Mara: You stupid assholes! You think Jakey here gives a fuck about me? He don’t give a fuck about anyone! He’d probably kill his own brothers if he had to! Using me as a bargaining chip! (Mara laughs again.). Mara: A dumb move indeed! (She suddenly stops laughing and brings the whiskey bottle up swinging it up into the man’s face so hard it smashes. He lets go off her and cries out stumbling back with his hands over his face. Mara then turns and jams what’s left of the bottle in his neck severing his carotid artery. Blood spurts everywhere as the man clutches neck gurgling as he slides down the truck. Jacob has aimed his pistol and shot the woman and the other man before they could do anything. The man on the back of the truck however has gotten on the mounted gun. He swings it to aim at Jacob making him duck down behind the boulder as bullets fly everywhere. Suddenly the gunfire ceases and Jacob slowly straightens up. He sees Mara yank the man off the back of the truck and he falls to his back on the ground. She then starts punching him. The man hits her back and grabs her shoving her to the ground. Jacob raises his pistol and shoots the man in the side of the head. He reaches Mara as she pulls herself to her feet. Her nose is bleeding.). Mara: Always drama with you. Every fucking time. Jacob: Can’t help that. Your nose is bleeding. Mara: No shit. Fucking pricks. Lost me whiskey now. (He chuckles and shakes his head.). Mara: Glad I’ve amused you. You know when I said you need to smile more I didn’t mean laugh at me. Jerk. (He chuckles.). Jacob: Come on. (She raises her eyebrows.). Mara: You got whiskey? (He chuckles again before walking off back to the Veterans Center. She follows him. As they enter the grounds Terry and Barry walk over.). Terry: Hey what happened? Mara: Pricks. Jacob: Whitetails. Didn’t you hear the gunfire? Terry: We were inside sir. Barry: Always gunfire around here. Jacob: Didn’t hear gunfire. You think of yourselves as soldiers? Terry: Sorry sir. (Jacob tuts and walks past them going inside. Mara follows him up to his office. She sits down and he grabs a first aid kit before dragging a chair over to her and sitting down opposite her. He dabs at her nose and wipes the blood away.). Mara: You gonna take care of me now handsome? (He stops what he is doing and stares at her. She presses a soft kiss to his lips but he moves away. She looks at the floor. He wipes the rest of the blood away and presses his fingers to her nose.). Jacob: It’s not broken. Mara: That’s alright then. (He holds the bandage on her nose for a few minutes and the bleeding finally stops.). Mara: Still pretty? (He blinks at her. She sighs.). Mara: Guess not. (She looks at her feet.). Mara: So...Whiskey? Jacob: Um. (He opens a drawer and pulls out a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses.). Mara: Shots? (She lets out a giggle.). Mara: You want me drunk? (He doesn’t answer. He just pours two shots of whiskey then downs both of them. She giggles.). Mara: Hey share then. (He pours some more whiskey and she picks up a shot glass and downs it.). Mara: So what you been up to? Anything exciting? Bedded any more attractive women? (He scoffs and shakes his head.). Jacob: What is it with you? (He sits down opposite her. He appears to be studying her.). Mara: What do you mean? Jacob: Why would a young attractive woman like you want to hang out here with me? (She is silent for a moment.). Mara: Why would you assume that a young woman wouldn’t want to spend time with you? (He stares at her.). Jacob: So...You want to spend time with me? Ah yes because you have a crush on me. (He chuckles and shakes his head. She sighs.). Mara: You shouldn’t make fun you know? Why is it so insane to you that a woman would be attracted to you? (He stares at her. She stares at him.). Jacob: I’m not a good man. Mara: I figured that much out for myself. Jacob: I’m also old enough to be your father. Mara: No you’re not. Jacob: I am. Mara: Well you don’t look it. Jacob: Now you’re just taking the piss. Mara: I’m not. If you don’t want to believe me fine. (She takes a big gulp of whiskey from the bottle before putting it down and standing up.). Jacob: Where are you going? Mara: I’m going. Look I ain’t that stupid. You ain’t interested. I get it. (She goes to open the door but suddenly he is there pressing against her from behind. She lets out a small gasp as he leans down brushing her hair away from her ear and whispering to her.). Jacob: You need to understand something first. Mara: What? Jacob: This is just sex. It’s never gonna be anything else. Mara: I never expected anything else. Jacob: Well good. Coz having a crush on me and having some idea of us getting together is only gonna hurt you. Coz it’ll never happen. You’re right. I ain’t interested. I just wanna fuck. (He grabs her hair and yanks her backwards. 

---Joseph is heading back to his church when he decides to see how Mara is doing. He walks over to the barn where she sleeps and sees her bed is empty. He looks over at the two men snoring softly in their bunk then at the woman sleeping on the bottom bunk. He frowns and walks back towards the main gates with the large white archway. He looks up at the lookout tower where Mara can often be seen. Steve is sitting up there drinking tea from a flask. Joseph frowns before heading back towards his church. He sees Evelyn carrying some washing in a basket.). Joseph: Evelyn? Evelyn: Yes dear? Joseph: Have you seen Mara? Evelyn: Hm. Not since this afternoon. She said she was going for a walk. Said she had to get away from here for a few hours. I think she feels...Like she doesn’t belong. She’s been finding it hard to make friends. Holly hasn’t been helping silly girl. Joseph: I see. Evelyn: Oh I wouldn’t worry. She’s a young girl. They do this all the time dear. She’ll be back. You should get some rest you do way too much. (She gently pats his arm before smiling and bustling away. Joseph walks back to his church. Evelyn is the eldest member of Edens Gate at 69 years old. She’s also the only one that calls him dear. He enters his church closing the door behind him and walks past the pews to the front of the church. He sits down at his small desk and opens his leather notebook before picking up his fountain pen. He starts to write. After a few minutes he puts his pen down and frowns. He wonders where Mara has gone. It is rather late now. He prays nothing bad has happened to her. 

---Jacob is lying on his side in his bed. He is naked. Mara is lying on her side in front of him also naked. His cock is buried in her tight little cunt and he has one hand around her throat, the other is wrapped around her thigh holding her leg up slightly. She is moaning as he jerks his hips pumping in and out of her frantically chasing his release. He then starts tapping and slapping at her clitoris making her flinch and let out a whimper. He then slaps her clit harder making her shudder and cry out.). Mara: Oh! Oh. Oooh! (His other hand squeezes her throat as he continues to fuck her roughly while rubbing and tapping her clitoris. She shudders again and cries out loudly. Jacob wonders if his men can hear what they’re doing, he doesn’t really care. None of them would dare say a word. She whimpers again.). Mara: Stop. Stop. (He grips her throat tighter and whispers in her ear.). Jacob: Who do you think is in charge here kitten? (She giggles.). Mara: Let me guess...You. Jacob: That’s right. You don’t give me orders. (A few minutes later he climaxes with a groan sinking his teeth into her shoulder making her wince. He then moves away from her lying on his back panting hard. She lies there trembling. Fuck. The hell is wrong with her? Why does she like this guy? She rolls over and snuggles against him lying her head on his chest and throwing a leg over him.). Jacob: The fuck are you doing? Mara: Going to sleep. Jacob: No. (He pushes her away from him almost pushing her off of the small bed.). Jacob: Get dressed and get out. (She frowns. Now she is confused. He seemed to enjoy it. He wanted her. Now he is just kicking her out? Just sex he said. She can’t be surprised. She slowly gets up and gets dressed. She then goes over to the bed.). Jacob: What are you doing? Mara: I... (He looks up at her. She bends down and kisses his cheek brushing her fingers through his hair. He pushes her away. She then turns and goes to the door opening it. She turns back trying her damndest not to cry in front of him.). Mara: Night Jake. (He grunts in response. She leaves closing the door behind her. Nobody really pays any attention to her as she leaves the Veterans Center and walks down the road. She starts to sob. She doesn’t understand how he can be like that. So cold and...Emotionless. She supposes she can’t be mad at him or upset about it. She really has no right to be. He made it perfectly clear that it is just sex. That sex is all he’s interested in. At least he’s made it clear she supposes. A lot of men don’t. A lot of men lie to women and lead them on. She supposes that’s one thing about Jacob. He’s honest. But she wonders why his whole attitude has suddenly changed. The first time they made love he was drunk yes but...He held her. The following day he just left but he wasn’t as cold as he was just now. After she sucked him off he was sort of dismissive but he wasn’t mean. She wonders what’s changed. She told him she had a crush on him. Maybe he just doesn’t want her to get the wrong idea or lead her on. He’s just being honest. She sighs as she continues to walk not really knowing where she’s going. She can’t go back to the compound. She doesn’t want to either. It’s late...Her sister is probably asleep. She doesn’t really want to see her sister right now either. Her sister always knows something is wrong. She wouldn’t stop asking questions. She doesn’t know how to answer any of them. Then she wonders if John is still awake. He sometimes stays up rather late. She wonders if he would ask her loads of questions. She wonders if he would judge her. He doesn’t seem to be the type that judges people. Not really. He seems to like helping people become free of their pasts and their sins. He seems to like to listen to people and their stories. Besides he can’t really judge anyone. Not with all he has done. Drugs, booze, women, violence. No he can’t judge anyone. He has no right to. Even when she was telling him all about all the people she killed he didn’t seem shocked or angry. He didn’t seem to hate her for it. He said that he was going to free her from it. Free her from Wrath. She doesn’t feel free though. She feels no different. Those people are all still dead. She sees a man at the side of the road. Another man is sitting on an ATV. The man gets off of the ATV leaving the engine running. He goes over and embraces the other man and they start talking. Mara quickly walks over to the ATV and gets on it before speeding off.). Man: Hey! (She doesn’t look back. She just races away from the mountains at a break neck speed. Tears stinging her eyes.).

[spongeekat]

Life as a Super powered Omega Sucks (Chapter 3)

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Masterlist Here

“So we’re just hanging around until you need us?”

“Pretty much. Is that an issue?”

“No, Mr. Stark.” Peter answered immediately, before the dejected tone in his voice could be called out. He glanced over at Wade, who was grinning mockingly at him.

“ No, Mr. Stark .” Wade repeated in a whispered girlish tone, and Peter grabbed a pillow to launch at his face. It was a little harder than he intended, he could admit, especially when the impact caused Wade to go tumbling off the side of his bed.

“Great. Things were a little difficult today with Romanoff and she had a close call when she was nearly discovered. Once we verify that our blueprints of the armory are correct, we’ll commence with our plans. Until then, we have to assure that we have no chance of alerting these guys to our presence. You two have a funny way of drawing attention to yourselves.” Mr Stark paused on the other end of the line, and his voice lowered suspiciously. “You haven’t done anything to make people notice you, have you?”

“Uhhh…” Peter paused thoughtfully, scratching the side of his head. The bed shifted underneath him, Wade pathetically crawling back up onto the mattress like a wounded puppy. “I don’t think so. Besides like, the usual going out for food and stuff.”

“Terrific. So you’re already pulling your weight. Sorry, kid, I know this probably sounded faster paced and more exciting at the meeting, but things sometimes have to take their time. SHIELD has been planning the dismantlement of these terrorists longer than you’ve been Spider-Man.”

“It’s okay. Just happy to help.”

“If babysitting Diaperpool gets too annoying, call me or Steve. We’ll send someone over to muzzle him until he’s needed.”

“Wade’s been fine. Annoying, but fine.” Peter returned, snickering at Wade’s offended expression.

“I gotta go before Barton and Romanoff decide to sneak off and mess with Coulson. Stay safe.”

“Will do, Mr. Stark. Thanks.”

Mr Stark hung up with a click, leaving Peter to stare at his burner with disappointment. He’d hoped things would maybe have progressed further, especially considering he was usually consistently busy in his daily life, and at the present moment, he was so insanely bored he almost wished he had a term paper due tomorrow. It wasn’t like they could go sight-seeing, either; the others had made it painfully clear that they were to stay put in the small city until someone came to collect them.

He still had more pressing matters hanging over his head as well, and every hour he spent on suppressants he felt like he was going insane.

Peter had taken his fourth dose of suppressants a few hours back, and he could already feel his body begging to be let off of them. His skin was hypersensitive, and even the brush of a blanket was enough to make him throw the entire comforter onto the floor. Wade had been his only distraction- his presence somehow endearing despite the fact his scent was overwhelming at times- but even witty banter wasn’t enough to keep his focus entirely off of the symptoms plaguing his system. He quietly turned his head towards the window, peering past sheer curtains to stare at the sky dripping with thick, grey clouds. The dreary town seemed just a bit heavier, especially with the trickling of rain pattering against the paths and pulling up dirt into the air.

He just wanted to feel needed. Was that too much to ask?

“Sooo, we’re sitting ducks?” Wade asked from behind Peter, and he felt Wade inching closer towards him. He shot a look back at the man, who retreated to instead stand a foot or so away. “Wanna go out?”

“We’ve looked through the entire place twice. I don’t think we’re gonna find any new food places just because we walk around again.” Peter groaned.

“No, no, no, I don’t mean here. We’re, what, 45 minutes out of Moscow? You’d love it there, Pete! I know you said some other time, but I can tell you’re going crazy here, and I’m supposed to be the only unstable one.”

Peter sat without a word, waiting in amusement for him to say he was joking. The look of determination on Wade’s face made him realize he was dead serious. “Moscow? Just so we can mess everything up if someone recognizes you?”

“Not the nice parts with cameras and mafias, obviously. The shitty parts is where you have all the fun. And anyone who recognizes me there probably paid me to kill their rich cousin at some point. We could find a party, or an orgy if that’s more your style. Oooo, you’ve never been to a party, have you? It’d be so fun!” Wade didn’t respect Peter’s wish for space this time, bounding directly onto the bed to sit inside his personal bubble. “Russian parties are the coolest, because there’s no rules and everyone here is fucking depressing. So they go hard to have a little bit of fun before drowning their sadness in vodka.”

“I’m not going to a party. Or another city. I’m not leaving the hotel room. Mr. Stark would kill me.” Peter said in irritation, rolling off the bed to stand near the window. The breeze coming through reminded him of his pathetic blanket and uncomfortable bed he’d have to huddle for warmth again that night, as he grimaced. “This is my one chance to prove I can do things right.”

“And you still will! Just after having a wild night.”

Peter stared at him wordlessly.

“Okay, a slightly crazy night that you don’t wake up too hungover from.”

“Wade.”

“Fine, fine, Pete, be a drag. But I’m getting on the next party train to Moscow with or without you. And I really hope it’s with you, because I need my arm candy to get into these things. Looking like a burn victim only gets me so far, honey buns.” Wade jumped off Peter’s bed, crossing towards the door. When he reached it, he threw a look back over his shoulder with the saddest puppy-dog look he could muster. “You can still go on this infiltration mission later. You’re travelling. I know you don’t usually have the money to do that. Why not enjoy it for one night? You deserve a reward for being a hero every once in a while.”

Peter sucked in a breath, but didn’t comment. He didn’t deserve anything. He had the power to help people, so he was obligated to do whatever he could.

But as Wade left, Peter could feel the comfort he’d had in his presence ebbing out of his body as well, being replaced by the tense achiness he’d been feeling for the past 2 days. Being left alone sounded like the last thing he wanted right now- even though it was usually how he preferred to spend days he didn’t feel so hot- and he wasn’t so sure Wade would even make it back to their motel in one piece if left alone to make bad decisions.

If Mr Stark were here, he would tell Peter not to listen to Wade and to stay put as he was instructed to do. But Mr Stark wasn’t here, and Wade’s reasoning for why he should go was weighing heavily on his mind. He didn’t get to travel often and so far he was spending this vacation couped up in a small town waiting to be useful for an hour. Who cares how he spent the other 96, so long as he didn’t jeopardize the mission?

He was pulling his shoes on quicker than he could make a decision, and had his door locked and a dose of suppressants in his back pocket a moment later. Wade lit up when he stepped out into the hall to find Peter already waiting for him.

“Glad to see you still know how to have fun.” The merc beamed, extending an escorting arm to Peter he refused to take. “I promise I’ll make rebelling worth it.”

“No Moscow.” Peter said, his voice stiff. “But there was that cool looking bar up the road- the one with the skylight? - and we still have enough cash to get both of us at least mildly drunk, right?”

“I like the way you think, Spidey.” Wade chuckled, leading them down the grimy hallway towards the exit of the hotel. “I’ll drag you to Moscow or Paris some other time. And if we run out of money for drinks, I’ve got a few Xanys in my back pocket. Either way, I can’t wait to see what you’re like when you’re fucked up, baby boy.”

--

Wade spent the entire walk there detailing his past crazy adventures and near-death experiences when visiting Russia. Peter nearly regretted agreeing to follow him, particularly when he started to delve into the R-rated details, but he had to admit the distraction was nice. Even the worry that Mr. Stark would find out where they’d gone was preferable to sitting alone in his room, trying to ignore the cramps deep in his abdomen.

The bar exterior was a bit busier than it had been the night before, but this spot seemed to be the only social gathering place in the entire town, so it wasn’t a surprise to find a mixture of people of all ages laughing and drinking with one another. Music played faintly from inside- some Russian pop music, Peter guessed- and the lights inside were dim, making it conveniently easier for Peter and Wade to keep up some anonymity.

Wade pushed through the doorway with a grip on Peter’s wrist to drag him, the back of Wades body melting into a dark blob as they entered the space. As they approached the actual bar, Wade drew Peter up next to him, giving him a toothy grin. “What do you normally order?”

“At..bars?” Peter asked, hushing his voice. “I’m 20. I’ve never been inside of one.”

Wade chuckled in a way that made Peter’s face immediately light up in embarrassment, leaning cooly against the counter. “You’re a superhero, friends with a billionaire scientist that has access to all his cool gadgets and gizmos and shit, and spend your nights probably stopping bar hits, and you don’t have a fake ID?”

“No? I mean my friend and I have drank like wine coolers and stuff before from her parents’ fridge.”

“You’re lucky the drinking age here is 18, you’re cute enough that no one can say no to that face, and I can speak the language.”

Wade turned to speak to the bartender as Peter’s stomach twisted, and he waited impatiently beside him to get their drinks so he could get some space back between him and Wade’s overpowering scent.

It took a minute of negotiation for Wade to finally get the man to fork over 2 double-shots and 2 mixed drinks, and Wade passed him a bill that looked way too big for the amount of alcohol they were handed. Peter grabbed his offered glasses and they picked their way through the crowd to an open loveseat furthest from the speakers to protect Peter’s sensitive hearing, and give them their privacy from the rest of the bar goers.

“Bottoms up, Petey pie!” Wade saluted with his shot, making Peter mimic the motion.

As they both chugged their shot, Peter couldn’t help but think that was definitely how he wanted to be right now with the hormones raging through his system, effectively making him choke on the last ounce of alcohol.

“Whoaaa, you really are inexperienced, huh?” Wade laughed, patting Peter on the back as he sputtered for air. “You gotta hang out with me more if you can’t even handle a vodka shot.”

“I-I’m fine.” Peter gagged, finally managing to get oxygen back to his lungs as his throat stopped spasming in alarm. He settled back into the cushions of the loveseat as far from Wade as he could get without making it obvious he was avoiding him, but the merc made no comment on the increased distance.

“You can wash it down with your martini.”

“I at least know what that is, and it’s definitely not gonna help.”

“Worth a try.”

Peter rolled his eyes and reached for it anyways, to give him something to do with his hands. The feeling of the alcohol sitting warm in his stomach at least helped to mask some of his other symptoms, which he was grateful for.

“So, I know they gave you the choice to stay in an actual house and not in some sleazy town more infested with bugs than Stark’s pubic hair.” Wade mused as he took shockingly large drinks of his own martini. “Why’d you pick here?”

“They don’t know my face or name or...anything else about me. At least, everyone but Mr Stark.” Peter stared into the glass, briefly considering telling Wade the predicament he was in. Wade was kind, and he was the one who was least likely to judge him for being an omega, or try to get him to drop the mission. But he was also a blabbermouth, and Peter wasn’t sure he wouldn’t sell his secret out for street cred with the rest of the team. “Plus, I don’t think I’d ever have the guts to do this if I was stuck in a house with Natasha. She’d have me running laps for hours or Clint would make me clean his bows or something.”

“While they got it on in the other room?”

“Ew.” Peter reeled automatically, then really considered it and looked incredulously at Wade. “You don’t think they’re…?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Wade laughed.

“I didn’t think about it.” Peter paused, then repeated, “Ew.”

---

An hour later, Wade had spent way too much of their money shoveling shots down Peter’s throat, and the both of them had successfully gotten pretty tipsy.

The later it got, the louder the other patrons grew, which meant Peter and Wade could giggle stupidly over cheesy jokes while remaining inconspicuous among the public eye. Peter could feel a slight tingle on the surface of his skin, which meant he’d have to head back to the hotel soon, but he was admittedly having too much fun to be overly-cautious. He hadn’t let go and relaxed like this in over a year, and sitting so close to Wade just felt good in ways he couldn’t really explain.

And of course, as soon as the universe had handed him one good moment, it was ready to give him two bad ones.

The chorus of Take on Me started to play from Peter’s pocket, his burner ringtone, and he reached clumsy fingers to dig for the device.

“A-ha! Gotta say, I love your choices.” Wade drawled, strewn out over the loveseat.

Peter managed to fumble the cheap flip-phone open, and the initials TS made his heart stop in his chest. “M-Mr. Stark.”

Panic punched into Peter’s gut, and his stomach gave an unbidden lurch. He gaped at the screen, feeling as if the phone call was his martini playing with his eyes. Yet, after a few gasps of air to steady his nerves, he determined it really was Mr Stark calling him.

“You gonna answer?” Wade was gazing down at the name over his shoulder, closer than Peter remembered, which only served to make him jump.

“I have to, I think.” Peter swallowed, hopping off the couch as his mind whirled. The heat symptoms were a bit worse now, amplified by the sudden panic. “Um, I’ll be back.”

He staggered to the entrance of the bar, past a few concerned onlookers that whispered incoherently- likely about the stress evident in his expression. Peter stepped out onto the lightly populated street, gulping down frozen air, before he finally clicked the green ‘answer’ button and pulled the phone to his ear.

“H-Hi, Mr. Stark.” Peter smiled stupidly into the air, trying to remember what he sounded like sober. “Um, what’s up?”

“Checking in. I feel like I was too short with you earlier. I know it can’t be easy to sit around in a gross hotel and being kept in the dark due to SHIELD clearance.”

“I’m okay!” Peter insisted in a forceful manner, biting his lip to keep from letting his mouth wander into a tangent as he often did when nervous. “I mean, I’m having a good time.” He stopped. “I mean, it’s not that bad.”

“Right.” Mr Stark responded with apprehension. “I just wanted to be sure. Surprisingly. I do have a shred of a conscience and know you weren’t entirely thrilled about this mission in the first place.”  

“Yeah, yeah but I’m like totally glad to help.”

“And it’s appreciated. ”

Peter didn’t have a good response, so he fell silent for God-knows-how-long, unable to actually tell due to the alcohol in his system.

“ Are you drunk right now?”

The accusation made the vodka that had settled in his stomach turn ice-cold.

Peter wracked his brain for an answer, though it was clear Mr. Stark had already made up his mind.

He disappeared from the line for a moment, cursing with a hostile tone under his breath, before returning with an aggressive hmph of breath. “ You’ve got to be shitting me. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I-I, I was just-”

“ You weren’t thinking is the simple answer. You never do. You know this isn’t just about you, or the Avengers, or proving to SHIELD I wasn’t completely insane for thinking a 20 year old was competent enough to work with us. This is about proving to me you weren't the child you were when I met you. But it looks like I was wrong. ”

Peter felt a stab of pain in his gut, and tears sprung to his eyes. Oh god, he couldn’t start crying now, standing outside of a bar and looking pathetically out of place. Mr Stark’s words hurt, and they made him feel sick to his stomach. The last thing he had ever wanted to do was break his trust or disappoint him.

“ I’m sorry, Mr Stark.”

“Sorry’s aren’t good enough. You’re too smart for this, Peter. I’m disappointed.”  

Peter felt another sharp strike in his abdomen, and he faltered. It was different. This wasn’t just guilt wringing his insides. Below the top layer of his skin, he could feel a slight fever beginning. Shit.  

“ I’m coming to get you.”

“ No!” Peter blurted out, berating himself silently a moment later. “I-I mean I’m...I’m not at the hotel right now. Wade and I went out to a bar in town and he’s in the bathroom right now. Plus I-I still gotta pack.”

Mr Stark made an upset noise. “ Fine. I’m driving over when the sun comes up in the morning, then. Don’t do anything else to fuck up any worse, got it? ”

“Yes, sir.” Peter swallowed, curling his fingers tighter around the phone. The cramps were hitting hard. His entire stomach felt like it was being flooded with fire. “I’m really sorry.”

“ Drink water and try to eat something before you go to bed. The last thing we need is to explain a hangover to Coulson in the morning .” Mr Stark paused with a sigh, clearly distressed. “ I know you’re young. I know you wanna do things kids your age should be doing. But you can’t be both a kid and an Avenger. You have to pick one or the other. I’ll call you when I’m almost there.”

The phone call ended as Peter’s breath hitched, and he leaned back against the wall of the bar, clutching his stomach. His eyes burned and his body was giving clear warning signs of impending heat symptoms. They had to get back, before Peter threw up vodka and everything he’d eaten for 2 days in Shcherbinka, or worse- broke down into tears.

He just had to find-

“Ooooooh shit. Did I get you in trouble?”

Peter started as he stood straight, Wade watching him from the entrance of the bar.

Peter ran fingertips fast under his eyes but it seemed to be too late, the merc striding towards him with concern strewn across his features.

“Petey, hey, what’s up?” Wade asked in a softer voice, maintaining his distance but holding out a comforting hand. “Was he that mad? Fuck, baby boy, I’m so sorry. I didn’t think he’d find out.”

“Let’s head back.” Peter muttered, brushing his hand out of the way so he could head down the sidewalk. He could feel Wade walking behind him, but was grateful that he gave him his space.

------

Peter nearly jumped out of his skin when there was a pounding at the door.

In reality, it was likely just a normal-volumed knock, but the pressure in his head was growing exponentially, and coupled with his distraction, he hadn’t heard anyone approaching. His grasp tightened around the syringe in his fingers, feeling the glass splintering slightly, but he finally released it onto the top of his TV stand and pulled himself to his feet. For reasons beyond his control he felt annoyed at being interrupted. Even if the person on the other side of the door didn’t know the suffering he was subjecting himself to at the moment, his shoulders were tense and he was ready to give them an earful about invading his space. It was close to midnight. Who felt the need to show up and bother him now? All he wanted was to crawl into bed and wind the covers tight around himself, so tight he would be unable to breathe- just to feel surrounded by warmth and darkness. Not answer the door to some late night housemaid or the receptionist trying to remind him he was checking out tomorrow.

He yanked the door open until it nearly slammed against the wall, ready to snap, when Wade’s face came into view. He stopped, swallowing back all the surprise rooted in his stomach, and managed a meek “what?”

“I forgot to give you back your wallet.” Wade said as he held out the pleather tri-fold, staring strangely at Peter. He knew he probably looked wild-eyed and angry, but he was barely keeping himself in control at this point. Everything felt uncomfortable in his body, as if his muscles couldn’t find a point in which they didn’t feel strained. “Petey? You look like shit. Is Iron Man being an Iron Bitch still bothering you?”

“No, it’s nothing.” Peter muttered and reached for his wallet. He tensed when Wade’s gloves wrapped around his lithe wrist, squeezing lightly. The pressure was enough to set his skin on fire, and he couldn’t bring himself to move away from the contact.

Alpha…

“Hey, hey, you’re shaking.” Wade’s voice was clearly concerned now, and Peter cursed his inability to drop things. He made another move for his wallet, but the other drew it further back. “Are you sick? Peter?”

“I’m fine.” Peter grunted, his eyes blearily focusing on the texture of Wade’s sleeve. This close to Wade his scent was intoxicating, stronger than it ever had been, and the smell of burnt pine and expired rain wafted up through his head. It made him dizzy, and electricity sparked over his arms and down into his stomach. His scent alone was enough to make him quiver.

Suddenly, his pants felt too tight, and the realization of what Wade’s presence was doing to him had his dreary vision snapping back into focus. But it was too late, because the taller man was already steering him back into the room towards the bed.

“Do you need anything? I can run to the store, or call Daddy Stark or something. I don’t want you dropping dead on me, baby boy.” Wade’s mouth was so close behind his head, Peter imagined he could feel his hot breath on his ear and neck. Every step they took towards the bed was another cramp knotting in his stomach, and he wanted to scream from the pressure. Suppressants were supposed to eliminate the symptoms of heat, not just stop it in its wake. But he’d also never been on them for 2 days before, so he wasn’t sure when their effectiveness started to falter. “Here, lay down. I’ll get you all snug and then I’ll grab anything you want.”

Alpha… smells good.

Peter’s body moved on its own, making the painful crawl into his covers, before he collapsed in the middle of the bed onto his back, dropping his head back in the pillows. The world spun a bit before his eyes finally settled on Wade, who was sitting on the edge of the mattress staring at him. He gazed down at his arms, his pulsing muscles begging to be released from the tight hoodie material, and trailed back up to his broad shoulders and neck. Everything about Wade screamed dominance and strength, and his omega side was begging him to reach out to be held. Still, Wade didn’t seem to be paying attention to him, his eyes cast lower down on the bed. Peter followed his gaze, trailing over the blankets and down to his hips, where the blankets had stopped.

His erection was standing tall in his jeans, making every effort to escape the confines of the uncomfortable fabric and seek out Wade’s attention. And Wade was staring directly at it.

His expression was unreadable,  but Peter assumed he was completely freaked out as to why his friend had a clear hard-on after being touched by him, and he grabbed a pillow to shove down on his waist.

“Oh my god.” Peter whispered in mortification, his voice gravelly. He squeezed his eyes shut as the heat in his stomach rose to mirror on his cheeks, rolling onto his side just so Wade would stop gawking at him. “I-I’m so sorry, I’m just tired and you showed up and I can’t help it-...”

“Me?” Wade finally asked, his voice a pitch lower and focused. Peter felt the bed shift, and then a hand lightly settled onto his shoulder, as if he would break him if he put any weight on him. “Pumpkin, hey, it’s okay, look at me.”

Peter shook his head, refusing to face the humiliation as he buried his face further into the pillows. He wanted to scream and cry at the same time, and curse his biology for being so fucking inconvenient it was ruining everything about this weekend. Why couldn’t he just be a beta? Why an omega? Why did the world hate him so much?

Wade applied a bit more pressure onto his shoulder and forced him to return to laying on his back, his other hand moving to lightly rest on Peter’s abdomen. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.” He murmured, his gloved fingertips rubbing light circles right on the spot there was the most tension in his stomach. “Can I help?”

“What?” Now Peter finally looked back up at him, red eyes widening drastically. The question sent another wave of warmth crashing through his pelvis, and he knew the swelling wasn’t about to go down any time soon.

Wade’s hand inched lower, grazing the waistband of his jeans, though his fingers didn’t dip inside, clearly waiting for full, and clear, permission. “I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I left you here alone like this.” He murmured, his voice sounding tighter. Peter swallowed back his jumpiness and looked down at the hand dancing over his hips, willing his body not to buck up needily for the attention it craved. “I won’t do anything you don’t want to do. But if you want me to make you cum, I will. Just say the word.”

I need it.  

“Wade, I…” Peter didn’t know what to say. He didn’t have the strength to tell him no, to save himself from the humiliation of letting his friend get him off, but he also didn’t know if he wanted to tell him no. Maybe it was his heat still getting shoved back in his body, or the nights he’d spent jerking off to thoughts of Wade (only on occasion; he had said some pretty suggestive things in the past) but denying him felt like the wrong option.

“If you don’t want to see me you can keep your eyes shut and pretend it’s someone else. I won’t mind. This doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Peter knew that wasn’t true, that taking this step would result in a lot more confusion and tension filtering into their relationship, but the thought of Wade’s warm mouth swallowing him down his throat sent a shiver up his spine.

If there was anything he knew about Wade, it was that he had a lot of experience in that department.

Peter nodded numbly, draping one arm over his eyes so he didn’t have to face reality.

“I need to hear you say it, angel. I don’t want to cross any boundaries unless you’re sure you want this.” Wade added as his fingers tugged and undid his button, the zipper audibly being drug down.

“I want it.” Peter croaked, instantly feeling his temperature spike. “Please don’t make me say anything else.”

Peter couldn’t see Wade, but he could practically feel his smirk of satisfaction. As promised, Wade moved on the bed so that his weight was bridged over Peter’s legs and pulled his pants and boxers down without asking any more of him.

The cold air rushing over his dick almost made Peter moan in relief, but he bit his lip to keep the sounds at bay. In the darkness he could hear every movement Wade was making, from the rub of denim against itself to the creeks of the cheap bed springs underneath them. Wade’s mouth was absent, and the only real reminder he had that he was there was a hand pressing steady into his thigh, gripping bruisingly against the skin, while his other hand fondled with part of his own clothing. He almost wanted to ask if this was alright, reassure Wade he didn’t have to do this, but then, God , Wade’s face returned close to his pelvis with a hot breath brushing over the tip of his cock.

Peter almost came right then.

“Just try to relax,” Wade spoke lowly, each word sending a puff of breath over his sensitive flesh that had him twitching. “You smell delicious.”

He didn’t have a chance to ask what he meant before an overwhelming warmth enveloped the head and continued down. Each inch Wade took into his mouth sent more and more stars flashing in Peter’s eyes, and his entire body went tense. Whatever self control he had before melted away, as his mouth hung open in utter awe at the sensations. He’d gotten head before, though he was in his heat, so he didn’t quite remember it. Now, however, when his nerves were extra sensitive from his symptoms falling off but he was otherwise mentally alert, he was choking on the pure bliss. Eventually he felt Wade’s nose press snug into his pubes, and he realized, with an embarrassed gulp, that his dick was pressed in the back of Wade’s throat.

Then the mercenary swallowed, and Peter’s voice shot out in utter ecstasy.

“G-God, Wade, p-please…” Peter didn’t know what he was begging for, possibly relief from the mind-boggling fever he felt twisting his gut, but Wade seemed to comply. His mouth retreated until his cock once again bobbed free, and Wade tongued precum dribbling from the slit. Peter picked his head up in reaction only to drop it back against the pillows, a groan echoing from his chest. Wade hadn’t been exaggerating when he said his scars were everywhere. His dick once again penetrating his mouth and brushing along the inside of his cheeks proved that. The texture had him crooning instantly.

Wade apparently decided that toying with Peter was more important than actually pleasing him, if his slow, firm pace was any indication. Everything about Wade normally was erratic and unruly, dangerously unpredictable, and yet now he demonstrated perfect control, unwilling to let the twitches or whines leaving Peter’s throat to deter him from his perfectly measured beats. His lips tightened and a slight suction drew more pressure to the surface of Peter’s groin.

There was a low grunt from Wade’s mouth, almost like garbled words attempting to be formed around the length, and Peter drew his arm away enough just to glance down at him. The scandalous sight that met him as his vision readjusted to the light had his heart leaping up into his throat, a throb echoing through his limbs and making his stomach churn. “What?” He panted, on the edge of going absolutely insane from his taunting.

Wade repeated his hum, the vibrations enough to make Peter jolt, but he maintained eye contact, growing a bit annoyed as all he wanted was to focus on chasing his orgasm. “I can’t hear you.”

Wade’s lips drew back, his tongue being the last to peel away from his cock, as he swallowed back the mixture of fluids that must have been gathering on his tongue. He looked rather flustered himself- from what Peter could see of his exposed nose and chin from under his mask. “I asked if you just showered.” He grinned, teeth flashing bright as ever into a crooked, but breathtaking, smile. “Whatever soap you use is really working for you. You smell just..” His nose pressed into the crook of his thigh, causing Peter to tremble from the tickling sensation. “Like dessert.”

Peter didn’t want to ask him to elaborate, knowing that whatever scent he thought he smelled was pheromones playing tricks on his brain, so he flopped back against the pillows instead. “That’s all you had to say?” He asked impatiently, toes burying into the cheap polyester sheets under him.

Wade’s laughter had Peter self consciously curling back into himself, but then his hands were tugging his thighs back open until he was in a vulnerable position, similar to earlier. “You’re wanting more?” He asked in a low, but teasing voice. Despite all his pride, Peter nodded weakly, throwing both arms back over his face to cover as much of it as he could without suffocating. “Okay, I’m sorry. I’ll stop playing. I’d rather hear you screaming my name, anyways.”

This time, when Wade took him back into his wet mouth, he didn’t give Peter any mercy or room to breathe.

Fingers dug hard into Peter’s hips, anchoring them down to the squeaking mattress, causing a frustrated huff to leave his lips. However, his complaints fell short when that wonderful pleasure blanketed his shaft again, warming his body from his toes to his chest. Wade’s throat opened to allow nearly every bob to force more of his dick to cram down into the tightness, not an inch left unattended to. Any rational thought floating in Peter’s head was obliterated, replaced by the image of red fire, of a tingling spreading through his fingertips and his feet, and the twisting of his stomach.

And by Wade, abusing his cock and forcing so much sensation onto Peter he thought he might cry.

It didn’t take long for Peter’s orgasm to build. He had already been on edge for days, and he didn’t doubt even a brush on his shoulder or a grab of his hip could have made him break down by now. But this was oh so much better than any feeling he could have jerked out with his hand. This was ecstasy, and he wasn’t just going to get off. He was going to cum, and he was going to cum hard.  

Peter’s arms found Wade’s head on instinct, his fingers gripping tightly at his temples. Wade noticed, his tongue putting in twice the effort and one hand raising to squeeze lightly on Peter’s aching balls. He mouthed Wade’s name, though no sound was able to escape his lungs, his voice strangled in his tight airway. His muscles clenched, his hands held harder onto his skull, and a second later his back slammed again into the mattress before bullets of hot cum shot down Wade’s throat. Peter squeezed his eyes shut so hard he could only see crimson, the other man’s mouth greedily sucking down his semen without so much a sound of disgust or displeasure.

Wade didn’t release his overly sensitive dick from his mouth until he was sure his quivers had stopped, and he took his sweet time doing so. When he finally released him, his grip disappearing from Peter’s hips, he realized how empty he felt, and his hands twitched with the need to reach out to Wade, to ask to be held by the alpha, but he suppressed every indecent desire and instead settled for opening his eyes.

Wade was redressed fully by the time he looked, and disappointment shot through Peter’s chest.

“Hopefully you feel better now, Spidey.” Wade hummed in clear amusement, adjusting his sleeves so they went back down to the joint of his wrists. “I’ll let you get back to sleep. If you need anything else, well, you know where I am. Feel free to crawl right in.”

Peter watched in silence, unable to fathom a proper reply or reaction now that his heat was finally withdrawing. Every step felt like a heavy weight on his chest, and he felt the need to say something, anything, even if it was to confess everything that he had been suffering through. He rationalized that was just the needy omega side of his brain, though, and some things were better left unsaid.

Peter tossed himself onto his side, his back facing towards the door, to try to get proper rest. The door squealed open behind him as Wade started to exit, and he swore he heard Wade pause in the doorway to take a breath.

But then the door shut lightly a second later and Peter was bathed in darkness. Alone, exhausted, and his mind struggling to make sense of everything that had just happened.

[snowfall-fanfictions]

Beware the Frozen Heart Chapter 9- The Poisoning

Previous Chapter

Ao3 link

FF.net link

Eryn gets down to some dirty business while Elsa seeks guidance from Gerda. Enjoy!

"And you're sure this is the stuff?"

Eryn looked down at the small sack his contact, a fat man with a face that looked like he was stung by bees, gave him. The man had infiltrated the castle staff and had been supplying Eryn any… illicit supplies to help in the assassination. The two men met in an empty room in the east wing of the castle, as to not draw attention to themselves. Eryn reached into the sack and pulled out a small black berry, about the size of his fingernail.

"Yup," the contact said in a hushed tone, "Freshly picked Nightshade berries, just like you asked for."

"Amazing how such tiny berries can cause so much suffering…" Eryn sneered.

"My wife said the same thing."

Eryn wasn't sure how to respond as he delicately put the sack in his jacket. "Uh... rrright… Look, when you infiltrate the dining staff, I need you to locate the wine cellar and report to me. Can you do that without fucking it up?"

"Yes, sir." "Good. Now, make sure no one sees you leave this room." Eryn walked over to the door and opened it slightly ajar. Carefully observing the hallway, he nonchalantly strolled out of the room, down towards the kitchen.

Eryn still couldn't believe that was the best he could find. He had spent years forming a tight-knit group of reliable contacts to help in these jobs, but he wasn't expecting to recruit a stupid clown like that jackass. If Eryn remembered correctly, he was the one who got caught in Avalor during the job to kill some local gang leader. It was a miracle that they were able to get out of there with that mouth-breathing tub of lard slowing them down. It didn't matter at this point. Once the queen was dead, he'd never see that infernal moron ever again.

Once she was dead… Eryn's heart grew heavy at the thought of Elsa's death. It was clear to him now more than ever that the mystery man who hired him was exaggerating the reasons he wanted the queen dead. Exaggerating, Eryn thought, More like lying through his damn teeth! For some reason, Eryn felt a surge of anger overtake his body. He quickly shook this rage from his head. It didn't matter at this point. He couldn't pass up an opportunity like this, not only to get back at Arendelle, but to solidify his legacy as a legendary killer. His stroll turned into a frustrated march as he silently grumbled to himself.

As he approached the kitchens, he paused at the sound of someone yelling. Except it wasn't like the head chef berating some hapless fool for overcooking the duck, instead it was more of an "GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE!" Eryn was immediately taken off guard when a large reindeer was shoved out of the large doors and into the hallway. At least we know the food's fresh, he thought as a large stocky blond man rushed up to the animal.

"Sven, how many times do you need to be told not to go in the kitchen?" he said sternly.

"BuT iT AlL SmElLeD So gOoD," The man replied in a more goofy tone. Was he… talking for the reindeer?

"Well, that's just people food, and this," the man pulled out a bag and retrieved a carrot from it, "Is people and reindeer food."

It was at that point Eryn realized who this was. The man in the square the day he arrived in Arendelle. Eryn recoiled in horror as the man let the reindeer take a bite out of the carrot, then ate the rest.

"Oh, what the hell?!" Eryn shouted, his stomach churning. The man and reindeer looked up at him with confused expressions.

"You must be Derrik," the man said as he extended his hand, "I don't think we've properly met before. I'm Kristoff, Anna's fiancé."

What in the FUCK does she see in you? He thought, shaking Kristoff's hand reluctantly. "Er- I guess that makes you the Royal Ice Master, then?"

"Yep! Sven and I oversee all of Arendelle's ice harvesting and shipping, isn't that right buddy?" Kristoff leaned over to the reindeer and scratched the underside of the beast's neck. Sven let out a satisfied grunt as his hooves stomped on the floor.

"I- uh… wasn't aware that they allowed animals in this part of the castle."

"Sven's more like family than anything else," Kristoff placed his hands on his hips and playfully glared at the reindeer, "But sometimes he forgets that not everyone thinks the same way." Sven gave his friend a small pout.

"How exactly did someone like you earn the princess's hand?"

"What do you mean 'someone like me?'"

"Well… you don't seem like a lot of other people around here. Not as uptight."

"I helped Anna find Elsa and fix the eternal winter, that's how," Kristoff leaned over to Sven, "I HeLpEd ToO, yA KnOw," he said, speaking for the reindeer.

Oh sweet fucking Christ, Eryn thought. It was tempting to kill this oaf along with the queen, but his standards forbade him from killing the mentally challenged.

"Hmmm, well, if you don't mind, I need to get into the kitchens. I have to make sure no one's tainted the food yet."

Kristoff cocked his head with a raised eyebrow. "Uh… the dignitaries haven't even shown up yet. Don't you think it's a little early to be checking on the food?"

"An assassin wouldn't wait until the moment the food is being served to poison the meal. Now would be an opportune time to taint anything, whilst there are few eyes."

"And how exactly would you know about that?" "I was the son of a noble, my father fretted over such things constantly…" Eryn seemed to get lost in thought as he said "my father," as if some internal force scolded him for dragging his father through this shameful charade. "Look," Eryn said after a few moments, "Elsa asked me to do this, so if you have a problem with it, talk to her about it. Now if you will excuse me..." With that, Eryn forced his way between Kristoff and Sven and entered the kitchens, ignoring the scowl the ice harvester gave him. The kitchen was incredibly cramped, filled with chefs and servants scrambling around to make sure everything was in its proper place. Eryn could barely hear himself think through the sounds of clinking dinnerware, sizzling meats, and general commotion from the people inside. It looked and sounded like an insane asylum where the inmates were given free reign. Scanning the room, he noticed that his inside contact was busy getting yelled at by the head chef over clumsily dropping some potatoes. He marched over to the two of them and grasped the contact's arm.

"I need to see this one for a second," Eryn said, trying to sound cheery. He dragged the contact to one of the only secluded areas behind a few large sacks of flour. "What in the hell are you doing?!" Eryn whispered angrily through gritted teeth, "If you get thrown out of here this whole operation is a bust!"

"I'm sorry, boss," the contact said panicking, "I was just trying to blend in and-"

"I don't need your sob story, where is the wine cellar?"

"R-right over there," the man sputtered, pointing to a large oak door.

"Alright, now get back to work, and don't act suspicious." Eryn threw the man out of the corner, watching as he fumbled about like a one legged chicken. Casually strolling over to the wine cellar, avoiding the sea of bodies, he was approached by a minor staff member.

"I'm sorry, but that area's off li-," She began.

"The queen herself asked me to overlook all aspects of this event, including the drink. You wouldn't want to upset the queen, now would you?"

The servant's eyes grew wide as she scurried off. Eryn discreetly opened the wine cellar door and slipped inside. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he scanned over the racks of wine bottles, looking for one specific bottle. Red Burgundy, Clos de Vougeot, Eryn reminded himself, running his hand across each bottle. He pulled each one out of its hole until finally reaching the one he was looking for. Eryn grinned in a sinister manner as he unsheathed his blade. The knife lay silent, denying Eryn any of its gifts. Overdramatic bastard, he thought as he jabbed the tip into the cork.

With one swift motion, Eryn pulled the cork out with a satisfying *pop*. He then took out the sack of berries from his jacket, pulled out five of them, and split them with the knife. As he hovered his hand over the wine bottle, he hesitated slightly. Once he did this, there would be no turning back. She would be dead, he'd be long gone, and everyone else would be left to deal with the aftermath of the assassination. His mind fell onto Anna, how she trusted him, how he would force her to live her life with no family, again. The idea of putting such a kind and warm person through that caused his heart to ache. Should he call it all off-

NO! Eryn thought, infuriated with himself, Not when I'm this close. If I had to live with no family… then so will she. With that, Eryn crushed the berries in his hand, the juices dripping into the wine below.

XXXXXX

"Oh, dear! I'm so happy for you!"

Gerda took Elsa's hands in her own. The queen sat in her study explaining to the head maid her situation regarding her feelings towards Derrik. For the past fifteen years, Gerda was the closest thing Elsa had to a mother figure, someone whom she felt she could talk to about anything. Despite Gerda's elation, Elsa still felt a pang of guilt and embarrassment in her soul as she hunched her back, cradling herself in her arms.

"T-thank you, Gerda," Elsa said weakly, her cheeks burning bright, "I'm just not sure if… nevermind."

"Dear, you shouldn't keep these things bottled up. You remember what happened last time?"

"It's just… Arendelle is in a state of chaos! There are bandits in the north, we appear weaker than ever before, and here I am fantasizing about some man. I just don't know if this is truly right for the kingdom."

Gerda silently processed the queen's words. "Dear," Gerda took Elsa's hands in her own, "Sometimes you just need to take a step back from it all and think about yourself for a change. Why, I remember when your father had the same dilemma about his feelings for your mother."

Elsa was taken aback by Gerda's story. "Really?"

"Of course," Gerda chuckled, "He was in the same position you were in. I'm afraid that's the case when a regent dies suddenly. People lose their faith in the monarchy, alliances have to be reformed, it's a complete mess. He would confide to Kai and myself constantly over his situation." Hearing that made Elsa feel a little better as she untangled herself from her arms. "Magic or not, you're still human, dear," Gerda continued, "Arendelle isn't going to collapse if you fall in love."

Elsa smiled warmly as a knock came to the door. Kai entered the room, a look of seriousness on his face.

"Sorry to interrupt, your majesty," he said, "But the dignitaries from France have arrived."

"Ah, yes," Elsa said, rising from her seat, "I'm coming." As she left the room, she could overhear the conversation between Gerda and Kai.

"HA! I told you she's got it bad! Pay up!"

"Hmph! Fine!" Elsa heard the jangling of coins being pulled out of a bag. She couldn't help but chuckle to herself. Talking to Gerda made it feel like a massive weight was lifted off of Elsa's shoulders. In time, she would need to talk to Derrik about this, but for now she put all of her focus on the visiting dignitaries. A powerful ally like France would help bolster Arendelle's reputation on the world stage. It was an opportunity the kingdom couldn't refuse.

For the first time since the assassination attempt, she felt calm.

[honestsycrets]

Locked In II: Your New Beginning

↳ prison au

Author’s Notes | heed warnings

❛ pairing | hvitserk/reader

❛ word count | 3993 

❛ genre | angst & smut

❛ summary | hvitserk is excited to bring his newest toy to their hideaway. hope it lasts.

❛ warnings | violence, dub/non-con, angst, convict!hvitty, exhibitionism, mention of breeding rings, drug use, criminal behaviour, kidnapping, abo dynamics, humiliation, masochism, guilt tripping etc.

The bite must have hurt.

On the after thought of the escape, Rollo tends to wiping his wet fingers over his chest and jerks off his button-up shirt from his chest, flinging it on the floorboard of Ragnar’s car. As his father pulls off, you realize that around the main entrance there an influx of police filter in. None of them realize that such a threat has escaped, nor that medical staff lay in the medical wing deceased.

“Your plaything is a cobra.” Harald says, victim to an onslaught of your sneakers shoving against him his torso while he changes into a t-shirt. Hvitserk too changes quickly, unable to help the disgust that runs through his skin from wearing a uniform of a what might as well have been a dirty fucking cop.

“You’re telling me.” Rollo responds from the front seat.

Hvitserk laughs, “Yeah but she smells amazing and I need a fucking hole that don’t feel like STD Russian Roulette. You got my lollipops, uncle?”

Rollo tosses a bag of brilliant red lollipops over his shoulder, landing in your lap. “Let’s hurry up and change out the license plates.” He reaches around you to grab his lollipop, unraveling it from its wrapping and popping it into his mouth with a long, pleased groan.

You shift uncomfortably on top of him-- unsure which to wiggle close to. Did you wiggle closer to the insane Ragnarsson you briefly knew or this strange, older man with tattoos reflecting a lifelong world of crime on his face? Either he was an idiot-- or he just didn’t care who knew who he was.

So instead you make the mistake of scooting back over Hvitserk’s lap where he kept you. He can’t help his long, jagged moan behind his lollipop, loosening the tie in your hair and turning his nose in your silky hair.

“You already trying to scent me?” He laughs. “Fuck you smell good as fuck.” Hvitserk’s hand slides from the lollipops in your lap to the stringy bow ties of your pants, tugging them loose. Rollo hands Harald something in a warm cup. At first you think, booze. Not the case. The car is filled with a nutty smell of coffee beans.

“I’m no, I’m not!” You all but shout as his large, slender fingers slide over your dry folds. He’d have to try a hell of a lot more than that to make you bend!

“We got shit to do, Hvit.” Harald rumbles beside him.

“Not for a good ten minutes.” Hvitserk shrugs, making nothing out of the fact that he’s petting you right in front of the other men. Harald seems more concerned with nursing his headache and coffee-- but you know those blue eyes linger upon you as much as Rollo’s were. Even this strange ‘Dad’ snuck a look in the mirror above at least once.

“Let’s see that pretty pussy.” Hvitserk ignores your complaints, looking to Harald for assistance. He provides Hvitserk with a knife-- and the older man looks to you to stop wiggling with a hard raise of his forehead. Bunches of wrinkles strain his forehead. The hard side of this new knife prods the crotch of your scrubs causes you to jump, outright sobbing this time.

“Please don’t…” You sob inhale a breath, full of the thick odor of three potent Alphas. Fear soars up your veins, sending shockwaves of hard palpitations when Hvitserk affectionately sliced through the fabric. He chuckles, soft and conceited.

“Keep still.” His voice deepens, ordering you to do as he willed. The knife slits a long line from ass all the way up to the waistband, stopping a inch or two short. Perfect, he thinks. He flicks the blade to the side, smoothing over your pussy that slowly-- but oh, oh so surely, becomes wet for him. In a test, he dug his digits in between your slick.

“Please don’t…! “ You sob, losing yourself when his digits come back out connected by a long string of thick lubricant. He slips the fingers into your mouth to shut you up, flicking you in the cheek when you bite down on his fingertips. In place of his wiggle fingers, you feel the hard stickiness of something all too man made.

“Knock it off.” His father says from the front seat, glancing over his shoulder to his son. His knuckles twist the candy he was once eating with a spin, glancing up with trifling green eyes to him.

“Leave it to you to not let me play.” He pouts, spinning the lollipop once, then twice before pulling it out again. You flinch when he brings the soiled candy back up to his lips, knocking the candy around his full cheeks contently. “We almost at the stop?”

“We’re here.” He throws the car into park. Hvitserk shoves you off of his lap towards Harald-- who looks down upon you with a small, smug smile. The doors to the car open and thrash closed once again. Two of the men have left. Did you make the wrong choice? You fear asking anyone anything, flailing to sit back up on your ass. There was a good reason for your fears too…

“Do I… get to go home?” You ask. At the wheel, the man has his short and thick fingers at his lip. He glances to the rearview mirror where Hvitserk is, flicking his stick in another direction as he replaces the plates on the car with the help of Rollo.

“You’re an omega.” Harald says beside you. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

It couldn’t have been worse. You bury your hands into your face with an outright sob when Hvitserk comes back into the car, it’s with his lit cigarette and a cheesy smile, flicking the plates onto the ground.

“Hey.” He takes another long drag of the cigarette, nudging you. When you don’t respond, he pokes you with the hot end of his cigarette. The sear is immediate, raising the hairs of your arm that haven’t been singed by your new, raw wound. Ragnar starts the car for their new hide away.

“Sup, princess?”

Oh god, help you.

You should have been looking out the window.

In the stress of your seizure, you had lost it. No longer were you awake looking at the many trees whizzing by. Not until the blackness you were shaken out of your empty, black dreams.

“We’re here.” The voice, deep ease you awake. It took a few moments to snap awake-- and when you did, it was by the crack and squeak of old wood under feet. The Ragnarsson Hvitserk had you yet still in his tattooed arms. Moments later, he creeps into another room. You know that the entire house was peculiar. It’s aged walls peel with a dull yellowing wallpaper, sure. There is also thin, dusty curtains that would scarcely hide any sun.

“You smell better by the minute.” Hvitserk turns the corner, kicking open a cramped bathroom. It elongates just so to fit a bath, a toilet and sink all in the room. It could have been nauseatingly small all on its own. Hvitserk sets you down on the edge of the bath, grabbing a plastic pack from underneath the sink.

They must have owned this house.

“But, there’s some modifications I could live with.” Hvitserk shrugs, turning one green eye to you. He flicks his fingers at you to get into the bath. It’s… stained. You fear with more than just day to day grime. He stops what he’s doing to throw you an almost irritated look.

“Think I’m gonna shoot you? You have a pussy, don’t worry.” Hvitserk laughs. “You’re safe.”

That was consoling. Still you do as he pleases and strip off the grimey-- ruined scrubs, setting them just outside of the bath with your bra and panties. It was almost neat. Hvitserk swipes them up, tossing the into a large trash bag.

“Trust me, where you’re going, you won’t need them.” He says.

“Where I’m going?” You respond with thick concern. Hvitserk sits upon the toilet, flicking the handle of the bath. Scalding hot water fills the bath causing you to flinch back, folding your feet against your breasts to hide your body fro him. He tilts his head, gazing to your folds that are unprotected from his gluttonous eyes.

“Yeeaaah, shouldn’t’ve worn tight clothes to work. Why would you do that working with a bunch of alphas?”

Now this was your fault? You huff heatedly.

“C’mon, tell me. You like the attention, don’t you?”

You admit to nothing-- even if you did! It wasn’t for the attention of a bunch of pussy starved inmates. It was for the hope of what all the other women wanted. Male or female or somewhere in between, most to everyone wanted a special somebody.

“But don’t worry.” He laughs, flicking out a razor to hand to you. “We’ll take care of you. Now shave it pretty for me.”

It’s all cryptid. Hvitserk then turns to an carribean blue ice chest sitting upon the floor. He plucks it up by the grey strap, pulling out a glass vial. Your stomach clenches hard upon an empty stomach, feeling the anxiety bubbling with every sweep of your blade over your smooth skin. Hvitserk pops the cap off, plunging it into the white permeable membrane of the vile.

“What is that?” You shudder, shaking now.

“A suppressant, if you can call it that. Has a poison to destroy those stupid receptors you omegas got. Arm.” Hvitserk sweeps his eyes over you, drawing on the orange plunger to pull the strangely clear liquid out. You’ve heard of those very suppressants-- a pricey drug not cleared by the Omega Drug Association.

“No.” You wiggle through the hot, burning water to keep your distance. If he came close, you could always use the razor! A deep sigh bounces off his lips, flipping up his t-shirt to pull out the handgun that was tucked in the rim of his joggers. He turns the gun on you next, crouching down beside you.

“Don’t fuck with me.” You drop what you were doing enough to give him your arm. He smiles, winding the black tie he uses for his hair around your upper arm. He eases the needle in without falter and so you know he’s definitely experienced in such things.

“See babe.” Hvitserk laughs, pulling out the plug to the water before drawing another bath. “It’s not so bad if you just listen, right?”

Your heart was telling you that you knew far better than that.

The light streaming in from dust littered, sheer buttercup curtains should have woken you up that morning. After an arrival like that you should have been knocked out upon the thin, craggy stained mattress pad. Instead you sprawl over the stained covering with a bursting heat within your tingling inner walls of your pulsing cunt. Yet you couldn’t touch it, tied like a dog and told to sleep it off. The drugs coursing through your system were filtering out. You curse yourself at that very moment for not taking suppressants. Despite the pulse of your cunt, you know what will happen.

He should scare you.

They all should scare you.

Yet the demon that brewed in these alphas were unlike the ones in normal alpha males. They were disposed to be what they were: greedy, lusty, gluttonous. Oh, a great many things. The difference between these convicts and normal men was the ability to keep the demon inside of them at bay. In days of your heat, you were just the same; spilling needy little cries of an omega through the house until the alphas were at war among one another.

“She can’t go on like this.”

The alphas had been awake for a great few hours. His chest stung as he flexed, bloody with pink at the edge of the black wings of Hvitserk’s tattoo. Hvitserk had been in a fight with Rollo as the hours raged on. They sat arranging their flight out of Denmark into sweet, innocent little Sweden. Or at least, that was the original intention before your scent trickled down to where the other alphas were bickering that Hvitserk wasn’t tending to you carefully enough.

“She’ll be fine, uncle.” Hvitserk chides, thrusting his towel over his shoulder and lazily walking over to drop a plate in front of his father. Ragnar’s trademark braid was done away with in favour of a short crop on the top of his head.

“You have… intention to breed her?” Ragnar twiddles a bit of floppy, chewy bacon. Hvitserk listens to your soft sobs above-- slipping into the ragged, natural desires of the flesh.

“Of course I do. She’s an omega! When her heat soars, she will be screaming for release.” Hvitserk says. “Then you can take her for your ring.”

That was no sort of life and all four of them damn well knew it. The highest bidder would lay down their coin for a night with the most delicious of dolls. Each slamming their fat palms down on their red buttons, thrusting up cards to dib coin upon their fixations. The winner walked away with the toy. Then the same would happen… night after night until Ragnar thought them fit to be given to Rollo. From Rollo-- there was no coming back.

“But she’s educated.” Harald says gruffly. “Can’t we use her for better means?”

Ah Harald, always making half-baked plans. Hvitserk turns to set his plate of crunchy bacon and medium done eggs before him.

“No.” Hvitserk snears. “Don’t be stupid.”

“You’ve been around Ivar for too long.”

“I was stationed with him.”

Ragnar’s hand hovers lazily by his lips. His blue eyes flicker down to his plate, then back up again to look at the stairs just behind the meager two floor home. They had to airlift out of this hellhole as soon as your heat settled. Ragnar slips out of his chair as son and uncle bicker tirelessly together. Before either notice, up Ragnar goes up the stairs.

Each step brings him closer to the princess’s den so to speak. He can already tell that your soft mewls of desperation are stringing out longer and longer. Ragnar knocks the door open with a rippling creek that swells down the steps. It creaks apart. The yellow wallpaper on the walls matches the drab brown wood coming half way up the wall, dull. Your eyes lock onto him through the wildness of your hair. A thin rim of colour surrounds the deep black of your eyes.

Ragnar does not find this something new or unique. He’s seen that very eye in a willowy, alpha female-- his wife, before she attacked and bred him for his seed once upon a time. Ragnars’ lips twitch and so he moves closer.

“(Y/N), that is your name?”

“Fuh… fuck you.” Comes the hiss. Ragnar closes his eyes, motioning his head downwards tiredly. He’s surely heard this one before and yet he carries on, moving closer. Like an animal she sits there, rubbing her legs together and massaging herself through heated frustration.

“You’ll have the chance.” Ragnar hums, reaching forward to moved your hair from the messy manner it was displayed. He could feel your heat burning through his skin, attempting to get under his own, to implore him to breed.

“What do you… mean?” You make out between deep, harsh breaths. Your thighs press tightly together. Despite the heat between your legs, you can rub them together for some friction. But it’s not enough… it’s never enough. Ragnar’s eyes course over your freshly shaved mound up to your breasts before relenting his gaze.

Then he makes a face of indecipherable emotion. It’s short lived-- because shortly after, Hvitserk resurfaces through the door. Ragnar slides back up and within a brief few steps, disappeared back from the way he came. The scents mingling overpower any humanistic qualities you may have had previously.

“Guess omegas are kinda indiscriminate, right?” Hvitserk muses, rolling you onto your back. His touch sends a shock wave of tingles through your walls. Damn your body. Damn whatever he gave you too. Hvitserk senses the hitch in your breath and it brings a stupid smile to his lips, palming your breasts while you squirm. “As long as it can pop a knot, right?”

No, you want to say, it wasn’t write. Yet as your walls moisten and your cunt burns with a hot, eager need you know that he is right. In this state you would give it up for anything-- convict, or no convict.

“You ask stupid questions.” You huff out, moaning outright when he pinches both nipples between his fingers. Instead of the fear he was so damn sure you would exhibit, you writhe under his fingertips.

“You like it?” His tone shames. He twists again-- and pleasantly your legs kick out, betraying your mind screaming everything that Dagny committed to your knowledge. Hvitserk Ragnarsson was a murderer. A breeder. The last alpha male that crossed him had shown up to your clinic with great tears to his jaw up to his cheekbones. Fibrous strands of connective tissue attempted to string his cheek and jaw back together, a testament to the quick wound healing of an alpha.

“Of course you like it. I bet you're into all types of kinky things, aren’t you? Don’t you got someone special at home?” Hvitserk rustles within his own pants, drawing his cock out into the cold air. Your curious eyes can’t help but sneak a glance. He’s of what you think might a comfortable size. Or at least it would have been if not for those barbells along his shaft.

“Just shut up.” You answer between painful huffs; even if you did, it wasn’t like you would tell an insane alpha male that. Men like him were regularly euthanized. Who would tell him anything? Your eyes keep attended to his cock in his small strokes along the shaft. It only serves to build his huge ego-- and it’s nothing that you would admit to freely. Hvitserk slips onto the soiled mattress before you, taking your hand in his gloved one to force you to look at him.

“No? Then let me guess.” Hvitserk chuckles, fisting the root of his cock to lead the tip to your unprotected pussy. He shoves himself forward unceremoniously, forcing you to roll from your side onto your back.

“You’re one of those li’l sluts that binges xvideo porn all day and daydreams all about a certain little someone, right?” He chides, pinning your shoulders down. A long groan escapes his lips, hissing. “Fuck, no one been in this pussy for a while.”

Oh you hate him. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him!

“Those are the kinda pussy princesses I love, ya know?” He slurs, moving his hands down your back to your waist. He pins you there, enjoying the bounce of your ass against his hips with every bouncing thrust. The balls of his piercings pop into your hole, gliding in cool. They’re quickly warmed by your juices coating down his cock.

“The ones that just can’t get enough. Just like me.”

“I’m not like you!” You hiss and despite his dick just smoothing over the right bundle of nerves, you fight him tooth and nail through the long, bruising thrusts that relieve your swollen need. He’s so thick-- and when he fills you, it’s as if you could never be more full.

“Aw that’s cute pretty baby.” He leans in above you, placing his palms down flatly against your head. You glare at the black lines on his right forearm, wanting nothing to do with him. But in the end of it all, you knew he was right. “But it ain’t true. Omegas are meant to be bred like this. This is what you were always meant to do.”

His balls slap against your ass-- hard, then harder when your hips defy you. You lean into his thrusts, taking them like only an omega could. Hvitserk’s lips churn into a wide, bright smile. The more he warmed you in your heat, the more attention you craved. And Hvitserk-- was far too gladdened to give you everything you craved. As a true alpha, It wouldn’t be complete if you weren’t gasping for it first. And so you were, oozing your excitement over his dick before he even came! Hvitserk gives you a long, deep stroke of his cock to fill you properly. Your vaginal walls respond by squeezing him perfectly, milking him while he strains to hold himself out above your with a few forced pants.

“Nnn- nooo.” You sob, this wasn’t it-- this wasn’t… wasn’t you. And yet all the same, yesss.

At the end of your week long heat, your legs were wiggly like the jello and thin, light foods that Hvitserk had been feeding you so often. Never again did you want to see breads, brothy soups and crackers that made it so easy for Hvitserk to breed you and breed you all week. You felt the heat subsiding little by little through your cunt until finally, it was little more than daily annoyance of breeding and sex.

Hvitserk woke up before you that day, preparing everything that had previously been used in the house for the fireplace. Your wrists were bound when he finally came back to gather you onto two feet with a short, white flowing dress.

“Where are you taking me?” You ask-- stupidly so.

Hvitserk keeps his head level, hair smoothed out into a neat bun on the top of his head. He takes a drag of his cigarette, losing the smoke in your face yet again. You were getting used to his asinine actions over the week that you knew this Ragnarsson.

“You’re flying back with Dad.” He answers.

“Back… home?”

Hvitserk stops around the area where a jeweled pair of flip flops are. Whoever picked these pretty things-- it definitely wasn’t any of the four idiots you came to know over the week. Though Rollo did have a soft spot for prettty things, so maybe it could be him.

“You’re not going home.” Hvitserk explains. Ragnar comes to stop beside him, and so suddenly, the dread pits in your stomach. “You’re going to his breeding rings.”

Breeding rings?

“You’re not serious.” You state the question as a blank statement. Ragnar grasps your upper arms, tugging you away from the only man that you knew up to this point to stand closely against his toned chest. The young man stuffs his hands into his pocket.

He’s deadly serious.

“You can’t do this to me!” Your voice cracks at the end of the statement, beginning to panic as to what exactly a breeding ring might be. It was a running joke that Omegas were only good for breeding rings but like any things, you never gave it any credence until now. Almost like a lead weight you drop in Ragnar’s grip, refusing to go anywhere. Much less tot the sight where you would be airlifted in a separate direction with the Sigurdssons Ragnar and Rollo.

“No, no I’m not going!”

Instead of giving your fit any weight, uncle Rollo coes to the other side of you. He lifts you up onto two feet. Hvitserk lifts his hand and like magic, Rollo pauses.

“C’mon princess. Don’t make this painful. I like you, but I don’t like you like you. Besides, you’ll be nice and cared for by my brother Ubbe. Don’t that sound nice?”

It didn’t sound nice, it didn’t sound nice at all!

“It sounds awful!” You shrill out, jerking in the two brothers’ arms. At long last, Hvitserk digs his hands into his pocket. You shrill all the way to your next mode of transport until Hvitserk is nothing but a small speck. He shakes his head, rejoining Harald, still in his thoughts.

“You’ll thank me later.” He chuckles. “When you can’t get enough.”

@igetcarriedawaywithyou, @kylobien, @titty-teetee, @breathlessouls, @nejijjeoroo, @bcat1291, @readsalot73, @mslothbrok (no mix), @romanchronicles, @captstefanbrandt, @ailucascen, @michaeliskindahot, @concretewaywardangel, @naaladareia, @cbouvier23, @the-geeky-engineer, @dorned, @lisinfleur, @funmadnessandbadassvikings, @tephi101, @akamaiden, @Kirah34, @ethereallysimple, @venusloviing, @happylittlepuppydog, @beyond-the-ashes, @slutforrpg, @hipsternoionlylikeunicorns, @mixedwiththemoon, @sparklemichele, @alicedopey, @lif3snotouttogetyou, @rubyquartzshades, @noregretsandyeteveryregret, @dangerous-like-a-loaded-pistol, @deathbyarabbit, @unacceptabletatertots, @beyond-the-ashes (no sig), @babypink224221, @titty-teetee, @ivarandersen, @queen-see-ya-in-valhalla, @moose-squirrel-asstiel, @icarus-fell-in-spring, @piebytheocean, @strangunddurm, @atequila, @rekdreams247, @justacrush, @ivarswonderlust, @peachesnpisces, @elenawrit, @equalstrashflavoredtrash, @roxxck, @dylanowhyyien, @ilvebeenabad, @vikingsmania, @huntingbears, @My-Little-Wolfe, @seize-the-droid, @Certifiedpoison, @hotshotstar, @deans–chevy–baby, @moondustmemories, @colourmeinblue, @ilvebeenabad, @squirtleandeeveearethebest, @rubyquartzshades, @queenmissfit, @calaena-banrion, @hallowed-heathen, @Kirah34, @lulura, @looneytunes20033, @Imamom-makingadifference, @sunlightdaniel, @neeadinghugs, @Funmadnessbadassvikings, @mblaqgi, @Natmors, @triumphantreturnofpies, @dmv49, @imavulcanatheart, @attorneyl, @nina2697, @iconicvaleria, @lovelynerdytraveler, @tierneygonzalez, @zabee113, @meganjudee, @nininstinct, @sdcyumyum, @ms-allenbrown, @pancake-blonde, @ivarswickedqueen, @starkiddreamer, @Orange Darko @austenkingmylady, @thisisparadisemylove, @pinkrockstar19, @jeowjungkook, @threewintersoldiers, @end-of-night, @yaminax-kuss-a , @gruffle1, @arses21434@natalie-rdr, @tempt-ress, @Sirena-wesker, @thevikingsheaux, @poisonedjoinery, @smokealone, @chewythecatus, @glopsifum, @laughinglikenialler, @lefrenchfrye, @she-walks-in-the-moonlight, @mybarnesmyhero, @vengefulflange, @imcreepininyourheartbabe, @therealmrshale, @that-goodgirl, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @athroatfullofglass justrepostandlove

[kiruuuuu]

Siege The Valentines 2019 Day 1

Blitz/Rook oneshot in which Rook would like to have sex and Blitz doesn’t. So they compromise and have sex. (Rating E, fluff/humour, explicit smut, some exhibitionism and semi-public sex, ~8.5k words)

Thank you so much to everyone at @dualrainbow​ for organising this event!! I’m thrilled to participate and look forward to everyone’s contributions :) Please follow @dualrainbow​ so you don’t miss a day and let writers know if you enjoyed their story! 💕

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“You should’ve seen me, I drop kicked one of them down the stairs and actually made him do a flip, a bloody flip, I bet none of you have ever seen anyone do that, it was brilliant! Much cooler than the way I made five of them curse like all hell when I set off one of my babes, and that was already -”

“I think my favourite moment of yours was when you were currently telling me about how much you needed a piss, so much that you considered just dipping out for a second to do it in the middle of a mission and one of the blokes burst into the room. You shrieked like a child, my ears are still ringing.”

Smoke shoots Mute a glare when the younger Brit’s comment earns more laughs than his dramatic exaggeration of the events transpired earlier, but an arm casually slung around his waist placates him instantly. Blitz can only imagine how he feels in his lover’s half-embrace, pressed against a warm body and so obviously claimed in front of everyone – he’d bet it’s nice, has felt a similar sensation before, confidence and affection settling low in his stomach and weighing him down in a good way. A quick glance over to a certain Frenchman assures him that Rook is following a similar tale as well, eyes bright and mouth stretched into a rapt grin while he listens to Maestro. He’s almost cute like this, enthusiastically poses additional questions to allow the Italian to flesh out the story, and Blitz knows what it feels like to have all his attention.

Okay, he’s understating. Rook is adorable. If he could, he’d hug him right now and kiss the tip of his nose. Maybe tell him how happy his entire existence makes him.

“You’re the one babe I never have to set off, you do that all by yourself”, Smoke is grumbling now after Mute once more rained on his boisterous parade, prompting his boyfriend to laugh and his hold to tighten.

They’re loitering outside their hotel – since drinking alcohol in the lobby isn’t permitted, they’ve gathered here to share their post-mission hyperactivity. Their group must make for an intimidating picture, around twenty well-built men and women congregating, sharing cans of beer and raucous laughter, but as long as nobody chases them away, they’ll stay. There’s no alternative really: they’d go insane in their individual rooms, with some of them probably taking apart the furniture due to cabin fever, and going out isn’t preferred either. Because rarely anyone would understand the rush of having saved lives, and they want to ride the high for just a little longer. It won’t be long until exhaustion sets in.

Blitz can feel the tension slowly leaving his muscles but instead of rendering him immobile, it makes him giddy. He barely resisted the urge to join Finka in her spontaneously made up drinking game of having to take a sip whenever any of them curses in their mother tongue (and by now, she and various others are very tipsy) and it’s getting more and more difficult to not just run, tackle someone for a friendly wrestling match or try to scale a building – though the glass façade of their hotel would make this last one impossible without the proper equipment.

“Have I ever told you that you’re fucking awesome at your job?”, Ying addresses Hibana with a reverent expression which speaks not only of her admiration for the other woman but also of the fact that she’s by far the worst of them in holding her liquor.

“Only six times today”, the Japanese woman replies with a both flattered and amused grin. “You’re talking about me saving your life again earlier? It’s becoming a running joke at this point.”

Ying puffs herself up in front of her, almost like a small bird trying to seem more intimidating and stabs her in the collarbone with a finger to emphasise every word coming out of her mouth. “I. Love. Your. Controlled. Explosions.”

“Sounds like she’s setting off a controlled explosion in your panties”, Ash butts in drily and amid the chortles and chuckling, Blitz’ eyes meet Rook’s.

It’s a relatively mild night for the season but even the beers he had don’t really explain the sudden rush of heat overcoming him. Not for the first time does he realise just how gorgeous the other man really is with his dark curls and bright blue eyes, his physique oddly attractive even to someone who preferred softer curves all his life. It probably has to do with almost dying – death puts a lot of things into perspective. Cheeks hot, he offers a warm smile and nearly crushes the can in his hand when it’s reciprocated, so pleased is he, before averting his eyes again. He feels like an open book but would prefer for no one to read him right now.

Maybe he should drink some water to clear his mind a little, guide his restless state towards something more productive. He’s got some bottled water in his hotel room, so he excuses himself from no one in particular as everyone is currently cheering on either Ash or Hibana in their battle of wits while Ying seems a tad confused with the entirety of the universe.

The moon is mirrored in the spottily illuminated glass front of the building and Blitz is so mesmerised by it that he only notices he’s gained a companion when he enters the lobby and Rook slips in with him.

“What are you doing?”, the young man wants to know cheerfully and seems barely capable of containing his excess energy.

“Getting some water. I hate travelling with a hangover and we’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I’ll come with!” The announcement is followed by Rook dancing alongside him, basically running laps around him and bouncing in place as they wait for the elevator. More than ever he reminds Blitz of a puppy. “Did you hear what Maestro said? Apparently Lesion lost the bet with James and now he has to get an undercut, can you imagine how silly he’s going to look, probably almost as bad as the time Gus had to -”

His chatter lulls Blitz in who’s more than happy to let Rook do the talking and simply indulge him, but he was not at all prepared for the tongue which pries his lips open and shoves its way into his mouth as soon as the elevator doors close behind them. He makes a surprised noise and stumbles back yet Rook merely follows him, presses their bodies together and continues ravishing him. Having no other choice, Blitz succumbs and kisses back tentatively, smiling at the desperate sound he earns in return and putting his arms around his lover.

Rook is a needy disaster whenever he feels he’s been neglected for too long and so it’s no surprise when he mumbles: “I haven’t kissed you all day.” His pout is audible but at least he detaches when they arrive on Blitz’ floor, trailing after him with a whine.

“Well, we had a few situations to de-escalate”, Blitz reminds him gently while unlocking his door. “If you want, we can cuddle a bit before going to bed, but you’re sleeping in your own room.” Rook perks up at this and were he really a dog, he’d probably wag his tail at Mach 3 right now. As expected. “That’s not a euphemism. I’ll be too tired for anything else.”

And here comes the ear droop – also as expected. “But -”

He feels bad. He really does, he hates disappointing people and disappointing Rook even more and he’d be lying if he claimed the quick and dirty kiss in the elevator had no effect on him, but… there’s other issues. Unaddressed ones, entirely his own fault, he knows this, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to raise the topic yet. “Come on in and we can make out for now”, he suggests instead and Rook is immediately full of life again.

The room itself is remarkably pleasant even if cramped, the carpet fluffy, the bed just the right kind of hard and the floor to ceiling windows a nice touch. Blitz turns the light on, gives Rook a peck on the lips to appease him for the moment and draws the heavy curtains closed before rummaging around in his backpack for his sparkling water. Rustling behind him causes him to turn around curiously and he’s faced with -

“Julien!”

Rook pauses uncertainly, blinking at him like someone who got caught doing something forbidden yet not sure what exactly. He’s half way in taking off his shirt while his trousers are unbuttoned already, his shoes kicked off to the side and his toes trying to find purchase on the hem of his trouser leg so he can pull it off as well. If his intent hadn’t been crystal clear, he’d look comical. “Is this not what we’re doing?”, he wants to know, sheepish, and once more reminds Blitz of a dog – only this time a mindlessly horny one.

“Making out also wasn’t a euphemism”, he stresses firmly and he knows this look all too well, has received it several times after dates and in the morning and even at work but … he can’t. He can’t give in, no matter how much it pains him to turn down these wide, dejected eyes.

“It’s been so lonnng”, Rook whines and shuffles over to him, listlessly throwing his arms around Blitz and crowding him against the nearest wall. A quick look confirms that yes, there’s no gap in the curtains meaning none of their colleagues still outside can see them, so Blitz relaxes and pulls his boyfriend close to him, finally enjoying a hug that, while being slightly uncomfortable due to the arms digging into his back, feels utterly wonderful. “And you’re always so handsome, it’s not fair. Your helmet hair is cute and when you’re being modest it’s adorable and you know I love it when you drink out of a can wrong.”

The ticklish words grumbled against the exposed skin on the side of his neck make him laugh softly and card his hand through Rook’s silky hair. “You know there’s no wrong way to drink out of a can?”

“There is. And you’ve perfected it just to taunt me. Have I told you that these jeans make your ass look amazing?”

It’s good that Rook can’t see his reddening face – Blitz is weak to heartfelt compliments and he knows he can take Rook’s seriously. “You’re really pent up at this point, hm?” Another pleading whine is enough of an answer. “I can just… take care of you, how about that?”

To his genuine astonishment, Rook declines. “I want to make you feel good too, mon cœur, or else it’s no fun.” He does belatedly accept the offer of making out, however, simply presses their lips together and purrs against Blitz’ mouth. He gives in without hesitation, always does so when they’re alone, whether it’s early in the morning, amidst frantic preparations to go to work, during a film they’re watching or as a prolonged good night kiss. Rook thoroughly enjoys kissing in all circumstances and is slowly winning Blitz over as well, not only with his eagerness but also because he’s excellent at it.

Rook does the thing which always makes his toes curl and he can feel himself melting into the devoted ministrations speaking of an affection he reciprocates wholeheartedly. He’s gotten worryingly attached to this man in a relatively short amount of time, willingly allowed him into his life and doesn’t even object to spending most of their nights together – but there are still some obstacles in the way, moments during which one of them is left staring blankly or unsure of what to say, awkward situations and slight hurt, often mutual. All in all it’s considerably less rocky than most of Blitz’ previous relationships or attempts thereof, and still he’s painfully aware it’s far from perfect. He doesn’t mind though, they’re both putting in the effort to make it work and it shows.

The beer he drank is only a very small part of the reason why Blitz enthusiastically toys with Rook’s tongue as soon as it becomes available: he’s missed this too. Letting himself go isn’t something he’s done often but Rook coaxes him out of his shell with loving touches, understanding reassurances and very uncharacteristic patience every time. The longer they kiss, the steamier it gets, and he really should’ve seen this coming. Rook has… a remarkable libido, as he’s come to realise, and it’s much too easy to allow him to take the lead, especially since he always ensures Blitz gets whatever his heart (or rather his crotch) desires, and why has Blitz been this reluctant again?

He’s drawing a blank now, the wet sounds of their sloppy making out just as distracting as the way Rook subtly grinds against him, full of hope and need. The Frenchman is groaning into Blitz’ mouth, running his tongue over his teeth and simultaneously massaging his ass, always moving, almost writhing against him while he systematically takes apart all of Blitz’ composure. It’s only a kiss, yes, but what a kiss it is – dizzying, with no opportunity to breathe freely, a merciless onslaught of sensation and Blitz feels like he’s seventeen again, snogging his crush for the very first time. His knees are getting weak, his eyelids heavy enough so he never wants to lift them again, and more and more of his focus wanders to his lower half, this one place where he’d like to feel all of Rook, preferably right now.

They’re not even undressed. Rook hasn’t even said anything, and Blitz already is as flustered as if he had three fingers inside and it really has been a while, hasn’t it? It’s not his lack of desire for his boyfriend which held him back, not at all, if anything he’s been exceedingly tense and trying not to keep glancing at Rook whenever he was working out or smiling or having unruly hair or really just there, and this definitely isn’t helping. He’s thinking about it now, Rook over, under, behind, inside him, and he loves it all.

Rook knows what he’s doing, knows how susceptible Blitz is to his kisses and so he’s made use of them as a distraction to sneak his hands under Blitz’ shirt, running them over heated skin as he slowly nibbles and sucks and licks Blitz’ inhibitions out of him. And then, suddenly, he rolls one of his nipples between gentle fingertips. The unexpected spike of pleasure is too much, entirely too much, and Blitz can’t help but moan, just allow this loud noise to escape his throat as if it had any justifiable reason to exist, and simultaneously panics.

“No”, he whispers and twists away from the offending hand, “stop, stop.”

Immediately, Rook pauses and withdraws a little, the troubled look on his face only increasing Blitz’ guilt. “I’m sorry. Is everything alright?”

“Yes, but give me a minute. Okay?” His words come slow, his mind still trying to catch up. Rook nods, visibly trying hard not to let his disappointment show, and rests his forehead on Blitz’ shoulder, pants softly against his collarbone and keeps holding him close. He’s given away by movement further down, his prominent erection straining against his underwear in the exposed triangle between the hem of his t-shirt and his open zip. It’s -

It looks really inviting. It looks like something Blitz needs to touch or even lick and holding back is surprisingly difficult. He pictures himself sinking to his knees and taking care of it, guiding Rook’s tentative thrusts and yes, he could do that, it’d be fine as long as he doesn’t touch himself which is getting harder by the second, pun fully intended.

“Do you want me to -” He kisses soft hair and brushes his knuckles over the rigid shaft, earning a gasp and another twitch. “I can just satisfy you. That’d be okay.”

The aqua blue eyes directed at him are full of defeat. “Why not more, mon cœur? We have the time, and we don’t need to do anything exhausting. Am I doing something wrong? Don’t you like having sex with me anymore?”

Blitz feels his face warming up once more. “It’s the opposite, rather. That’s the problem.” He would prefer not to talk about it at all until he’s found a solution by himself but he supposes he owes Rook at least this much.

Only it looks that all he’s doing for right now is thoroughly confusing him. “You like it too much? What do you mean?”

The words don’t really want to come out right, warped by insecurity and self-consciousness. “It’s… embarrassing.”

“What is?” Rook has momentarily forgotten about their state, tilting his head inquisitively and hell-bent on making Blitz spell it out for him, apparently.

“When we – you know, then I’m…” He makes a meaningful pause, hoping that Rook gets it on his own, but is merely met with more bewilderment. He must be crimson by now. “I’m too loud. Okay? I’m just – it’s awkward. I can’t hold back and I don’t like it.”

Astonishment morphs into complete and utter lack of understanding. “What?”

“It’s embarrassing”, he reiterates to really drive the point home but it seems that this isn’t where Rook’s mind is refusing to cooperate.

“It’s incredibly hot!”, his lover shoots back with passion. “No, really, you have no idea how much it turns me on, I love it. Please don’t even try to hold yourself back, it’s my favourite thing.”

Oh.

“But you’re much quieter.”

“Yeah, so I can hear you better.”

Oh. Blitz ponders this new revelation. He supposes that Rook does indeed let himself go if it’s only him being stimulated, yes, now that he thinks about it. “I just thought it wouldn’t -”

“Wait, is that the reason you didn’t want to have sex recently?” Oops. And there it is.

Sheepishly, he replies: “Maybe?”

“So I didn’t do anything wrong? You still want me to sleep with me? You were just embarrassed because you moaned during sex?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds silly”, Blitz protests weakly but ultimately, he has no leg to stand on. Quite literally, too, because Rook wordlessly picks him up and carries him until the mattress digs into the back of his knees.

“You have no idea how relieved I am”, Rook murmurs into the side of his neck and Blitz belatedly realises that the questions he posed weren’t rhetorical but genuine, he did want to make sure there wasn’t another unaddressed issue between them holding Blitz back. “And how pissed off.”

That’s fair, Blitz thinks. He’s still not wholly comfortable with the idea of giving himself up like this, of allowing Rook to assume total control over his body but he trusts him nonetheless. Knowing that Rook doesn’t mind, quite the opposite, is a reassurance he apparently needed, and so he wraps himself around his boyfriend and mumbles an apology.

“It’s alright, mon cœur, but if you hold yourself back now, I’m gonna fuck you so slowly you’ll end up begging.” And before he can react to this announcement in any way, Rook has shoved him onto the bed already, crawling on top of him and once again claiming his mouth, only this time the goal doesn’t seem to be seducing Blitz but rather silencing him – now that Rook knows there’s technically nothing speaking against them having sex, he’ll be unrelenting.

His mouth is merciless and so are his hands, roaming Blitz’ torso freely, rubbing him into a pleasant daze and lulling him into a false sense of security because it doesn’t stop, none of it, neither the deep kisses nor the fingertips digging into his skin and when Rook rolls his hips against his, he’s surprised at how hard both of them are nonetheless. They move up on the bed, stretching out on it while Rook suckles on his lower lip contentedly, fumbling with Blitz’ buttons.

“Shouldn’t we go back?”, Blitz gasps. “The others -”

It’s a weak excuse and both of them know it, he’s actually amazed Rook even graces him with a reply. “- won’t care, if they even notice at all. Gilles and Dom disappeared a while ago too and no one wondered about them.”

They’re definitely not doing anything like this though, Blitz wants to object but groans instead when a hand dives into his briefs and wraps around his erection. He’s momentarily stunned by how fantastic it feels to have someone else’s hand on his dick, lazily stroking up and down and squeezing the head lightly, prompting another strangled noise from him. The fierce pleasure rushes through him and erodes his sanity in a very familiar way – if he’s going to stop this at all, he has to do it soon.

“I don’t have any lube here”, he pants, desperate and his self-control waning.

The fond, adoring look this earns him makes it brilliantly clear that there really is no escape. “Mon cœur, you can’t honestly think I’d ever be unprepared for spontaneous sex”, Rook tells him gently and pulls a small bottle out of his pocket triumphantly. “Take your clothes off, will you?”

And Blitz admits defeat. He does want this, painfully so, but cringes whenever he lets out a sound he deems too loud regardless. And for some reason he has the impression that Rook is going to enjoy teasing him immensely.

Following Rook’s order turns out more complicated than he thought because the Frenchman chases after every piece of clothing with his lips, peppers any newly exposed skin with ticklish kisses and makes Blitz giggle in the process. Unlike Rook’s previously almost frantic displays of affection, he’s much more playful now, bites at Blitz’ calves until he threatens to throw him off the bed and sucks dark red marks onto his thighs. It’s oddly calming, the uncomfortable tension between them has dissipated and given way to mutual desire and passion which is a relief to Blitz also – he hates nothing more than disappointing people, and repeatedly worming his way out of something he genuinely enjoys were it not for that Small Detail wasn’t easy. Rook really must’ve worried.

“Can I make it up to you somehow?”, he offers while helping his lover out of his clothes, feeling his muscles and strong legs while doing so. He can’t help but admire his body – he’s beautiful with and without clothes, only he doesn’t get to see him naked nearly enough. Their hard work and training indubitably pays off and Rook is the best example with the pronounced muscles adorning him.

“You can moan like a whore for me”, the younger man supplies cheerfully.

“Julien.”

“Have I ever told you that you sound like my old teacher when you do that?” He catches sight of Blitz’ horrified expression and hurries to amend: “No, don’t worry, I like it. You don’t need to stop doing it.”

“You know, somehow that doesn’t make it any better.” Rook chuckles in response while ridding himself of his socks and then takes his usual place between Blitz’ spread legs, beaming at him expectantly. “Isn’t there anything else you’d like to do?” The question is dangerous. He made the mistake of granting Rook a blank cheque before and ended up sobbing into a pillow as he came so hard he got some in his hair, but right now they’re coming down after a tense mission, they don’t have all evening and Rook is missing most of his ‘equipment’ anyway. What’s the worst that could happen?

Rook contemplates the offer for a moment while touching Blitz’ stiff member, massaging the tip gently, then his scrotum, then even further down. It’s distracting despite its absent-minded nature and he finds himself lifting one of his legs to grant better access already. Noticing the subconscious gesture, Rook shoots him a smile and presses against his perineum, repeating the gesture when Blitz bites his lip at the pleasant sensation. “I’d like a certain position and a certain location. Here in this room though, don’t worry.”

Sounds easy enough. If he’s honest, it sounds entirely too easy, but gift horses and so on. Maybe Rook is happy with a little bit of experimentation, and besides, even if he wants to do something like bending Blitz over the desk, it’ll be fine. More than fine. Maybe… maybe he should bring up this suggestion himself at a later point in time. “Alright. I’m okay with that.”

“You’re the best”, Rook announces, full of giddy anticipation, and leans down to engulf the head of Blitz’ cock with his lips.

The sudden gesture makes him jump first and inhale sharply second, not expecting to be encased in moist heat this abruptly, but adapting to it is made easy by a skilled tongue swiping over sensitive flesh. Reflexive protest turns into a content sigh as Rook demonstrates exactly why Blitz allowed him to do this very thing to him at work once – no one cared what they were doing anyway, they were both bored and Rook side-eyed him and the rest is pretty messy history. The Frenchman is not only ridiculously skilled at this though, no, it’s also made better by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes whenever he gazes up to Blitz as well as the brown mane he can hold on to.

He’s serious from the start, allowing the glans to glide over his lips a few times as he bobs his head shallowly, then swallows more, goes deeper with each motion, sucking hard on every upwards pull. Within seconds, Blitz is reduced to a panting mess over the unforgiving stimulation, digging his one heel into the mattress and flexing his toes on both feet, almost shying away from the intense feeling. His breathing turns ragged, irregular, as he alternates between squeezing his eyes shut to focus on the lips tight around him and raptly watching Rook slide up and down like a true professional.

It only gets worse once his lover has snapped the cap open and poured some of the lube he inexplicably carried around with him onto his fingers, because he very practically-oriented doesn’t waste any time before pushing one of them into Blitz and that’s the moment he has to slap a hand over his mouth. Because if he thought Rook couldn’t be any more ruthless, he’s sorely disappointed when a fingertip rubs directly over his sweet spot.

Rook is very versatile concerning a lot of things, not only at work – he adapts easily to those around him and seems to fit in anywhere, and even in bed he’s eager to switch things up now and then, go with the flow, read Blitz’ mood and act accordingly. They’ve had evenings filled with languid kisses, almost lazy orgasms and copious amounts of cuddling, just like they had moments where everything was over and done with in less than five minutes. Right now, Blitz is still vaguely weightless from their earlier collective success and, now that they’ve at least acknowledged his issue, ready for a slow and thorough session.

Unlike Rook. Very unlike Rook, if how he’s currently sucking the life out of Blitz while abusing his prostate in the most wonderful way is any indication. He feels even more vulnerable now, being invaded by a slippery digit and trying to relax into the sensation, yet need is pulling his body taut and hindering him. Having Rook inside him still hasn’t lost its magic, especially not when he’s paying close attention to Blitz’ reactions as he is now, crooking his finger over and over as if he’s beckoning him to come, motioning for him to come closer and closer – and that’s exactly what Blitz is doing, still not allowing himself to make a noise but quickly running out of oxygen.

Distractedly, he notices that he’s almost lifting off the mattress due to the need thrumming through him and, abruptly, it hits him that he really is about to climax. Panicked, he pushes Rook away, nearly tripping over the edge when his cock is released with a wet pop, and is instantly rewarded with a half-lidded gaze and lips shining with spit. Breathing heavily, he gasps: “No more. I’m – I’m almost there.”

There’s an almost malicious glint in Rook’s eyes now. “Try not to come then, I’ll be fucking you regardless”, he responds, quite obviously feeling vengeful and deservedly so. Blitz opens his mouth in protest but merely draws a deep breath when a second finger joins the first, stretching him in preparation. Sinking back into the sheets, he accepts his fate which, admittedly, is more than bearable. He enjoys this part anyway, not only because Rook does but also because his lover, as with many things in this domain, is exceedingly skilful. Despite expecting it to, being entered never hurt and Blitz knows better than to take any credit for it.

Impatiently, he pushes against the fingers, grinds into them and hums at every shock of want hitting him out of nowhere. Without the added stimulation to his dick, it’s manageable, his mind blissfully empty and a dreamy smile on his face as he drifts away on the ebb and flow and then – then Rook swallows him again. Just the head for now, but it doesn’t matter because it feels divine and fantastic and holy shit what is he even doing; Blitz forgets how to breathe for a second, catapulted right back to the edge with how hard Rook is sucking but doesn’t tip over, teeters and looms but doesn’t fall.

It takes him a few moments before he can identify this heavenly sensation: Rook is tonguing the underside of the head, directly over one of Blitz’ most sensitive spots – as he very well knows. Apart from that, he’s not moving, simply rubbing over it again and again, just like with his prostate and it’s obvious what he wants to achieve at this point. But Blitz isn’t giving in. No matter how fucking magnificent it feels, he refuses to let out more than minuscule whimpers, even if Rook keeps this up… which he can, without much effort really. And actually does.

Blitz ends up trembling, trapped between an insistent tongue and deft fingers, both of which have his own hands twitching and overwhelming want taking priority over all. He’s extremely close to just getting rid of the brunet between his legs and jerking himself off but this, too, would be admitting defeat – so he endures, eyes watering, teeth clenched, abs tensing. And Rook seems to be having the time of his life. Even more so when he reaches up, his free hand slowly gliding over Blitz’ hips, his ribs, towards -

All he can do is watch in horror as fingers slowly close on his nipple but something for which he was even less prepared is Rook swallowing him whole as soon as he pinches, and the throaty moan that follows couldn’t have been held back no matter what. “My love”, Blitz whines and hears another strangled noise leave his lips while Rook makes sure he hits the back of his throat on every bob, “please, don’t – Julien – I’m so close. Oh God.” It’s too much, Rook is scissoring his fingers now, pinching harder, moving faster, and he really is just about to orgasm, he can taste it, the tingling starting in his crotch and working its way outwards to his limbs…

And Rook stops again. This time, he ceases all stimulation, withdraws both hands, sits up and licks his lips with a satisfied grin. The air is cool on wet skin and Blitz feels himself throb, feels his hole pulse and has to make an effort to see straight. If, in certain moments, his lover feels a fraction of the ferocious desire currently tugging at Blitz’ limbs, he can’t blame him for being perpetually aroused. Rook is a God and Blitz wants to worship him the only way his brain is allowing him to consider right now.

“Come on”, he pleads quietly, reaching for his boyfriend, “come on, Julien, don’t make me wait.”

The impish smirk transforms into a devoted smile and Rook leans down for a tender but quick kiss. He’s not unaffected, as his rock hard erection betrays him, but he’s certainly more composed than Blitz. “I love you”, he murmurs against his lips before climbing off the mattress, holding out a hand. “Get up. We’re doing it while standing.”

Easier said than done, his legs probably don’t feel like rubber. Blitz crawls to the edge of the mattress and lets Rook help him up, then sways unsteadily in place, much to his boyfriend’s amusement. His lower half is still throbbing viciously, demanding release or at the very least more stimulation, and coherent thought is nigh impossible in this state. Uncomprehending, he watches as Rook turns off the light and then fumbles his way to the large windows, drawing the curtains back and letting pale moonlight in.

“Come here”, he says with a grin and Blitz understands.

“Julien.”

“They can’t see you like this.”

“Julien, no.”

“You promised.”

He did promise. Not explicitly, but he agreed to Rook’s terms and this is apparently what they are: fucking him against a full length window. He should’ve noticed this loophole and is grateful that he at least killed the lights or else all their colleagues outside would’ve gotten mooned by Rook’s really quite marvellous ass. He thinks about it. The façade is dark enough, he certainly couldn’t look into any of the darkened rooms.

As he approaches, face burning, Rook’s outstretched arm curls around his midsection and creates a protective barrier between Blitz’ body and the cool glass in front of him. He’s manoeuvred between Rook and the window, facing the outside, and forces himself not to look down at all the people he knows, instead focuses on Rook pressing himself against his back and kissing his shoulder, heavy erection slipping between his cheeks and rubbing over his quivering ring of muscle which is more than ready to receive it.

“I’ve always wanted to do this”, Rook divulges with a chuckle. “It’s going to be so hot when you shoot against the window, mon cœur.”

None of what he’s saying helps to put Blitz at ease but since his body is still in horny mode, he’s incapable of refusing Rook anything. “This is terrible”, he states and flinches when the tip of his dick touches the cold surface, shoves his hips against Rook’s.

“Just relax. And remember that no one can see you.” In the second it takes Rook to lube up his own cock, Blitz contemplates his life choices but gets rudely interrupted when Rook pushes his legs apart a little further. Knowing what’s about to happen, Blitz shuts his eyes so all his attention is concentrated on the glorious sensation of Rook entering him from behind – the first stretch is mind-numbing and feels endless, but once the head has slipped in, it’s just a matter of filling up his insides; every centimetre pushes more air out of his lungs until Rook bottoms out with a blissful moan. They stay mostly still for a few elating seconds during which Blitz can’t help but reach between his legs, fondle Rook’s balls and make him twitch deep inside repeatedly, something that always sends waves of pleasure rolling through him.

Rook fills him out so perfectly as if they were made for each other but he’s still in a pitiless mood: once Blitz has nodded and thus given him the signal to move, he withdraws almost all the way before slamming back in, repeating the process when it yields another broken sound from Blitz. He loves when Rook does this, when his hard thrusts reach deep but don’t come so fast as to numb his insides with overstimulation – like this, he feels every centimetre sliding in and out keenly, almost stumbles and staggers each time Rook hits his prostate. The angle is unfair, the fact that he has to endure this while standing merciless and Rook’s lustful moans directly into his ear lacking any compassion. He’s going to be ruined.

First, he needs recover his balance, he’s dizzy and only getting worse with every burst of pleasure exploding behind his eyelids, every hard impact, so he steadies himself against the windowpane. The smooth glass is icy to the touch and only reminds him of how scorchingly hot Rook is, how the hands holding on to Blitz’ hips set him ablaze, Rook’s breath on the back of his neck as hot as his body, radiating heat and making Blitz sweat. A particularly vicious thrust hitting all the right spots forces another moan out of him but so far he’s been good, suppressed a lot more… but why is he holding back?

Rook is living out a fantasy of his right now, and he’s making no effort to hide it – already his movements are becoming irregular and the endless stream of noises falling from his lips is unselfconscious. He’s utterly lost in the moment and has no qualms about letting Blitz know, allowing him to hear just how good he feels, how much he’s enjoying himself. He’s so… honest and open.

The moment Blitz moans his lover’s name, Rook almost loses his rhythm. He stumbles a little, obviously surprised, but when Blitz does it again, Rook echoes it with a similar groan of his own. He curses heartily and increases the speed at which he drives into Blitz, simultaneously hugging him tightly so he can’t go as deep but neither of them care. If he could see his reflection, Blitz bets that the other man would be smiling.

It’s astonishingly easy. Once Blitz has gotten accustomed to channelling the intense pleasure into mewls and whines and gasps, it happens all by itself, genuine reactions to Rook’s thorough fucking – and it’s liberating, strangely enough, heightens his lust where before he robbed himself of this, diminished it through his misplaced embarrassment. He feels more naked than before, probably also due to the fake sense of exposure the glass before him gives off, but it’s fine because Rook holds him, a reliable strong body keeping him upright and causing more and more pulsing need. He’s ecstatic.

Wanting more, needing to feel Rook even more sharply, Blitz pushes his hips back once again, changing their stance slightly to break the embrace but allow Rook deeper penetration which turns out to be one of the best ideas he’s ever had. His hands scrabble for purchase against the cool window but find none, so he squishes the side of his face against it instead, every hard thrust dragging his skin against the glass and every breath of his fogging it up yet it’s perfect like this. Rook’s motions are almost frantic now, getting worse whenever Blitz moans a yes or oh fuck and he can’t blame him, he does sound increasingly lewd.

His thighs are shaking by now from the exertion, his body covered in a sheen of sweat and his brain long bidden farewell. All he can do is idly wonder why he ever leaves the Frenchman out of his sight, why he would ever say no to any of his suggestions when he ends up feelings this fucking amazing each time. A hand wraps around his shaft, making him groan and instinctively clench around Rook’s cock, heightening the gratifying sensations with which it graces him.

“Imagine they could actually see you like this”, Rook whispers into his ear and increases the tempo, ramps up the intensity even more, the thought quite obviously exciting him. And Blitz does, he does imagine it, pictures what he looks like right now – rosy cheeks, face flattened and palms uselessly pressed against the window, lower half pushed towards Rook to allow for deep thrusts, swollen cock happily dripping clear liquid as it bobs along to the rhythm at which he’s being entered. He’s fine with showing his boyfriend this side of his since it goes both ways, he’s seen Rook squirming in ecstasy below him before. But he’d rather not share either of these displays with anyone else.

By now, his legs are threatening to give in despite the iron hold around his hips. His pleasure never really declined as he didn’t recover from Rook’s spectacular blow job earlier, and so he’s been high-strung this entire time, the relentless stimulation of his prostate in this position only contributing to the roaring lust. Feeling a fist around his dick now leaves him reeling and he pushes into it mindlessly, moves back and forth between Rook’s hot flesh and his merciful hand promising sweet release, his desire building and building, working towards the crescendo -

Rook plunges deep into him a few times more and he’s gone. He barely stops himself from folding in half at the sudden, concentrated pleasure hitting him and moans with abandon, moans to accompany every motion fucking his orgasm out of him, moans for the way Rook massages his dick, moans at each violent spurt of come shooting out of him and splashing the smooth glass, the only barrier between him and outside. The relief is overwhelming to a point where his vision goes dark for a second and his entire universe consists of pure delight for an impressively long time. He feels like he handed himself over wholly and this is his reward for trusting the man behind him – and it was more than worth it. Panting in disbelief, he rides it out until the pleasure has subsided and given way to thorough contentment, a deep-seated warmth relaxing his muscles.

He opens his eyes to Mute staring up at him from the street.

His heart skips a beat and the unexpected adrenalin rush makes him perk up despite the physical exhaustion. No, he’s not imagining it, Mute is indeed looking up to where he is squished against the window, and so is Smoke. Both of them are grinning like people who just got away with murder – but that’s not even all. Hibana, a few metres away, also gapes up at him, pointing and apparently making the others aware because most of them turn and look and Jesus fucking Christ.

“Julien”, he murmurs urgently, pushing against the glass to move them back, further into the room, away from the freaking window which has betrayed him so. “Julien, please -”

“I’m so close”, his lover mews, his grip tightening. He’s not letting go and he’s not letting Blitz move, holy hell, soon everyone will have seen them, and this is when Mute takes out his phone.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Move, Julien, we have to -” He’s flailing, struggling against his lover who reacts by merely shoving Blitz’ upper half against the cold surface, the shock of it causing him to tense once more and this is apparently what does it for Rook.

Helplessly, Blitz stares down at his smiling colleagues while Rook unloads inside him, their hips flush and his hot breath in Blitz’ hair. It’s not made any better by the fact that he can feel literally every throb with which his lover pumps his sperm into him, he feels it all while shuddering in residual want and keeping up eye contact with people he’s going to have to face again very soon.

He wishes for a swift death. Or maybe immediate exile.

This is the worst.

“Julien, they’re looking at us”, he hisses quietly once Rook has started relaxing against him.

“What?” A short pause. “Oh shit. Oh fuck. I didn’t think -” Finally, fucking finally he allows Blitz to move, withdraws gingerly and takes a step back into the safety of darkness. “I’m so sorry, mon cœur, I didn’t know -”

Blitz is both too much in shock and overcome with mortification to reply, so he mutely watches as Rook hurries to wipe the window clean, draw the curtains shut again and switch the light back on. To his credit, he has the decency to look apologetic as he basically wrings his hands in worry.

“At least they had a nice view?”, the Frenchman offers tentatively and that is it. Blitz is going to have to look for a new job. There’s absolutely no way he’ll ever live this down, let alone be able to look any of them in the eyes again. Ever.

“Are you insane?!”, he shoots back, audibly upset. “They watched me – I can’t believe it. None of them even knew -”

“Well, they know now.” Rook takes his hand and drags him into the bathroom and into the spacious shower, quite obviously to take his mind off of this… horror. “It’s okay, mon cœur.”

“Literally none of this is okay!” He got carried away, agreed to Rook’s terms out of guilt; he should’ve refused instead but at that point it wasn’t his upper brain doing the thinking anymore. He wonders whether anyone is going to put ‘excessive embarrassment’ as his cause of death on his tombstone.

While Rook’s gentle caresses under the warm stream of water help soothe him a little, the growing shit-eating grin does exactly the opposite. “Come on, don’t be so grumpy. You’re going to laugh about it one day. And I know you wanted to tell people yourself, but now we don’t need to hide anymore. Really, it’s a win-win situation.”

Blitz doesn’t think he’ll have any success in trying to make Rook understand that if he was embarrassed about being too loud during sex already, being watched by people whom he personally knows is infinitely worse. Not even affectionate kisses can calm the shame raging inside him and so he at first vehemently protests when Rook suggests they go back outside. “There is no way in hell I can show my face right now, neither my pride nor I would survive that.”

“Look, you fell off the horse, you have to get back on it. Better get it over with now, right?”

He has a point. Blitz doesn’t like admitting it, but his cheery boyfriend is possibly right in this, even if his bright smile is incredibly irritating. Eventually he relents after realising that Rook won’t allow for any peace otherwise, splashes his face with some cold water to hopefully reduce the flaming colour a little and fidgets restlessly in the elevator. He’s so far refrained from telling even his closest friends about Rook, so this must come as a shock to some of them. And he definitely would’ve preferred they hear about it any other way.

Everyone’s attention shifts to them as soon as they step out in front of the hotel and Blitz very nearly turns on his heel to storm back in. Rook has placed a supportive hand on his back, nudging him forwards towards their beaming colleagues.

“There you are!”, Mute greets them excitedly. “Did you two -”

“Yes, we are together!”, Blitz snaps at him, interrupting him with the brusque announcement. “And no, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Deafening silence.

Buck pauses mid-sip, Ying looks up from where she was dramatically dipping a giggling Hibana, and Maestro seems speechless. Even Maestro doesn’t seem to know what to say.

“Riiight”, Mute replies awkwardly the way someone would react to an entirely uncalled-for slur by a racist grandparent, and Smoke murmurs a quiet and yet perfectly audible: “Weird flex but okay.”

Blitz has no idea what’s going on. Mutely, they all stare each other until Rook tugs at his sleeve and wordlessly points up at the hotel.

There’s an illuminated window, by Blitz’ estimate directly above his own room, and two silhouettes are illuminated in a tight embrace. They are the only thing visible and even then it’s a little difficult to make them out as the windows are tinted.

The windows are fucking tinted.

Not only that, their light was switched off and it seems that everyone was amazed at whatever transpired in the actually lit room, not theirs.

“Well”, Blitz says more to himself than anyone else, because.

Because well.

And then he finally gets why everyone is so thrilled, why people were laughing and smiling, why Mute felt the need to record whatever was happening above their room, in plain sight, very unlike what Rook and he were doing at the time.

“It’s Dom and Gilles, isn’t it?”, Rook wants to know, mirroring everyone else’s exhilaration and earns a few nods.

“They were adorable”, Ying fills him in and nearly drops Hibana, “so awkward around each other but so cute, they kept looking at each other and not knowing what to do with their hands, and a few minutes ago they finally kissed. Took them long enough, but they got there. Now what was that about you and Elias?”

“Nothing”, Blitz hurries to answer. He feels Rook’s gaze on him, remembers how well he reacted to the prospect of their friends knowing about them. “I mean – it’s true. We are together.”

And when Hibana finally hits the ground with an exaggerated shriek, it’s almost like a signal for everyone to go back to whatever it is they were doing previously. It’s as if nothing happened, only now Blitz has one secret less to weigh him down. And Rook is smiling at him as if he hung the stars.

“That didn’t go so badly, did it?”, the Frenchman purrs and snakes his arms around Blitz’ waist, pulling them flush. The urge to fight the casual display of affection is still present but Blitz squashes it without much effort, thinking back to Mute and Smoke leaning into each other as if it was the most natural thing on this world. And… it really is, isn’t it?

“Could’ve been a lot worse”, he agrees and kisses him. A few ‘awww’s erupt behind them and he doesn’t know whether they’re directed at them or maybe Bandit and Montagne who have gone back to kissing as well, but it doesn’t matter. They all know now and it’s certainly the better option compared to knowing everyone watched him get -

“Does this mean I can spend the night in your room?”

Rook is being cheeky and both of them are aware, he often jokingly suggests things despite knowing Blitz will say no, only this time he gets a nod without hesitation. “Yeah. I’d like that.” Rook’s instant joy makes it more than worth it, though it also prompts Blitz to clarify one thing extremely carefully: “But we’re never doing anything like this again.”

[j-ungkooky]

Surrendered (Taehyung)

Slight angst/Smut/Oral female receiving  1536 words

“You’re unbelievable.” she huffed throwing her jacket and purse on the floor. 

“Think you’re being a little dramatic?” Taehyung followed behind slamming the door behind him. 

The slight tone in his voice did nothing but fuel the anger burning within her. 

A party thrown at Bighit to celebrate Taehyung’s group success overseas was held tonight. No one besides his members and another close intern knew about her secret relationship with Taehyung. Neither of them wanted to jeopardize their careers and decided that maintaining an extremely low profile would be best. Besides, all the sneaking around was fun and led to some memorable moments that left both of them awake and bothered some nights. However, this plan came with cons that she had yet to become accustomed to. Girls threw themselves at Taehyung whenever they had to chance, whether it was for personal desires or a step up into the industry and tonight was no different. 

A new stylist who had joined the team just a few weeks ago had eyes set on Taehyung from the get go. He made no attempts to brush her aside or avoid her advances- in fact, it looked like they had a great time together at the party. She was able to contain her jealousy by using logic to diffuse the negative thoughts that would bubble up from time to time but when Taehyung seemed to enjoy the attention and purposely try to get a rise out of her, her thoughts would win over. 

“Dramatic!” she exclaimed turning around to face him. 

They were still standing in her dark hallway. Even with the lack of light, she could still make out his prominent features that made up his gorgeous face. 

“You were literally two seconds from making out with each other but I’m being dramatic,” she clenched her fists feeling tears threatening to well up, “I get that we have to hide and be lowkey but I wish you would be a little more considerate sometimes.” 

Fighting with Taehyung was rare but when it did happen, it would blow up in both their faces. Personal time spent together outside of work was already almost nonexistent making every minute count, so time spent fighting was truly disappointing. 

They stood there staring at each other trying to read the others mind. Being under Taehyung’s gaze was extremely intimidating especially at times like this because it felt like he could see right through her. Not wanting to continue on with the meaningless staring contest, she ran a hand through her hair and gently nudged him towards the door. 

“I’m tired,” she muttered feeling defeated, “you should go. I’ll see you on set tomorrow.” 

Choosing to ignore her order, Taehyung grabbed her hand that was nudging him and pulled her right against his chest. He heard his name escape from her but it came out muffled. 

“I’m sorry.” he apologized wrapping his arms around her and placing a kiss on the crown of her head. 

She closed her eyes and inhaled his cologne relishing in the warmth of his embrace. It was so easy to surrender to Taehyung. Sometimes all it took was one look; or one hug; or one of his boxy smiles but, tonight she was tired and it just wasn’t fair anymore how easy it was for him to win. She pushed away from him letting her hands travel down his chest to his stomach before finally taking them away. 

“No, Taehyung. I’m upset and we can talk about this tomorrow.” she persisted. 

What she didn’t expect was for him to chuckle. He stepped towards her and suddenly her hallway felt cramped and small. A small yelp of surprise left her lips when her back hit the wall. He had one hand placed beside her head and one on her waist. Her breath hitched when he leaned in towards her, his beauty truly next to none. 

“You’re really mad at me?” he asked, “I’m sorry I acted inconsiderately. All I wanted to do was go over to you and be with you.” 

She looked the other way once again avoiding eye contact. His hands were now travelling under her skirt and rubbing circles against her thigh. 

“Taehyung.” she tried her best to sound stern. 

“Yes my love?” he cooed placing kisses on her jawline, his hands travelling higher. 

“You-you don’t mean your apology.” she stammered finding it hard to resist sighing at how good his touch felt. 

But just as quick as she was enjoying it, his hand disappeared from her thigh and was now placed on her cheek. He maneuvered her face towards his and she was surprised to see a change in his expression. Worry and hurt was evident by the scrunching of his eyebrows and sadness in his eyes. 

“I do mean it. It’s just easier to act like an ass to make avoiding you bearable. Pretending you’re not mine and acting like I don’t know you is fucking terrible and I just need a distraction. It’s not a good excuse and I know that it must feel awful on your part and I’m sorry. I really am.” his voice came out a shaky and small making her heart yearn even more for him. 

Still not wanting to admit defeat, she kept quiet but, Taehyung knew he already won by the way she was allowing him to hold her; by how close she was allowing him near her and by the blush forming on her cheeks. 

“At least let me make it up to you before I go.” he whispered finally enclosing the space between their lips and returning his hands under her skirt. 

A moan she fought so hard to resist escaped from her throat when he lightly grazed against her clothed entrance. She tried to fight against his kiss but he was merciless with his skills. He began to rub her clit with his index and ring finger driving her absolutely insane with how slow he was going. Wanting to hear her sweet moans, he broke away from her and buried his face in the crook of her neck. Holding onto anymore dignity she had left inside of her, she gripped onto his shoulders and weakly pushed him, 

"T-Tae you can’t just do that.” 

Taking his face out of her neck, he leaned his forehead against hers loving how flushed she was. 

“Then tell me to leave and I’ll go this time,” he challenged his fingers now traveling under her underwear, “come on, love. Use your voice.” he cocked an eyebrow tracing her slit up to her clit. 

He pushed her harder against the wall continuing his slow circles against her bud with a cocky grin plastered on his face when she lifted her hips to get more contact from him. 

Not being able to fight against him anymore, she grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him against her kissing him desperately like her life depended on it. He drew out a breathy moan from her when he grabbed one of her legs to wrap around his waist before pushing his fingers inside of her while still massaging her clit with his thumb. He placed his lips beside her ear and she could feel him smiling, 

“You were so tough back then, what happened?” his deep voice making her turn to complete putty. 

Her moans became more frantic when he pumped his fingers at a quicker pace, the angle of her hips helping him hit the most sensitive spot inside of her. 

“Oh my god...” she whined when he got down on his knees. 

Her skirt now scrunched up against her stomach and she was completely exposed to Taehyung. She could feel the excitement in her stomach grow when he got down onto his knees to face her private.

“So fucking wet.” he chuckled still working his fingers inside of her. 

Her hands immediately flew to his tousled locks, gripping it when he placed his lips over her clit. He switched between sucking and lapping on it making her see stars behind her closed lids. She bucked against his face wanting more and he allowed her to grind against his tongue.  “T-Taehyung I’m so close.” she was barely able to make out. 

He encouraged her release by adding more pressure against her clit and increasing the speed of his fingers. The rising of her octave and heavy breaths Taehyung was drawing out indicated that she was cumming soon. With another moan of his name and the jolt of her hips, she become completely undone before him and there was nothing he loved more than seeing her tremble and whine in pleasure. 

Getting back on his feet, he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear as he watched her try to regain her breath. 

“Am I forgiven?” he teased. 

She glared at him and rolled her eyes, “You are the most annoying person I’ve ever met.” 

He responded with a scoff as his thumb traced her bottom lip that was now a tad swollen by how hard she was biting it earlier before placing a hand on her shoulder and pushing her down to her knees. 

“There are better ways to use that pretty mouth don’t you think, love?” 

[imaginemycroftholmes]

If you’re up for it, a Mycroft/Reader where the reader is a cute/handsome but shy window washer at the building Mycroft works in. Bonus points if you keep the reader’s gender open.

I do not do ambiguous gendered or they/them readers as it is difficult for someone who first language is not English and it does not make sense grammatically. If you do not specify the gender I will make them a woman as there is very little woman/Mycroft fics out there. Thank you for your understanding.

-M

If you’re up for it, a Mycroft/Reader where the reader is a cute/handsome but shy window washer at the building Mycroft works in. Bonus points if you keep the reader’s gender open.

Despite the slight chill in the air as summer had quietly changed into autumn the streets below in London city were bustling. People walking to and from the places they had been without looking at what was around them like little ants on the ground.

He almost found it comical as he paused his work to observe the working elites and their underlings desperately trying to reach their destinations on time.

What poor twats, ______ thought while adjusting his hold on the brush, to think they’ll never see any of this.

Then without further ado ______ continued to clean the windows.

Now a lot of people wouldn’t consider cleaning the windows outside of tall buildings meaningful work but to _____ there was nothing that suited him better.

No suits or ties to wear every day in a stuffy office building. No reports to be written or had. No complicated programs to run while cramped in an uncomfortable chair and certainly no stress for meeting quotas just to impress people that don’t give a damn about you.

No, to ______ this was by far the better job.

Plenty of clean air, getting to stay outside and get dirty like a man’s supposed to. Besides, he got to see so many things when washing windows.

A man proposing to his coworker, newborns surviving the second day in the outside world, children learning, great artists doing what they love and even the insides of museums-all of this from washing the windows.

Truly, there was no other job that ____ would take otherwise and today was no exception.

And for today that job was washing the windows of none other than parliament.

Setup had been a task as the building was humongous but thankfully ______ was not the only one on the job. Accompanied by 25 others it was projected that they could get the job done in five days’ time but knowing the competitive nature of his employer he would want it in two.

“It ain’t nothing new,” Carrie his senior officer had assured them before they ascended, “I’ve done this place before 4 years ago. Don’t let the size fool you.”

As daunting as the job looked everything was going smoothly.

There were hardly any gusts of wind to rock his platform, no irate birds looking for roost or handouts and the special batch cleaning solution was lasting longer than projected.

At this rate I can get the next row done before our lunch break, he thinks hoisting himself up to the next level.

It’s only when he arrives at the next window that _____’s resolve shrank.

In an office full of self-important men and one particularly ugly old granny was a single man with ginger hair sitting annoyed among them.

Washing the windows became much more difficult as everything the man did was breathtaking from giving his fake smiles to even drawing dicks on his papers.

He’s so pretty, ______ thinks as he slowly started to suds the window.  You don’t even know him, he argues, for all you know he has a wife and kids at home. He might not even like guys. It’s just a case of lust at first sight, just clean the damn window and focus on someone that isn’t out of your league.

_____ can admit that this job doesn’t offer a lot up to a partner, but he knows one day it might provide he meets the right lad or lady.

Just clean the damn window and move on. Just clean the damn window and move on, became his mantra until _____ looked back inside to find the mystery man looking at him.

Never in his life did ______ soap a window up so fast to cover face.

Don’t get conceited _____, you know the only reason he was looking at you is because you were moving. The bloke could’ve saw a bird or something, he justifies, science proved that people do that as part of nature and all that jazz. Calm the fuck down and get on with your job.

Taking more willpower than it should for a pro like him, ______ starts to water down the solution.

Don’t freak out. Look natural. Don’t be a pansy. You’re a professional, act like one. He’s not looking at you. He’s not looking at you-

Wiping away the window the man is indeed still looking at him.

If an unintelligible shriek escaped from _____ he would not admit it but he would certainly admit to the fact that he nearly launched himself off of  landing and straight below.

As embarrassing as it was it only proceeded to get worse as now all the patrons in the room are now looking at him, some even stopping their meeting to approach the window in morbid curiosity.

Worst of all the attractive man was following suit.

Desperate to get away from his gaze _____ quickly released his slack and sent himself down at an alarming speed.

It was only when he managed to hit the ground with a loud clatter did he get an earful from, Carrie. “What the fuck were ya doing up there ____? You’ve worked on taller buildings than that for eight years and even you know better than to drop the platform like that! Are ya trying to get killed boy?”

Shifting from foot to foot _____ couldn’t bare to look Carrie in the eye. 

“It’s not that,”he stammered, ‘It’s well…”he paused to rub the back of his neck as comparable as it was to the tips of his flushed ears,” there’s a bloke in the room I was washing-”

“Aye, don’t tell me ya found another man jackin’ off in his office again,” Carrie groaned.

“No! No! It’s not that,” _____ assured his boss, “Its just that this bloke is looking at me.”

“Lookin’ at ya?”

“Yes!”

“Lookin’ atcha how? Like he wants ta fight ya? Is he harassing ya?”

“No…”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“It’s just that his gaze is kinda intense,” ____ offers not knowing how else to describe it, “makes working difficult.”

“For the love of God,” Carrie gripes pinching the bridge of her nose. 

“Forget I said anything boss, I’ll work around it,” _____ quickly added. The last thing that he wanted to do is get on Carrie’s last nerve and lose his job-not when this is the only one he had.

Holding a hand up Carrie asserts herself, “its fine, fine. Just switch spots with Darius after lunch. The last thing aye want is ta make any of my employees uncomfortable.” 

Feeling a lot like  burden _____ sat beside his friend Conner and  when it was done went back to work. 

Everything was uneventful as he completed more than half of his allotted share. “A few more days and we’ll be done with this project and our pockets bursting,” Conner boasted as they left for home. 

“Yeah, its not that the building isn’t beautiful but it can wear down on you.”

Walking closer to _____ Conner confides softly, “So some elite prick was glaring at ya right?”

“What,” ____ says taken aback. “No! No, that’s not what happened!” 

“Then what did,” Conner presses, “Come on, we’ve been best mates since secondary-we’re practically brothers!”

Pulling him over to a corner _____ confesses. “Its not like it was a negative attention just really hard to read. I tried to convince myself that he wasn’t looking at me but it became really difficult to prove otherwise.”

Making a rude sound Conner takes ____’s face in his cold hands. “Aw love, that’s just a fancy office pansy wishing he was out there instead of in that stuffy building. I imagine that bloke’s never seen a hard working man outside of his usual coffee shop.” 

“I know, I know-I was just being paranoid.”

What business would a guy like that have with a bloke like me? I couldn’t even afford socks for him and here I’m thinking that he likes me or something, he thinks glumly, I’d be lucky enough to have him hire me to wash his own windows but even then what if he’s married?

Slinging an arm around his taller mate Conner tries his bit to cheer him up. “Hey, it ain’t a crime to misread signals. You’re just overworked is all,” Conner states a manner-of-factly, “Let’s get a little night cap on before we finish the old building.”

“we really shouldn’t…”

“Come on!  A little won’t hurt! Just drink a bit until you forget all about this.”

_______ had to admit that little bit of beer did help him.

Came into work early and had already started prepping the solutions and brushes.

“Feelin’ better ta work without interruption?”

Looking up its good to see Carrie in better spirits. “Ya boss. Everything is better and its a new day.”

“Its good ta hear,” Carrie continues, “but ta be sure I’m gonna have you switch places with Melvin and then again and then with Courtney after lunch.”

“Boss you don’t have to do that.”

“Aye but I want to. Who knows what’ll happen if he keeps messing with your productivity?” 

“Come on Carrie, what are the odds that I’ll see him again?”

Apparently very high.

 How in the hell?

_____ wasn’t sure how he was doing it but the mystery man was almost in every room that he came to wash the windows for.

It was almost comical if it weren’t for the fact that he was seriously screwing up his work.

Even after lunch and switching with Courtney the guy kept popping up.

Calm yourself _____, its not what you think, he reminded himself as he tried his best to ignore the handsome man’s gaze, there are loads of reasons that he could be in every room that you’re cleaning. Maybe I missed a spot and he’s taking inventory to tell us later. Maybe he needs something in those rooms. Just stop getting riled up just because he’s a good looking bloke staring at you.

It got worse as the days followed on to the point where it was insanity.

There were bets if the man would be there and quite frankly it was a little more than _____ could take.

“You should tell him off,” Conner suggested before returning from their break, “Starin’ at you like you were some animal on display. It’s not polite.” 

Giving a non-committed mumble _____ knew that he couldn’t face the man directly; not without some good space in between and writing otherwise he might do something stupid like ask him to dinner.

 “Just write it on the window,” Gerald offered as he climbed back onto his platform, “as long as you spell it right you can always erase the evidence if he tries to do something funny.”

“Nah, that’s too risky,” Emma injected, “that suited prick could easily make up some story about being flashed and then ____ would not only lose his job but our company might tank too.”

All of them made valid points however, ____ was tired of feeling like an insect under a microscope.

 He wanted resolution. 

So with shaky hands he turned on his machine to send him toward his next window and lo and behold-his dishy mystery man was there waiting.

Here goes nothing.

Carefully wetting the window and pulling out the foam meant for caked on stains he writes backwards: Why are you here?

The man’s eyes grow wide and it mirror’s with ______’s as he’s in a hurry to erase what he wrote as the man stands up, turns around and heads to the door.

Stupid. Stupid! STUPID! This was a bad idea! I should’ve listened to Emma! I’m going to cost people their jobs! I’m-

Turning around and walking toward him the man has managed to nick some paper from the cabinets in the room and is writing.

______ holds his breath and hopes that whatever he’s writing isn’t something terrible. When he turns the paper around _____ could almost fall off the platform.

I think that you are a hardworking individual and I want to take you out for dinner, it reads very elegant scrawl.

Oh my God. Is this real? Did I fall of the platform again? Am I in heaven?

 The tapping on the window is what brings ____ back from his internally panic as the next page reads, would you be amiable to that?

For the life of him _____ has never shaked his head so hard that the platform started to sway.

Tapping on the glass commences as the man writes again. Please don’t die before our dinner date.