#Like yeah actually you’re right that hour is a fucking mountain

[omtai]

i wanna go home

[razorblade180]

Ekko Location

Ekko:*thousand yard stare*….

Caitlyn:(Should I tell him? No, false hope doesn’t do any good. Especially in this case.) *looks left*

Giant mural of Jinx

Caitlyn:….Ekko?

Ekko:What could you possibly want after everything?

Caitlyn:Hopefully, an olive branch. I have to tell you something but you have to promise to not get your hopes up, or tell Vi. This is something I’m trusting with you specifically.

Ekko:And how in the world did I get such an honor?

Caitlyn:Because if it wasn’t for one act of kindness, I’d be in your shoes right now.

Ekko:…What do you have to tell me?

xxxxxx

One month later. Somewhere across the water, in a nice quaint land known for its view of the ocean and mountains, a cloaked girl bobs her head to music as she roams the back alleys streets without a care in her mind.

Jinx: 🎶Do you ever wanna catch me?Right now I'm feeling ignored. *turns corner*

Jinx:So can you try a little harder? I'm really getting bor-

Ekko:*cloaked* !?….

Jinx:…..(Just when I thought I’ve wrangled all the voices. This is a low blow, me.) *closes eyes* (Just gonna breathe in and-)

Ekko:*grabs her wrist*

Jinx’s eyes immediately shoot open to see him right in front of her. She starts looking back, forth, everywhere; her thoughts trying to rationalize this moment because what do you mean he’s real!?

Jinx:Y- wha- how? How!? Fuck everything else. How?

Ekko:Let’s just say someone offered me a little hope. Honestly it was more like wishful thinking.

Jinx:Ekko, that’s not a “how” at all! You left Zaun to chase wishful thinking? That’s alone is crazy, but not as crazy as you actually finding me! I could’ve gone in any direction and stopped anywhere yet somehow you’re right here searching in the correct city? Gasps Did you put something in me?!

Ekko:What? No! Jinx, we used to spend literal hours talking about all the places we wanted go; the sight ls you wanted to see. Sometimes you rambled so much I never got a word in to say mine!

Jinx:So you’re telling you just remembered all that ramble and started flying to the places I yapped about!? Who the heck remembers stuff like that!?

Ekko:Me!! Since when have I ever forgotten anything!? Especially stuff about you!?

The girl was too stunned to speak. Ekko told no lies and he had a point, however, what the hell? How was she supposed to respond to that? She told absolutely nobody that she was leaving and left no trace, yet somehow wishful thinking from probably the world’s most annoying enforcer and childhood memories was enough for Ekko to find her in a little over a month. Jinx could only squint at him in disbelief. Sure, she could definitely break free of grip and make a break for it, yet this moment only gave her the strength to exhale tiredly before him.

Jinx:Anyone else know?

Ekko:Nope. You think people have time to chase hypotheticals?

Jinx:So you just left??

Ekko:Told them I needed some air. Had to move quickly. You don’t exactly stay in one place for long.

Jinx:…..Alright. Out with it. I know you have some rehearsed lecture and rant you’ve prepared in case you actually somehow weren’t crazy and found m-

Ekko:*hugs her* I can tell at you later.

Jinx:You really just might be crazier than me.

Her entire body relaxed as she finally put her arms around him. Despite all odds, he really was right here. Leave it the Boy Savior to yet again foil her schemes.

Jinx:At this point I should call you Ekko Location or something.

Ekko:I this point, I should put a fucking bell on you.

Jinx:I’d still get away.

Ekko:And I’d find you again.

Jinx:Heh, yeah. *hugs tightly* You would, wouldn’t you?

[thehypnone]

how do we feel about whiny and drooly overstimulated mountain getting fucked his brain out by swiss?

mountain whimpering “please I can’t take it” while swiss growls “you can and you will” and starts pounding into him much much harder?

so I actually made it a cnc scene (pre-discussed) that includes mild drugging so. warnings for that

Mountain has been working outside since the very dawn, having left Swiss in the warmth of their nest a couple of hours before the multi ghoul had to get up to take care of his own chores.

It’s some time before lunch that Mountain gets hungry and heads back inside to grab a snack from the kitchen. He smiles, coming across a delicious looking sandwich waiting for him in the kitchen under a lovely note from his mate.

He unwraps it and takes a bite. He moans; it’s even tastier than it looks. The earth ghoul eats half of it and rewraps the other one, wanting to take it back outside for later. He takes a sip of orange juice before turning to head back to work.

He does not get to head back to work.

Mountain is walking down the corridor with his sandwich in hand when out of nowhere a body slams into him from behind. He growls and tries to swipe his claws at the other, but he finds his arms got pinned behind his back.

It’s wrong, though, he’s one of the strongest ghouls ever summoned, what–

“Don’t fight, baby,” he hears right against his ear, “you only ate half, but it’s more than enough, yeah? Don’t make me pump you full of quintessence, too.”

The fucking sandwich.

The earth ghoul’s limbs do feel heavy and tingly, and so does his face—it’s like it’s going numb.

“Why’d you–” he slurs with his face pressed against the wall. Swiss pulls one hand away from him to fumble with his belt. Mountain feels the buckle slap against his back and tries to wriggle out of the other’s hold, but he’s too weak.

Far too weak.

“Wanted to play with you a little, sweetheart,” the multi ghoul chuckles from behind him as he pulls his work pants down over his ass. He presses closer, then, making Mountain feel his hard and leaking cock against him, “and you’re too responsible to ditch chores. Had to give you a little push.”

He grinds his dick in between Mountain’s cheeks as he says that and the earth ghoul already knows he won’t be able to sit straight for a week.

“No, ‘m not prepped, don’t–” he protests and tries to pull away but there’s nowhere to go. He’s trapped and drugged, Swiss can do…anything to him right now, and Mountain has no say in the matter.

“Should’ve eaten the whole sandwich,” the multi ghoul chuckles cruelly as he presses the tip of his cock against Mountain’s hole. “Wouldn’t hurt as much.”

“N–no…” he begs one more time, but it fades into a pained cry when Swiss pushes in; slicked up by nothing but his precum. Tears well in Mountain’s eyes at the painful stretch and he slumps against the wall some more.

Swiss releases his arms, putting one hand on the back of his head and the other on his hip—the earth ghoul tries to gain some leverage with his own hands against the wall, but he can barely even lift them from his sides.

The multi ghoul pulls back to take a look at Mountain’s pink hole stretched out around his fat cock. He hums in approval before spitting on where they’re joined and thrusting forward. Swiss picks up a fast and rough rhythm, making the other’s body shake with the intensity and pain of it.

“Stop, Swiss, I–I can’t,” Mountain cries out. “I can’t t–take it, it hurts, please.”

“Oh, but you can, sweetheart,” Swiss laughs cruelly, and only speeds up, “and you will.”

The earth ghoul lets out a sob. He doesn’t have it in himself to try to fight any more as the other pushes on the back of his head, squishing his cheek even more against the wall. He can only close his eyes and pretend he’s not being absolutely violated.

Is he, though?

His cock is filling out despite the pain, so it must mean he likes it…right?

“That’s it,” Swiss groans, “just let me take what I want, be a good whore.”

Mountain bites his lip and lets him take…as if he has a choice.

It isn’t long before the multi ghoul’s thrusts stutter out of rhythm as he gets close.

“Nearly there,” he grunts and fucks him deeper for a moment more, absolutely abusing his insides. Swiss growls into Mountain’s ear as he finally cums deep inside him. He pushes in as far as he’ll go, slotting his cock right against the earth ghoul’s prostate.

The pressure makes him gasp as his own dick kicks and spurts out some cum. It’s not a satisfying orgasm by any means, but it makes him crash—he whines and slides down the wall a little in exhaustion.

“Hey, hey, sweetheart,” Swiss’ demeanor changes immediately. He pulls out as gently as he can and wraps his arms around Mountain to carefully bring him down to the floor so he doesn’t collapse. “You with me? You did so good, fuck, you were perfect, my love. Are you okay?”

He’s still shaken up by the intensity of their scene; tears are still rolling down his reddened cheeks and his breathing is erratic. He nods in confirmation, though; Swiss has got him, he’s alright.

“Good, good boy,” Swiss kisses him on the nose. “Let’s get you taken care of, yeah?”

Mountain nods again and Swiss pulls both their pants back up before lifting the earth ghoul into his arms. It’s barely two steps before they’re in their bedroom—Swiss’ choice of the spot for their scene was very much intentional.

Inside he lays Mountain down in their nest and goes to fetch their aftercare box. Soon enough Swiss lays down next to his mate—all calm and clean—for some cuddles.

“You gotta quintessence my ass now,” Mountain grumbles, nuzzling his nose into Swiss’ neck.

He snorts out a laugh before indeed sending a spark of magic down his spine. “Sorry about that, sweetheart.”

“Don’t be,” the earth ghoul sighs, “I enjoyed every second.”

[kookygranger]

He Came From Hawkins

The day Steve Harrington's afterlife changed forever.

Ghost!Steve Harrington x Witch!Reader

Series Masterlist

750 words

The patter of rain against your bedroom window lulls you as you sit in front of an unorganised stack of books, the rug underneath you tickling at your thighs. You’d come upstairs looking for a particular book. One of your oral histories of the music scene in New York, but you can’t remember which, or even particularly why and now you think you might just take a mid-morning snooze.

Not an actual nap, just a moment or an hour to close your eyes and listen to the rain. You’re just about to get up from the floor, the soft cotton of your sheets calling you when you hear a noise downstairs.

It sounded like a voice, deep and confused.

Your front door is unlocked; there are no threats in your witch’s coven up in the mountains, but it wasn’t common for any of your sisters to come in uninvited. Everyone knew you valued your privacy. An introvert who wasn't always up for company.

You make your way downstairs, the wood creaking under your light steps as you descend slowly.

“Uh, hello?”

“Jesus fucking christ.” You stumble clutching at your heart that’s rapidly increased in pace. A young man is standing in your living room. “Wh–who are you?”

“Steve Harrington.” The boy reaches his hand out as if offering to shake yours before faltering and placing it back in his pocket. “I think I’m in the wrong place.”

“No shit.” You take him in, this boy who allegedly broke into a witch’s house in the middle of a well-established, secret coven. Your eyes flick from the moles on his exposed neck, the perfect quaff of his thick hair and widened hazel eyes, finally noticing the slight translucency to his form as he stands before you. “Oh, you’re a–“

“Ghost? Yeah.” He holds up a hand, face squinting as if to say what are you gonna do about it? “I was supposed to be like moving on to whatever comes next I guess.” He scratches his jaw, “I was just in this trailer back in Hawkins, saying goodbye. This witch, a good witch, was helping me say goodbye–and now I’m here.” He looks around your house. “This isn’t it is it? Like, the afterlife?” His eyes fall back on you, giving you a once over before smirking, “Not that I’m complaining, it’s just not what I expected.”

“No, you’re still in the land of the living…kind of.”

He nods, taking you in again, “You don’t look that shocked.”

Your shoulder shifts in a slight shrug, face showing little emotion, “I’m a witch too.”

“Oh, cool.” He smiles wide, a sureness in his features that prickles at your skin. “Do you know why I’m here?”

“No,” you shake your head, and he bites his lip. “I don’t see what business you could have here I’ve been borrowing this land for eight hundred years.”

“Right, well I just died last week so…where are we?” He looks around again, trying to get a glimpse of any recognisable landmarks outside of your window.

“Uh, Catskills.”

“Never been.” He frowns.

“Right.”

The ghost of Steve Harrington didn’t leave that morning, or the next. He wasn’t sure where he was supposed to go so, he stayed.

It was weird, even for a witch familiar with the unexplainable nature of the world. You didn’t really know how to help him, your experience of communing with spirits lacking. Steve said he didn’t mind. Told you with that disarming smile of his that he’d just hang out until he figured out what to do.

So, he did. He hung out.

He hung out while you pottered about your house, cleaning the kitchen, doing laundry, reading by the window with the afternoon light. He hung out as you cooked dinner and settled in front of your staticky TV in the evenings. He hung out as you watered your garden, looking on from the window as you nervously smiled at fellow coven members passing by, his gaze burning the back of your neck.

The ghost of Steve Harrington wasn’t leaving. In fact, he seemed pretty settled, growing in confidence every day with the amount he stared at you, unabashedly and with a smirk that made your body tense.

“Is there a problem?” You didn’t have to look up from the book you were reading to know he was doing it again.

“No. Just admiring the view.”

You shake your head, hiding your fluster with a look of agitation, “Any closer to figuring out your next move?”

“Nope.”

You bite your lip at the evident smile in his voice. “Great.”

[blake-1030]

Male reader x mountain ghoul

Reader in first heat

Reader referred to as Y/N, uses he him pronouns for reader, refers to readers private parts as dick, reader is a water ghoul.

NSFW warning

Y/N was sprawled out on his bed, it was early morning after all. He couldn’t seem to get back to sleep, he was so warm. Too warm, actually. So he just lay, starfished out on his bed, no covers over him.

A couple hours pass before Y/N decides to get up, he shoves on a tank top and pyjama shorts-wait. Or he would have put pyjama bottoms on if he wasn’t hard.

Y/N sighs and makes his way to the bathroom, sighing as he jacks off. That’s weird? He’s not normally this sensitive. He came almost right away. Oh well, at least he’s not hard anymore-nope wait, he’s still hard. He slides on his pyjama bottoms anyway.

‘Fuck it’ Y/N thinks to himself as he makes his way to the kitchen. He turns on the kettle to make a cup of tea and sits at the bar stool as he waits for the kettle to boil.

After about two minutes the kettle pops. Y/N pours his tea, with a little more milk than he normally uses. He’s too warm to drink it really hot right now.

He sits down on the bar stool and looks over at the clock on the oven. 08:56AM. The rest of the ghouls will be up soon. Probably Cumulus first, she was an early bird, and probably Dew last, he always slept in.

To Y/N’s surprise it’s not Cumulus who wakes up first, it’s Mountain. His tall figure slightly hunched over, as it looked like he had just woken up.

“Hey, doll. Sleep well?”

Mountain was being innocent, asking how he slept. Why did Y/N’s heart flutter? Mountain always called him Doll, mountain called everyone that. How come it was affecting him now?

“I-uh-I slept f-fine, you?”

“I slept great, thanks”

there’s a brief silence as mountain reaches for a mug after he turns on the coffee machine. Mountain breaks the silence

“Are you okay? You look warm, you stuttered, and I can smell you from here”

Mountain quickly adds this on.

“Not a bad smell, just A smell”

Y/N look up at mountain, why was he blushing, why was Y/N blushing, why was Mountain blushing. Or was that Y/N’s eyes playing tricks on him.

“I’m fine, Mount. Just-just uhh..tired. Yeah. Just tired”

“I can tell that you’re lying, and I don’t appreciate it. So come on, please tell me, doll?”

There’s a brief pause, before Y/N sighs.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve been to warm to sleep and-well…I’m a bit… ‘excited’, if you catch my drift”

This time Y/N is sure that mountain is blushing. Mountain thinks for a moment before looking at him curiously.

“Are you finding it hard to keep your composure? Like you could burst at any second?”

“…I guess so? I-I can hold back, it’s just…a little difficult”

“You’re in heat, Doll”

Y/N looks at him for a moment before tilting his head.

“Heat? What’s that?”

Mountain sighs and tries his best to explain it.

“Well, heat is a thing that happens once every two months. Your body gets really warm and, I’m not sugar coating this to make you feel better, you get really horny. We lock Dew in his room sometimes. It’s completely natural, I promise. Every ghoul goes through this. And there are two ways to ways to get rid of it. One, wait until it’s over, which normally takes about five to seven days. Or two, have every ghoul…let every ghoul have some ‘quality’ time with you”

Y/N knew what he meant by quality time, which only caused him to blush more, the tent in his pants more prominent.

“So I’m gonna feel like this once every two months? But I can still keep my composure, that means it’s gonna be not very strong, right?”

“Yes, once every two months. And not necessarily. Heats normally fully start at around midday, so you’ll figure out how strong your heats gonna be around 12:00-ish”

Y/N nods and sips his tea, mountain pours his coffee.

“Out of the two ways I can… ‘end’ my heat, which is better?” Y/N asks

“I think that the second options is better, because it gets rid of it faster. But it’s harder to endure”

“Okay… are you sure the other ghouls would, y’know, help me?”

“Sometimes you only need one ghoul, sometimes you get a craving for a ghoul, and when they fuck you, it’s like bliss”

Mountain smiles softly as he looks at Y/N’s flushed face.

“W-well, I think I’m gonna wait in my room a bit, to see if…y’know” says Y/N

“Okay, love you, doll”

Y/N’s heart flutters, a heat forming in his stomach, the heat instantly making its way to his already throbbing dick. Y/N let’s a small moan escape his lips. It was quiet, but Mountain still heard it.

“I-umm-love-too” Y/N stutters out.

“See you later, doll”

Mountain says with a smirk as Y/N practically runs out the room.

~ 12:37

Y/N was still laying in bed, still warm. He had jacked off at least four times. Normally he’d be spent after cumming four times, but now, it wasn’t enough. It was no where near enough.

“I already hate this” Y/N mutters to himself.

He stand up to go to the bathroom, when oh fuck, his heart begins to race.

“What the-“

He almost falls over, it’s too much now. Everything is changing too fast. He stumbles but grounds himself.

“Need…”

Oh, Y/N’s heat was gonna be a ride (literally).

Y/N sneaks out off his room. It wasn’t like he wasn’t aloud out, he just didn’t want to be seen by anyone. Anyone except Him.

He sneaks down the ghoul den, before knocking on the desired ghouls door.

“Come in!” Calls the ghoul.

Y/N practically swings the door open, he slams it shut and locks it.

“Oh, Mountain. I need you~ I need you~”

Y/N craved Mountain, and Mountain just stared in shock for a moment, before patting his lap.

“Come here, Doll” says the gentle giant.

Y/N was quick to oblige. Quickly making his way over and sitting on the Earth ghouls lap.

“Mountain, please~” Y/N slurred as he rubs his crotch on mountains stomach.

“Now now, little ghoul. You need to take it slow”

Mountains words elicit a whine from Y/N.

“I know you don’t want to, I know you want to rush into it. But you’ll get hurt. We don’t want that, do we?”

Y/N shakes his head.

“Good boy, now, let’s begin”

Mountain removes Y/N’s clothes, leaving him in nothing but his boxers, before mountain strips himself of his clothes.

Mountain pulls Y/N onto his lap and presses his lips onto Y/N’s. The kiss starts out tender and loving, but quickly turns into a desperate sloppy kiss. Mountain and Y/N’s tongues dancing with each other as mountain firmly grabs onto Y/N’s crotch. Eliciting a moan from the smaller ghoul.

“Mountain, please~”

“Please what?”

Y/N groans and looks up at him through his eyelashes.

“Fuck. Me” Growls the Water ghoul.

“Good boy, using his words. But don’t be so demanding”

Mountain strips Y/N of his boxers and lays him down on the bed, slowly sliding one finger into his entrance, Y/N’s dick practically a waterfall already.

“More~” Moans Y/N.

Mountain slides a second, then a third finger in. Quickly finding his prostate. When he rubs over Y/N’s prostate he cums instantly, and loudly.

“Did that feel good?” Mountain didn’t even need to ask, he knew it did.

“F-fuck~ yeEeEees~”

Mountain chuckles and slides his fingers out, Y/N’s hole clenches around nothing. Mountain lines his cock up with Y/N’s entrance.

“Can I go in?”

Y/N nods and replies desperately.

“If you don’t fuck me right now, I’m gonna explode”

Mountain chuckles, slowly sliding in and letting him adjust to the size. Mountain knew he was big. The earth ghoul started a slow pace, slow but deep, the smaller ghoul letting out moans and growls and whines of all kinds.

“Faster~” says Y/N

“What’s the magic word?”

Y/N whines.

“Please, f-fuck me faster~!!” Y/N says with a begging tone. Mountain speeds up his pace.

Soon after Y/N is whimper and practically yells:

“Gonna cum~!!!”

Mountain is sure the whole ministry could hear him, but mountain speeds up more and lets Y/N spill over his bets sheets. He cums loudly and mountain cums soon after.

“Again.” Says Y/N bluntly

~

They had gone so many times that mountain had lost count, but eventually Y/N gets tired and weak, passing out on top of Mountain.

Mountain lets him sleep and provides great after care the next day.

(This is my first writing piece so criticism is very needed and welcome)

[stayandot8]

Caught In The Blast

Genre: angsty mess

Relationship type: exes

Important Contents: slight swearing, gahd dayum this hurt to write but enjoy the fruits of my 2-6am labor

WC: 2.1k

mastrlist

The fight was a bad one. The worst one we’d ever had. 

He hadn’t slept, I didn’t either. We were both in bad head spaces, I know that now. It was a conversation that never should have happened. It was a perfect storm of everything that could have gone wrong, did. 

He had just come back from tour, which explained why he had his bags wih him. He came straight from the airport to my apartment, where I had been up waiting for him. He was four hours late, which he swore up and down wasn’t his fault. I tried to believe him, but there was a voice in the back of my head that told me he was lying for some reason. I had no grain of evidence for this accusation, yet I had convinced myself that this anthill was indeed the mountain I would die on. 

He came in the door in a bad mood. The air around him was just exhausted and defeated, not normal to how he would come home from previous tour months. He almost threw his luggage down when he entered and sighed so loud I heard it across the room. Already irritated with how late he was, I checked the clock for the fourth time that hour and said the worst thing imaginable to start a conversation with your boyfriend that you haven’t seen in six months when you can already tell he’s in a bad mood. 

“You’re late again.”

A great start.

“I know. I told you I was gonna be.” 

“I just wasn’t expecting you to be four fucking hours late, Chris. That’s all.”

“Well I didn’t fly the plane, I don’t know what you would’ve wanted me to do.”

“Did you come straight from the airport or did you sneak off to the studio again? You have a tendency to do that.”

“Really? This again? Come on, I literally have my bags with me. I wanted to see you, so I came straight here. Is that so hard to believe?”

“Yeah, it is actually when we haven’t talked on the phone since you were in Japan. Especially when we talked every night before that.” I said that last part under my breath, not quite hoping he wouldn’t hear it, but rather just in case the pang in my chest that I would regret it later was right. 

“Well, shit got busy, I don’t know what you want me to say. The closer we got to the end, the more tired I was.” Or was it because you didn’t miss me? 

“A text telling me that wasn’t too much to do, was it? I just don’t see what would’ve been so hard about-”

“Look. I just landed, I came straight here, and all I want to do is sleep.” He dragged his bags into my room and left me alone in the living room, seething. I wasn’t about to let him off the hook like that, no. My innermost need to win any argument, a quality I got from my mother, wouldn’t let me. So I followed him into the bedroom to see him packing up some of his stuff into his bags.

“What are you doing?”

“I came here to be with my girlfriend after being away for months but if you’re going to be like this, then I’m going back to mine. I know I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”

“When I’M being like this? Like what? I’m just being honest. A text isn’t too much to ask for, is it Chris? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in what feels like years and you come back and act like you don’t even want to be here! How am I supposed to react to that? What would you like me to say? I missed you so excuse me for wanting to know-”

“What am I supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry for being busy’? ‘I’m sorry that my job keeps me fucking exhausted all the time and I’m sorry that I can’t be there for you all the time’? This is my job, this is my life. This is what I signed up for. I have no room to complain about anything to anyone. Just,” He turned away from me to make for the connected bathroom. “Let me grab my stuff and I’ll be out of here.” 

“Maybe when you eventually get back, I’ll be a happy, normal person again who never questions you and will always just be happy to see you whenever you grace me with your presence.” I turned to grab my stuff to storm out, ever the drama queen. “And if you see my boyfriend anywhere, let me know. Tell him to call me.”

“And when you find my girlfriend, tell her when she stops being a bitch for no reason, to come and find me.” He’d never called me that before. I don’t think he’d ever called anyone that before. It had come out of nowhere, seemingly from the depths of his chest with how much vigor he said it with. It was such a surprise that I dropped my coat and shoes on the floor. And then the rage hit. 

“What did you just say?” I said to the door, not wanting to turn around. I couldn’t believe my ears. 

“I knew I would regret that as soon as I said it.” I heard his voice come closer, but he knew better than to try and touch me. “I’m sorry.” The first apology of the night. “I shouldn’t have let my anger get the better of me. I haven’t slept and I’m not in my right mind.”

“You’re damn right you’re not in your right mind. And if this is what your ‘job’ has turned you into after this long, I’m not sure I can keep up. The man I know would never do that, no matter how stressed or how tired he was. He wouldn’t act like this.”

“This isn’t me, you know that.”

“I’m not sure what I know anymore.” I finally turned to him, my cheeks wet with my silent tears and my things forgotten on the floor. “What happened to you?” 

“It’s too much to explain, you wouldn’t understand it all.”

“Then help me understand! I want to, so please just help me. Help me see the world of your profession through your eyes.”

“That’s just it! I can't! It’s not just a profession at this point. It has turned into my whole life. My whole life is under the control of people who don’t know me unless I make myself heard. I have to fight for my voice and sometimes even that isn’t enough. I’m not just fighting for me, I have seven other people I need to make sure whose voices are heard.” 

“I know that, Chan. I know it’s not just you. But there comes a time when you have to put yourself first or else there won’t be anything left for you to fight with.”

“If you think that I wouldn’t fight until I have nothing left, then you don’t know me as well as I thought you did.” 

“That kind of talk is self-destructive, Chan. You’re going to implode. There will be pieces of you on the walls of the JYP building. And you’re going to take me down with you.”

“If there are pieces of me left, then at least I will have made my mark on something. And I wouldn’t want my ‘self-destructive talk’ to infect anyone else, so I guess there should be as much distance between us as possible.” He pushed past me to get into my room, his empty bags in his hands. He started gathering his stuff and throwing it on my bed to pack it. “Wouldn’t want you to get caught in the blast.” 

“Oh yeah, because I wouldn’t be there to pick them up like I have a dozen times before. Because everytime you call I’m there. Whenever you need me, I ran to you. But when I need you, where are you? I know you love to make everyone feel loved but when it counts? You feel like you’re being pulled in a thousand directions but why is that? Do you not put yourself there? You don’t help yourself! To the point where no one else can help either because we don’t know how!”

“Like you’ve ever asked how you can help me! You’re so focused on what’s wrong that you don’t see what’s right in front of you. I’m withering away and there’s nothing I can do! Nothing anyone can do…”

He collapsed onto the floor, in the middle of his half-packed bags, and curled into himself. Just like I had said, there was nothing I could do for him now. I had no ideas, no suggestions, no solutions for him. 

I loved him. I knew in that moment I did. I knew it from the moment I met him and from that point on I would for as long as I lived. But I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn’t watch him self-destruct. If this was what it took for him to realize what he was doing to himself, then maybe it had to be done. 

He grabbed his zip-up Mahagrid hoodie he used to wear for his lives that he had to do while he was at my house. I slept in it every night when he wasn’t here, which had been often nowadays.

“Can you at least leave that?”

“Why?” His tone was dead. 

“You barely wear it anymore and you know it's my favorite. You’ve seen how often I sleep in it. Are you that bitter that you wouldn't let me have it?”

“Yeah, actually. It’s mine and I’m keeping it.” And he shoved it into his bag and zipped it up. “You’ll be fine.” There wasn’t any malice in his tone there, more like… remorse, if I had to put a name to it. Like he didn’t want to do it but had to to soothe some inner turmoil he was currently going through. He gathered his bags and gently shoved past me in the doorway. I think he believed I would try and stop him. One more disappointment to give him and on his way out, no less. He slowed when he got to the door and stopped when his hand had reached the door handle. It was like he didn't want to leave because he knew there was no coming back. In some way, I think he knew that this was the last straw and this…this would be the last time he knew that he would be on this side of that door. So I said the only thing I could think of that I knew was still true and would be until the day I stopped breathing.

“I love you, Chris.”

“I know.” And he closed the door gently behind him. 

That was three days ago. My apartment was now littered with used tissues and empty cups of whatever I had in the fridge because it was the only thing I could keep down. I knew I did the right thing. That didn’t make it any easier. And honestly, I expected a text at the very least by now, but my phone was still black across the counter in the kitchen. I felt like I had been staring at it everyday when I woke up until the moment I fell asleep. I spent the last 72 hours moping around my apartment, doing nothing but avoiding the calls from my parents, friends, and anyone whose name wasn’t Chris Bang. Which never came. 

Staring at the contents of my fridge, I couldn’t help the chill that shot down my spine. I had to settle for one of my own hoodies, not nearly giving the sense of home that I had been very dearly missing for the past three days. The fuzz of this sweatshirt just wasn’t cutting it and to be real with myself, I missed him. I fucking missed him a lot. 

God damnit. 

There was nothing in this fridge. Who was I kidding, I hadn’t gone shopping in a week and it was starting to show. The shelves were empty and for the first time, I was actually starting to feel the hunger. Swallowing what little self-respect I had, I put on my shoes, grabbed my keys, and opened my front door.

And there it was, in its black and white lettering glory. Sitting in a cardboard box was his zip-up hoodie. No letter, nothing else in the box, just this. The last piece of him that I would have, thanks to him. 

He would always love me. Just like I would always love him. Nothing would ever change that. Maybe later in life, we could come back together. There was always that hope. But until then, we would have to settle for this; deep down, I knew that promise to always root for each other still stood. I knew he would keep up his end. 

I never took it off.

[lynzishell]

Prev // Next

Transcript:

Phoenix: I’m glad you came out with me today. Dawn: Me too. Phoenix: It’s been a tough couple of weeks. Dawn: Yeah, it has.

Phoenix: Do you wanna talk about it? Dawn: No. Probably should, though. Phoenix: It might help. Dawn: I’m just… heartbroken. And I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself.   Phoenix: Dawn, it’s not your –

Dawn: Don’t. Everyone keeps saying that, but I don’t know how you can believe it.

Phoenix: Okay, I’ll tell you what, if it’s your fault, then it’s mine too. And Atlas’s, for that matter. We were all up there together, and we all pushed each other to keep going when we felt like we couldn’t.

Dawn: But you kept trying to get me to stop.

Phoenix: Only for a few hours, for a night at most. And only to ensure you stayed well enough to keep going. So, you don’t get to keep all the blame for yourself. If it’s your fault, then it’s mine too, and we’ll share that burden.

Dawn: I could never let you do that. Phoenix: Why not? Dawn: Because you didn’t know. Phoenix: And neither did you.

Dawn: I feel like I should’ve though. I was just being stubborn, and I ignored everything my body was telling me because I hated being the one that was struggling.

Phoenix: I’m sorry, Dawn, I love you, but you’re just not that special. Dawn: Excuse me?

Phoenix: For one, you weren’t the only one struggling. You were just the only one puking. We were all struggling in our own ways. For two, of all the things that can go wrong on that mountain, there’s no way pregnancy was on anyone’s mind. You weren’t ignoring anything. You thought the same thing we all thought – altitude sickness. Because that was the most logical possibility for that situation. There’s no way you could’ve known more than any of us what was really going on. You’re just not that special.

Dawn: … I’m not that special? Phoenix: ‘fraid not. Dawn: I feel like that shouldn’t be as comforting as it is. Phoenix: [laughs] Well, if you ever need anyone to remind you how not special you are, I’m here for you. Dawn: [smiles] I may not be special, but I am very lucky. Phoenix: Aha, we’re getting cheesy now, are we? Dawn: Mhm

Dawn: [laughing] Alright, calm down, this is a family park.

Phoenix: Sorry, just missed you, I guess. Dawn: I’ve missed you too. I’m sorry I shut you out. Phoenix: Yeah, that was hard. Dawn: I know. I won’t do it again. Phoenix: I hope not.

Dawn: Speaking of… You’ve been taking such good care of me, and I feel like I haven’t been there for you at all. How are you doing? Phoenix: I’m okay. Dawn: No. Honest answer. Phoenix:  Honest answer? Dawn: Yes.

Phoenix: Okay… I am… really fucking sad. Dawn: Yeah. Me too.

Phoenix: I didn’t know this was what I wanted until it was real. And then it was taken away, just like that, leaving this big, gaping hole in my chest. And then for a minute there, it felt like I was losing you too. For the first time in a long time, I wished I could just pick up the phone and call my mom, but of course, I couldn’t do that either. I’ve never felt so helpless.

Dawn: I’m so sorry. Phoenix: It’s okay. I’ll be alright. Mostly, I’ve been afraid that this has been too hard on you, and you won’t want to try again.

Dawn: You want to try again? Like actually try? Phoenix: [nods] Dawn: Me too. Phoenix: Really? Dawn: I mean, maybe not right now. I don’t know what we’ll have to do to make it happen, or how long it will take, but I know it won’t be easy. And I think I need some time before diving into all that. Phoenix: Of course, whatever you need, you just let me know when you’re ready.

[shesinshambles]

Ghost BC Whump Month: Chronic

For @cirrus-ghoulette's Whump Month!

Super late, but I wrote a really self-indulgent fic for this one while I've been dealing with a flare-up.

You had no idea how many hours had passed since you’d crawled into bed, the deep ache in your back and hips becoming too unbearable to walk, every part of your skin felt like a live wire of searing pain. And you’d lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the sun inched closer and closer to the horizon, casting obscure shadows on the walls of your dorm. Tears streamed down your cheeks as you tried to ignore the screaming throb and strange pressure in your spine and get at least a couple hours of sleep. But nothing was working. Not that the ibuprofen ever did anything anyway, but you had hoped it would at least take the edge off just a bit. To make matters worse you couldn’t even lie in your comfy position in bed, and that’s really when everything fell apart. So, you found yourself studying the cracks in the ceiling, sobbing, trying to calm yourself; too sore to sleep, too fed up and angry to find a simple distraction.

A loud thump on your door breaks you out of your haze and suddenly you’re aware of the tightness around your swollen eyes, the salt crusted at your inner corners. Your head is pounding and your throat is raw and scratchy.

“You in there, doll?” Dewdrop calls from the other side of the door. For a minute, you think of saying nothing and just waiting it out. You hear his sharp claws tapping on the wood and you groan. Knowing him, he wouldn’t leave; you not answering would just give him all the more reason to barge right in for whatever mischief he had planned.

“What is it?” You croak. You try to mask your pitiful state, but your voice is thick and garbled from pain and tears, and the tapping ceases.

“Hey, you good?” You squeeze your eyes shut against the sting of fresh tears, holding your tongue. The floorboards creak as Dew shifts, hesitating at the door.

“Yeah,” you warble, sniffling. Dew tests the doorknob, clicking, but not opening.

“I’m comin’ in, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper softly. The door creaks open slowly, just enough for the fire ghoul to slip in, shutting it as he steps into your dorm with a heavy sigh.

“You been in here all day?” He asks softly, walking over to you and gingerly sitting down on the side of the bed, careful not to disturb you too much. You nod, face screwed up from the pain and all the anger bubbling up inside you. It’s all too much right now, and you don’t even want to look at the ghoul. A large hand caresses your hair, brushing loose strands off your forehead and your breath hitches.

“I’m so tired,” you choke out, your frame shaking as you try to hold in the sobs, but when Dew slides down next to you and hesitantly takes your hand in his, squeezing gently, the dam completely breaks. Dew doesn’t say anything, just holds your hand, rolling onto his side so you can feel him there, his warmth, amber and toasted marshmallow.

“Fuck, doll. M’sorry,” he mumbles under his breath, raking a hand through his hair.

The ghouls all knew about it. It hadn’t been easy touring with the pain, you needed plenty of rest days and you can never tell when a flare up might just spring on you. They all got suspicious when you’d disappear into your bunk or hotel room for hours on end when you all had free days, when you started passing on outings and dinners.

Mountain had noticed first actually, catching you here and there trying to stretch out the stiffness. He’d offered to show you some stretches he used for his own back after that, and you could always count him to pull on your legs when you needed it.

They were all helpful like that once you’d let them know about your chronic pain. Swiss would hook you up with some of his stash to help you sleep, and the fuzziness that came with it was pretty relaxing. Aether would pull what he could from the void to soothe you. Rain brought you food and made tea. He’d also freeze your ice packs faster for you. The ghoulettes always provided you with a shoulder to cry on and more times than you ever thought you would, you found yourself venting to Cumulus sitting (or lying) in her bed while she just listened. No solutions, no suggestions. Just validation. And Dew; well, Dew would keep to himself, or just be near you, but a comfortable distance. He wasn’t so hands on, like he wanted to stay out of your hair and not pester you with his shenanigans. It was infinitely quieter on the bus when he knew you had a flare up. And your blankets were always extra toasty.

The fact that he had come to seek you out spoke volumes. He was worried. You sniffle wetly, wiping your nose on the back of your hand. And his carefulness does not go unnoticed. Even now, he’s stiff in the bed, keeping space between the two of you, scared to jostle you. You turn your head into him, nuzzling as close as you can to his chest.

“It’s just nothing’s working,” you mumble. Dew hums softly, his hand inching back up to your hair, tangling his long fingers in the waves when you don’t flinch away, massaging the nape of your neck.

“Want me to get Aeth?” You shake your head, the ghoul chirps quietly in confusion.

“Please stay.”

“Okay,” Dew whispers into your hair, inching closer and closer to you. His heat melts you, and you feel stiff muscles easing ever so slightly, enough for you to sigh with some relief.

Dew’s quiet for a while, and with each minute that passes, he lets himself sink further into your mattress, lets his hands run down your arms, rub soothing circles into your hips.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you hum in acknowledgement, empty and exhausted. “Have you tried a hot bath?” You shake your head.

“I didn’t want to get up.” Dew nodded, his fingers drumming thoughtfully against the mattress.

“I’ll be back.” He gets off the bed carefully, stepping into your bathroom. The rush of water hits your ears and you sigh, gingerly rolling to your side, and sitting up slowly. You groan as the deep ache blooms to life in your hips, like it’s grinding away at your bones. When Dew comes back out and to find you trying to stand to slide your pajama pants off, he rushes over. “Hey! You could wait you know, I was gonna help you up,” he scolds, taking hold of your arms to help you to stand. The pain isn’t so bad now, having stretched out for the past few hours, but your muscles are tired, and you’re sure you were crooked.

“It’s fine, Dew,” you sigh. “I’m used to it.” He frowns at you, leaning down to pull your bottoms and underwear off. You’re too achy and tired to be shy, a thick fog clouding your brain. But even then, it wasn’t like Dew had never seen you before. Just never like this.

“So fuckin’ stubborn,” he mutters under his breath, and you roll your eyes, balancing yourself on his shoulders. “Just like Mountain.” You huff. He’s right. But you hated not being able to do basic tasks yourself. Even when it was too much, you’d just push through. And end up not able to stand up straight for the better of a week.

“Arms up,” he murmurs, and you do as he says, letting him pull your sleep shirt over your head. The walk to the bathroom is excruciatingly slow, every step sending an annoying spasm up your back. But Dew holds you steady, silent and patient. In fact, you’d never known him to be so patient, so soft. And right now, as he helps you slide into the tub, that thought makes you feel a little fuzzy. The hot water and Epsom salts feel like heaven right now as you settle into the tub, groaning. It takes a moment for you to find a comfortable position, but when you do the pain subsides quite a bit, and you close your eyes, sighing as you let your head fall back on the neck pillow you keep in the tub.

You haven’t realized Dew’s disappeared until you hear soft footsteps coming back into the bathroom followed by the gentle click of the door shutting closed. You crack an eye open to find the fire ghoul settling himself down on the floor next to you, a glass full of water in hand.

“You doin’ okay in there?” You smile softly and nod, taking the glass from his outstretched hand and taking long, slow, slips from it. You haven’t had anything to drink since lying down, and it definitely wasn’t helping your head one bit.

“Thanks.” Dew simply nods, and stares down at his hands. He’s tangling his fingers together, studying his nails, drumming them anxiously against the porcelain.

“Look, uh,” he starts, hardly meeting your eyes except for a brief flicker, so quick you hardly notice at all. “I’m not too good at the comforting stuff, so uh, I don’t know, let me know how I can help I guess.” You nod, and slide your had over the edge, finding his fingers and offering a squeeze.

“Thanks, Dew.” The ghoul stares down at your hands, huffing, a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Of course.” There’s a pause, a moment where he holds your hand, stroking his thumb over your knuckles, letting you calm yourself from the rough day. And you feel all that tension, all the heaviness and hopelessness start to pull away, letting you take full breaths again. You know it won’t last, bur for now it’s enough. “Do you want me to go? I can wait outside and you call me when your done—” But you have another thought. And you think it might be manageable now that you’ve relaxed a little.

“Come in,” you murmur, and Dew frowns.

“It’s not gonna hurt you?” You’re quick to shake your head and the ghoul quirks a quizzical brow at you. You merely shrug back.

“Not more than I already am. I’ll be okay.” After mulling it over a little, several nervous glances shot your way, Dew finally concedes, making quick work of undressing and climbing in carefully, and again, afraid to jostle you around too much. But finally, after deciding it was best for you to rest against his chest so he could hold you steady, you both sank back into the warm water.

“You comfortable?” you nod, letting your eyes slide shut. Dew’s warmth always had that effect on you. It was so soothing, like a hug around your bones, toasting you gently from the inside out.

“Like my living heating pad.” Dew snorts.

“So that’s in then. S’all you want me around for?” He teases, nuzzling the top of your head. You huff softly.

“It’s a perk,” you mumble, sighing heavily as Dew hums into your hair. “Thank you. For being here.”

“No need to thank me, Doll.”

“I know,” you reply, gripping tighter onto his forearm. “But still, I appreciate it. And I know you don’t really like the cuddly stuff—”

“I do,” he murmurs, and his hands melt further into your flesh. “I just don’t want to make it worse.”

“But you don’t. This makes it better.” And really, it did. You felt a lot less lonely since telling the ghouls, since having an actual caring support network. And the afternoon felt like it was miles away since Dew came to check on you. All the times he’d just sit with you quietly, just be in the same space with you so you weren’t completely alone. It meant the world. The ghoul hums thoughtfully.

“Right then, anytime m’lady requires her personal heating ghoul, say the word.” You grin, and nuzzle into his neck.

“Thanks, Dew.” The fire ghoul huffs, then plants a gentle kiss to the top of your head in response.

“Anytime, doll.”

[alexandralyman]

Neither Confirm Nor Deny (Dave York x Reader)

Dave York has taken over my life. I dived headfirst into Pedro Pascal fandom and this asshole caught me (among others, looking at you Commandante Veracruz). 7k of self-indulgence later, here's Dave x Reader as CIA agents and partners - AU, Dave went into the CIA after the military and never became a contract killer. Oh, and Carol and the kids don't exist in this.

Rated M for smut and vague mentions of bad people doing bad things

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50244982

You're a CIA agent on assignment in Europe caught up not in enemy crossfire, but in the love/hate relationship you have with your asshole of a partner, Dave York.

You hate how much you secretly love how good he is not just at his job, but between the sheets as well. He drives you up the wall most of the time (and fucks you up against them even better), but when your own agency betrays you at the end of an op, he's the only one who's still got your back.

You can never confirm what he really is to you, but you can't deny it either.

neither confirm nor deny

You practically fling the door to the safe house open, making the rusty hinges squeal loudly in protest as if to remind you about the need for stealth and discretion. Normally you’re the very model of both during a mission, but right now you don’t give a shit. Let the damn place get compromised, it doesn’t matter anymore.

Nothing fucking matters.

You’re met on the threshold by the barrel of Dave’s gun, aimed for a kill shot and immediately withdrawn when he sees it’s you. Protocol when entering the safe house was to knock first with two taps to announce your entry and that everything was fine.

Everything isn’t fucking fine.

“Jesus Christ,” he swears, because you never break protocol—except, of course, when you very much do—and he almost just shot you in the face for it. “What the actual fuck…wait. What happened? What’s wrong?”

Dave York is infuriatingly good at reading your moods. He knows when you’re happy and he knows when you’re angry, which is far more common and usually directed at him. He also almost always knows when you’re horny, which isn’t uncommon, especially around him, but is dead last right now on the list of emotions you’re currently experiencing. Murderous is first, and he’s familiar with that one too because it’s also frequently directed at him. It’s infuriating because you’re a highly trained CIA agent with a highly trained poker face you could easily clean out Vegas with, but at the moment even the most oblivious person in the world could tell that you’re on the verge of a volcanic eruption and not just your asshole of a partner who knows you all too well.

“They’re letting the bastard walk,” you practically spit.

Dave blinks, “What?”

“Yeah,” your voice is more bitter than the ridiculous amount of espresso he drinks like it’s water. “Apparently he cut a deal, and they’re letting him walk.”

Dave is many things, slow on the uptake isn’t one of them. “They flipped him,” he says, matter of fact. “He’s an asset now.”

You’d spent months trying to bring down Andrei “the Crow” Morozov, arms dealer, sex trafficker, Eurotrash asshole extraordinaire. Hours and hours of sorting through the mountains of intel for the nuggets of gold, late nights, shitty safe houses, getting two ribs cracked in Düsseldorf and not going to hospital because you would have been pulled from the mission, just dealing with the pain because you were so close, so close, to finally catching the slippery bastard and putting him away for good. It was all for nothing, Morozov shot you a shit-eating grin as the cuffs were unlocked and walked out of custody a free man.

“Give Irina’s mother my love,” he’d said with a wink, and three agents had to hustle you out of the room with his mocking laughter following you lest you go after him with your bare hands. The things he’d done to the poor girl, barely more than a child. You’d promised her mother, you swore to the woman that the monster responsible would be brought to justice. Instead, you watched him walk away free and clear with the blessing of your own damn agency.

“It makes sense,” Dave says, setting his gun back down on the battered coffee table that was scattered with nicks and cigarette burns courtesy of the many nameless, faceless agents who’d sought sanctuary for the night. “He’s connected to all the major players in Eastern Europe, with the amount of intel he could provide if they keep him in place it��s no wonder the plan was to flip him all along.”

That brings you up short as a new, hotter fury starts to burn under your skin. “It was? You…you knew?”

He gives a shrug with a broad shoulder that you may end up dislocating depending on what he says next. “Officially? No. But I suspected. Didn’t you?”

You…didn’t. Fuck, you one hundred percent didn’t expect the CIA would stab you in the back and worst of all, Dave did. He shouldn’t have put his gun down, because you have a new target now.

“And you didn’t fucking tell me? After all that fucking work to catch the son of a bitch? When I didn’t shoot him in Germany despite having a clear shot because I thought he was going to be locked up for the rest of his life, not let out to keep ruining lives because he’s a fucking ASSET to the CIA now?

When I was making promises I couldn’t keep, you think, but don’t say.

“The CIA has gotten into bed with much worse than Morozov when it serves their purpose. You know that. What makes this different?” Dave asks, the infuriatingly calm eye in your raging storm.

It was different because…because…

Because of Irina and all the others. The ones whose names you knew. The ones whose names you didn’t and would haunt you forever. Because you’d looked Andrei Morozov right in the eye in the underground club in Düsseldorf where he sold girls as easily as shots to asshole men and swore to yourself that you’d make him pay.

Because it was personal.

You couldn’t do this. Not now, running on no sleep and barely any food and the ash of your own failure in your mouth. Tears start to burn behind your eyes, but you’d walk barefoot through a minefield before letting Dave York see you cry.

“You should have told me. We’re supposed to be partners.”

You could almost handle being betrayed by the higher ups, the ones who sat in windowless rooms looking at names and numbers on reports and decided which was more valuable, some teenage girls or the man who’d sold them to the highest bidder. The CIA made deals with all sorts of devils, dictators, terrorists, lowlife arms dealers. You couldn’t handle being betrayed by Dave

, who was by your side the whole time you were on the ground putting faces to the names on those reports. Anna. Olga. Irina.

He calls your name when you leave, your real name, not the one you were given for the mission with a passport and credit cards to match. He’s been calling you by that fake name for months, or, when you push him onto his back in a safe house or a hotel or wherever you’re holed up for a few hours and take him inside, he calls you baby or sweetheart in a voice that gets increasingly more wrecked with each roll of your hips into his and you pretend to hate it.

The sound of your real name from a man who rarely uses it almost makes you stop on the narrow stairs of the ancient building before you reach the outside.

Almost.

You’re in Paris, the city of lights and romance and the final stop on this farce of a European tour now that Morozov’s been caught and released in pursuit of bigger fish. The station chief said to take a few days to decompress before heading back stateside. Do some sightseeing, or some shopping. Patronizing jackass. You almost stabbed him with a pen. As if you were in the mood for museums or boutiques after Morozov walked, like this was a vacation and not your life’s work. You find the French equivalent of a dive bar instead and speak the international language of alcohol to the bartender, drink until it’s too dark to see the Eiffel Tower or the Arc de Triomphe or anything except the bottom of an empty glass before ordering another. A man sidles over at some point between drinks three and four and tries to pick you up, a local with an accent you would have swooned for once upon a time. He’s attractive enough and you’re tempted, there’s more than one way to forget your absolute shitshow of a job. You’re definitely no stranger to this one, but not with anyone else since…

Fuck.

You’re not dating Dave York. He’s your partner, because you did something terrible in a past life and this is karma biting you in the ass for it. And it’s not that he’s a bad agent, far from it. He’s one of the best in the agency. He’s also smug, and irritating, and you want to punch him in the face on a near day basis. He’s fucking good at his job, and that means he knows with pinpoint accuracy just what buttons to push to drive you up the goddamn wall. He also knows just what buttons to push when he’s fucking you against a wall, which happens on an alarmingly regular basis. He understands the adrenaline rush at the end of a successful mission and the helpless frustration when a target skips through the net instead, he’s the only one who knows why you currently have a large bruise across your ribs and the unseen marks the work leaves on your soul.

Parisian sights and a pretty Frenchman offering a turn in the sheets both hold no allure, you go back to the safe house once the bar closes, far drunker than you should be. Not drunk enough to forget the smirk on Morozov’s face, for that you need to fuck Dave until everything else fades away. Only the small garret apartment is empty, his gun isn’t on the table and the air already feels stale, like no one’s been there for hours. Maybe he went out looking for you, although if he did, he would have found you. Maybe he went to find someone to spend the night with, someone who doesn’t throw things at his head and threatens to strangle him with his own tie when he’s being a dick. He’s seen you do it too, so it’s not an idle threat. The mission in Monte Carlo. The second one. Where the two of you posed as a wealthy businessman and his mistress, and caught the target’s eye in your cut-down-to-the-navel dress with no room to hide a gun and had to improvise. Dave fucked you from behind on the balcony of your hotel room afterwards, still in your dress and heels, and he wasn’t the slightest bit turned off by the fact that you’d just killed a man with your bare hands and a length of deceptively strong silk from Hermès. If anything he was even harder than usual, quickly unzipping his suit pants with one hand as he shoved your dress up with the other and whispering all sorts of deliciously filthy things in your ear as he buried himself to the hilt over and over again with the lights of the city glittering below like a fortune in precious jewels.

The Paris safe house is a lot less lavish than a five-star hotel, the hot water in the tiny bathroom can be described as only slightly less icy than the cold tap and the floors are so uneven that if anyone did break in they’d probably trip over their own feet before getting a single shot off. It’s extra hazardous when drunk, even for a highly trained agent, but you manage to navigate your way to the sink to splash some water pulled from the frigid depths of the Seine on your face and stay upright long enough to strip off your clothes, leaving them in a heap where they fall. You grab a T-shirt from the back of a chair that you think is yours in your inebriated state, until you slip it on and realize the shoulders are far too wide and the hem is too long. It’s one of Dave’s, well worn and soft and you drank way too much alcohol tonight to bother trying to pretend that you don’t like the way it feels to wear his clothes. He’s not here anyway (where the fuck is he?) and you’ll take it off before he comes back.

You fall into the empty bed that’s not really big enough and yet it feels like it stretches on forever without someone else there to hog the blankets and tangle your feet with his. Your own gun stowed under the lump of a pillow and the taste of failure in the back of your throat more bitter than the booze, you close your eyes and drift off in a sea of regret that a monster walked free and innocents suffered, all because of you.

Your fault.

All your fault.

********

“Bonjour. Or should I say bonsoir, Mademoiselle.”

You’re awake at once, reaching for the gun under the pillow and closing your fingers around it just as the voice registers through your bitch of a hangover.

Dave.

Sitting up is made an Olympic sport both by your not full healed ribs and whoever’s playing the drums behind your eyes like a headliner at a death metal festival. Someone you manage it and crack open a lid to find your dick of a partner sitting in a chair next to the bed. It’s too small for him but somehow it doesn’t look awkward, he sits easily, comfortably, as far as you know he could have been there for hours. As you blink stupidly at him he leans forward and taps a fingertip against your lips.

“Open up, sweetheart.”

Taken completely off guard and too hungover to argue, you do as he asks without thinking. He pops two white pills on your tongue and hands you a glass of water.

“Drink,” he instructs, like he’s talking to a child. You resist the urge to scowl like one and swallow the pills down, chasing them with the water.

One secret about the CIA is that it has access to some really good drugs. Those weren’t aspirin, and it doesn’t take long for your headache to go away and the twinge in your ribs to fade so you can feel human again. Two things then happen at once, you remember why you were hungover in the first place and that you’re still wearing Dave’s T-shirt.

Three things, you clock what he just said. Bonsoir.

Not good morning. Good evening.

“What time is it?” you ask.

“Almost 1800 hours, Sleeping Beauty.”

Fuck. You slept almost the whole fucking day. You have a vague memory of stumbling to the bathroom again at some point and then falling back into bed afterwards, still alone with no sign of Dave anywhere. It’s probably not surprising that you crashed so hard, you’ve been running on nothing but coffee and sheer rage since Düsseldorf, but it feels wrong to have been sleeping when you should have been doing something, anything, to get justice for all of those girls.

Dave is watching you carefully and while his words were sarcastic, his tone wasn’t. He knows what you went through to bring Morozov in. He was right there the whole time, pouring over intel and CCTV footage with you, staking out meeting sites and infiltrating the underground clubs and back rooms where business was conducted by men who would have killed the both of you and not thought twice about it if there was the slightest hint of your cover being blown.

“They let him walk,” you say, more to yourself than him. “He fucking smiled at me, and he walked.”

Dave tosses a phone onto the faded comforter that offered no comfort the night before, without him in the bed beside you. “You have a message,” is all he says.

It’s not the burner phone you’ve been using for the mission, it’s your real phone. You pick it up and when you check the lock screen it shows a text notification. Your heart stops when you see it’s from Irina’s mother. You gave her your number, your real number, when you swore to get justice for her daughter, not the burner one that would be discarded and forgotten as soon as the job was over.

The flash of guilt that you failed them both is a gut-punch on an empty stomach that makes bile rise in your throat, acrid and sour, and then you see what she wrote.

Thank You!!!!

You look up from the message in sheer confusion and meet Dave’s eyes. He’s still watching you with what would look like nothing but cool detachment to anyone else, but you can see the laser focus of a sniper behind that dark gaze.

“Check out the BBC’s homepage,” is all he says.

That answers nothing until you go online and see the top story staring up at you from the screen.

SUSPECTED ARMS DEALER ARRESTED AT ST PANCRAS, accompanied by that same photo that’s clipped to the dossier you read over and over again every night like a fucked up bedtime story. A quick skim of the article reveals the important facts, Andrei “the Crow” Morozov, wanted by Interpol and half a dozen countries for a variety of crimes, had been found on the Eurostar when it arrived at St Pancras station in London from Paris a few hours prior, thanks to an anonymous tip received by the Metropolitan Police. He’d been discovered barely conscious and handcuffed to the pipes in a toilet that had been marked out of order. Morozov had been taken to an undisclosed hospital, where he was currently being treated for multiple broken ribs and other injuries while under reported guard by MI6. A list of his alleged offenses followed, including the trafficking of vulnerable women and girls from Eastern Europe into the sex trade.

You look up from the screen. “Multiple broken ribs?”

Dave’s face is perfectly calm, placid, his expression betraying no remorse for what he did. It was him, you know it in a heartbeat just as you know that he can put a bullet between someone’s eyes from a quarter mile away and what he looks like when he comes undone inside you.

“At least fifteen. Maybe more, it’s hard to be sure after the first dozen. One for Irina. One for Anna. One for Olga. One for all the other girls. The rest for you.”

Morozov had cracked two of your ribs, Dave had broken most of his in return and turned him over to MI6.

“They won’t let him walk too, will they?” you ask, fingers tightening around the phone. If the bastard walks again….

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. There’s not a speck of blood on his clothes, he could have just come back from a day playing well-heeled tourist at the Louvre instead of stuffing an internationally wanted criminal into a train car bathroom after breaking over a dozen of his ribs. Hiis expression is as serene and unaffected as the Mona Lisa’s, keeping his own secrets from everyone except you.

“Unlikely. Even if they wanted to his arrest was public thanks to the cops sending out a press release, it would make them look bad to just let him go. It also makes him completely worthless now as an asset, since if he did walk everyone would suspect he worked a deal to get out of the charges.”

Dave York is very, very good at what he does.

“And if they do,” he continues, unconcerned by the prospect, “well, he won’t get far.”

You know it’s true, because you know him.

“Everyone must be pissed,” you say, imagining the utter chaos that must be going on in the upper ranks. To catch and lose Morozov in the same day, publicly, no less, and to have him end up in custody of MI6. Publicly the CIA and MI6 were allies…privately they each had their own agendas that didn’t always align.

Dave’s facade cracks at last and reveals his amusement. “Oh, they are, baby. I was there when the call came in from London. The station chief was already on thin ice, he’s going to get demoted for this and sent to a far less desirable posting where he won’t be served fresh croissants for breakfast every morning. Thought he was going to have an aneurysm when he was on the phone to D.C, serves him right too, the fucking prick. Everyone else is scrambling to avoid the fallout.”

You cross your arms over the soft cotton of Dave’s T-shirt, annoyed that you forgot (didn’t want to) take it off. “Don’t call me baby. Do they have any suspects?”

Translation: Do they suspect you?

He shrugs again, still completely unconcerned. “Sure. Do they have the right suspect? No, and they won’t. Now as good as you look in nothing but my shirt, go make yourself pretty. We're going out for dinner, I worked up an appetite today and I’m not eating alone.”

Go make yourself pretty? He’s such an ass. You ignore the burn in your cheeks at his casual acknowledgement that the only thing you’re currently wearing is his T-shirt and throw a pillow at his head with deadly accuracy.

“Clock’s ticking, partner,” he says, catching it easily in one hand.

Well…you could go for some actual food to eat after the liquid dinner you had the night before. That’s what you tell yourself, anyway. You’re a CIA agent, you’re an excellent liar. Especially to yourself.

You don’t visit the Eiffel Tower or hold hands on a famous bridge or do anything soppy and romantic. You’re not dating. You’re two CIA agents who caught a very bad man, have barely eaten in the past week, and who fight like mortal enemies and fuck like rabbits. Sometimes both at the same time.

Dallas. The conference where you were chasing down members of a suspected South American terrorist group. You had a screaming argument while you were riding him, his large hands tight on your hips guiding you up and down even as he said you wouldn’t recognize good intel if it slapped you in the face and you called him a self-important jackass who thought he was God’s gift to intelligence and he could take his intel and shove it. You only stopped yelling at him when you came.

Three times.

Dave leads you to a nondescript restaurant off the tourist path, tucked away down a narrow street. The service is French, otherwise known as indifferent, the food is excellent, and while you’d sooner stab yourself with one of the steak knives than admit you made yourself pretty for him, the dress you pulled from your cover identity’s wardrobe is pretty by any objective definition of the word. It may not be a date, but it is dinner in Paris and you’re supposed to blend in while on assignment. It’s not for him.

Another lie you tell yourself.

Dave likes the dress, you can tell. He pulls your chair back like the gentleman he most definitely isn’t and his hands brush over your bare shoulders when you sit down, lingering for a moment against your skin. When the waiter finally deigns to appear Dave orders the braised short ribs without bothering to look at the menu, saying with a wink across the table that he’s got a craving.

You order them too, because fuck men who hurt women and enjoy it.

They’re fucking delicious.

You don’t feed each other dessert or stroll along the Seine afterwards looking at the lights. You do duck into an alley, because Paris is for lovers and for two CIA agents who got paired up unwillingly and drove each other crazy fighting before falling into bed and doing the exact same thing while fucking instead. Dave doesn’t kiss you when he presses you against an ancient wall that’s probably seen its fair share of forbidden trysts over the centuries, instead he sucks a mark into your neck that’ll bruise like your ribs from pleasure instead of pain, one hand shoved under your pretty dress and the heat from his body keeping you warm in a cold, unforgiving world.

“Here, baby?” he asks in a voice that echoes right between your legs, nuzzling and nipping at your skin with one hand at his belt ready to unbuckle and unzip. You’ve fucked him in alleys before, buzzing with adrenaline from a mission and riding high on success while riding each other hard. But not tonight, as easy as it would be to wrap your legs around his narrow waist and muffle your cries in his shoulder while he fucks you against the wall.

“No, not here.”

Not the safe house either, with its shitty mismatched furniture and the ghosts of CIA agents past lurking in the shadows. You find a hotel instead on a cobblestone street, the kind of thing tourists would book for its classic Parisian charm without considering the lack of an elevator. You don’t have any suitcases to lug up the stairs to your room, where Dave presses you against the door as soon as it’s closed, caging you in with both arms. You feel anything but trapped.

“You should have told me,” you say, hands flat on his chest and looking into those dark eyes. You should have told me those girls didn’t matter, you should have told me they were going to stab me in the back and make a deal with the devil, you should have told me!

“You should have known,” he retorts. You should have known they didn’t, you should have seen the knife before it struck, you should have known.

You’ve seen Dave flatter, flirt, and charm to get what he wants, but with you he doesn’t placate or sugarcoat his words. He’s also right, which you hate, you should have known and you would have if you hadn’t let it get personal.

“But,” he continues, head tipping down with a sigh, “yeah, I should have.”

“Me too.”

His admission deserves yours. You’re still going to be salty about it for a while though. Maybe until your ribs fully heal. The bruise is a sickly yellow now, the edges starting to blend back in with the surrounding skin. It’ll disappear eventually but you’ll always remember where it was, a souvenir of your trip instead of a fridge magnet or a keychain. Dave will remember too, he’ll remember examining it in another hotel room when it was the purple of overripe fruit, before winding an ace bandage around your middle with his mouth set in a thin line. His fury had been silent, as quiet as the moment of calm before the storm, while his hands were careful, gentle even, for a man who could and did kill with them his touch had been delicate and feather-light.

Yours hadn’t been, when you jerked him off afterwards with rough strokes that made his silence turn to deep groans as his hips rolled with the movement of your hand. It wasn’t quid pro quo, you just needed to do something to deal with the frustration and that always ended with doing him. He couldn’t reciprocate, not then, not for a while, couldn’t make you come with his fingers or mouth or cock, not when it hurt just to breathe, let alone have an orgasm. Or three.

Now though, he strips the pretty dress from your body with far too much efficiency for a government employee and grazes fingers across the still-marred skin. Somewhere in London there’s a man lying in a hospital bed with his whole torso turned black and blue because he did this to you. You know the only reason Morozov isn’t dead at the bottom of the Seine is because you wanted him to rot in a cell for the rest of his life instead. Dave would have killed him otherwise. Fifteen broken ribs was him showing restraint.

You lift his hand to your mouth and suck on his finger, wrapping your lips around it. The backs of his knuckles are faintly bruised, a match to yours. He’s still fully dressed in charcoal trousers and an army green sweater. The man wears clothes beautifully, something you used to find irritating. He looks even better naked, something you also used to find irritating.

Dave replaces his finger with his lips, reaching down and hoisting your legs around his waist to carry you to bed like he carried you in Düsseldorf after Morozov caught you in the side with a tire iron. You fall back to the mattress and he stops kissing you only long enough to yank the sweater and T-shirt underneath over his head before he’s on you again, nipping the underside of your jaw while his hands roam the length of your body and push your thighs apart. You’ve been wet and ready since the alley, since dinner, since you made yourself pretty (for him) and his fingers find no resistance between your thighs despite how long and thick they are. Just the slightest touch has you trembling, clutching at his arms and legs widening in silent invitation.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, quickly shoving his pants and underwear both down with his other hand so that he’s wonderfully, gloriously naked. “What do you want? What do you need, baby? My fingers? My mouth? This?”

He’s got his cock in his fist, rubbing it up and down your slick heat without letting it slip inside. It’s difficult to breathe, but not because of your rib this time.

“Yes,” you moan, lifting your hips to try to line him up with where you need him. It doesn’t work, the bastard keeps himself just out of reach.

“Hmm,” he chides, breath hot against your skin as he trails his lips down your neck and across the tops of your breasts. “Even I’m not capable of using all of them at once on your lovely pink cunt. You have to choose. Tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you.”

You want his smart mouth to eat you out, and not just because he’ll finally stop talking. You want his long fingers pumping deep. You need his thick cock to fill you, to fuck you, to find every last sweet spot the way only he can and absolutely ruin you.

“Dave?”

He looks up and meets your gaze. “Yes, baby?”

“Fuck me with that big dick you’re so fucking proud of until I can’t fucking walk, and then do it again.”

He smiles, showing his teeth. It’s the smile of a man who just got handed exactly what he wanted on a silver platter and you’re too needy and desperate to care. He leans down and presses a kiss to the tip of your nose, a sweet gesture from a man who’s capable of such shocking violence. But then again, so are you.

“There now, was that so difficult? All you ever have to do is ask.”

It’s getting less and less difficult, with Dave. He’ll give you what you want, what you need, you know he will.

His hips thrust and his aim is as accurate as it is with his sniper rifle, precise and true. He buries himself inside of you and adjusts his trajectory as he goes to follow the arch of your back and the tilt of your hips as you take him all the way in a hot slide that pushes the air from your lungs as he fills you with him instead. Your nails dig into his shoulders to carve your name into his skin in cuneiforms of lines and half-moons, an encryption only the two of you can decipher. He rests his forehead on yours, weight braced on his arms, breathing more heavily than he ever would while sighting a target, giving you both a moment to adjust before he does what you asks and fucks you. It’s hard, it’s fast, it makes your toes curl into the hotel sheets and your pulse race under his mouth when he presses it to your neck and whispers hot against your skin.

“That’s it, baby, taking me so well. So fucking deep. How? How is it always this fucking good, drives me fucking crazy.”

You wrap your legs tight around his waist, tug on his hair, run your nails down his back and scrape your teeth against his jaw like you’re lighting a match. All the things that you know drive him fucking crazy. He lifts you with an arm under your lower back like you weigh nothing, changing the angle to that one that’s like gasoline on a flame and pulling a high-pitched cry from your throat that he echoes with his own deep groan. You hate that he’s the only one who’s ever done this, fucked you like it would be a war crime to stop. His hips move in a rapid-fire tempo, unrelenting, cock a piston, impossibly thick and hard as it drives into you again and again and again. You can’t stop any of the noises that escape you, the cries, the moans, the desperate pleas, the yes, yes, more, please, more and your only consolation is that neither can he with his grunts and growls and fuck, yes baby, yes, take it, fuck!

Dave yanks you against him with those large hands, holding you flush to his hips, and grinds instead of thrusts. The effect is immediate, your thighs tremble, your stomach tightens, your nerves sing as he hits every sweet spot inside you at once and lights them all up like Times Square. You clutch at him helplessly, jaw dropping with a silent scream that he hears nonetheless.

“Let go, baby, let go.”

It’s not an order, it’s a plea from a man who wouldn’t beg for mercy under torture and it breaks you instead. You let it all go and fall over the edge, keeping him locked tight inside and bringing him with you.

You’re partners, after all.

He groans, giving a final, dirty grind of his hips. A lock of dark hair falls on his forehead and his broad chest is covered with a faint sheen of sweat as he shudders through his own climax until he finally collapses down

Dave groans, giving a final, dirty grind of his hips, a lock of dark hair falling on his forehead and a faint sheen of sweat on his broad chest as he shudders through his climax and collapses down into your arms. You run fingers through his damp hair, his weight pinning you to the mattress and holding you fast. You’re not going anywhere, not this time.

Afterwards he lays next to you with his long limbs stretched out on the bed, naked, skin marked in places from his time in the service. Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country. At what cost though?

“I can hear you thinking, baby.”

You flick him on the shoulder. “Don’t call me baby,” you say, but there’s no bite to the words. He never does in front of other agents or contacts. A cocky young field agent called you “sweetheart” once in a briefing and lived to regret it. Dave had watched you sharpen your tongue on the man and run him right through with it as you tore his piss-poor interpretation of the data to shreds. Then he told the analyst to get you a coffee and to take notes silently for the rest of the briefing.

That night in bed with him you were sweetheart and baby and darling and sugar, each ridiculous endearment teased into your skin and whispered in your ear, until you finally shut him up with your mouth and ignored the point he was making. No one else gets to call you those things, only him.

In another bed you stare up at the plaster ceiling with its graceful antique fixture and feel his eyes on you. I can hear you thinking. Even the sex wasn’t enough to quiet the thoughts in your head tonight.

“How do you-“ you start, and stop, not sure if you really want to go down this particular road. Dave waits with a sniper’s patience, going even more silent and still beside you. “How do you make it not be…personal?” you ask the one man who won’t lie to you.

Irina. Anna. Olga. You would have shot Morozov through the heart despite the orders to take him alive if you’d known they were going to let him walk, and ruined your career in the process.

“Who says I do?”

Dave puts his fingers under your chin, turns you to face him and brushes a thumb over your lips. His eyes are dark and hooded, the eyes of a trained killer, a man more dangerous than any two-bit arms dealer and the one you let into your bed. He looks at you and sees what other men would miss, that even though you’re naked and flushed you’re still so, so angry.

“If you take nothing else from me ever again, take this piece of advice. Don’t work for the CIA.”

“Kinda late for that,” you interrupt with a roll of your eyes.

His thumb presses back against your lips. “Hush now and listen. Don’t work for them, make them work for you. The intel, the equipment, the slush funds, take it all and use it. Put men like Morozov in prison when they won’t. Because you’re not the kind of agent who won’t let it become personal.”

From anyone else you would have taken it as an insult, the first rule of intelligence work is compartmentalization. It can’t be personal. It’s just supposed to be names on a list and numbers on a page. Let bad men walk to catch worse ones. Collateral damage is a given, whether it’s a few cracked ribs or some broken girls.

“That sounds…” a number of different things go through your mind, starting with the fact that it sounds very much like treason, but you settle on one word, “…dangerous.”

Dave drags his thumb along your jaw. “The best things in life always are. Now, I believe you told me to fuck you with this big dick I’m so fucking proud of until you couldn’t walk, and then to do it again. And you know I always follow orders.”

You know he doesn’t, Dave York gets results like no other agent, but that’s not the same thing as following orders. He only follows the ones he wants to.

He rolls easily on top of you, making space for himself between your thighs. He’s making space for himself in others places too, something you wouldn’t acknowledge under torture. This is all you’ll allow yourself, to run your hands down his broad back to where it narrows at the waist, muscles rippling and flexing under your touch while the rapidly hardening line of his erection is hot against the crease where your thigh turns to hip.

“Is this what you want?” he asks, voice low and rough. One hand goes under your knee, pushes it back, opening you up. You’re still aching, still needing more, as wet as he is hard, and while his fingers can drive you crazy and his smart mouth never looks better than when it’s fitted snugly between your legs, what you want, what you need, is for him to break you into the mattress again until you shatter completely.

“Baby-“

You pull his head down to kiss him silent, kiss him deeply, kiss the man who’s gone to hell and back with you and would do it all again tomorrow. He pushes inside with a grunt, not making you beg any more than you’ve already done. This time he sinks down into you, warm and thick like honey, chest against your breasts, face buried in your neck, and fucks you with steady rolls golf his hips that you feel all the way down to your toes. It’s slower this time, less frantic, a more gradual build under your skin. Dave’s pace never falters, you feel that he would do this all night long if you asked. A hotel bed in Paris, an alley in Boston, in the back of a car, in a field, Dallas, Monte Carlo, Düsseldorf, Jakarta, you’ve fucked and fought your way around the world with Dave. You’re not dating, you don’t go to the movies on Saturday nights or argue over whose turn it is to do the dishes, there’s just this. Mission completed, Morozov file closed, new assignment in the morning.

What happens in the hours between stays there. It has to. You’re already compromised enough.

Dave groans, his hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together against the mattress. You keep your legs locked around him, thighs wrapped tight over his hips. Everything else fades away, there’s nothing except him on top of you, inside you, doing what you asked and fucking you until you tighten around him and cry out, shuddering through another orgasm. He doesn’t stop, the bastard just keeps going with a quick kiss to your temple as he fucks you through it and starts working you up again.

“One more,” he pants, shifting his hips. “Need you to come on my big dick one more time for me.”

You let out a huff of a laugh that turns into a bitten-off moan as he finds that blissful angle again, because his big dick is doing a hell of a job getting you there. The thick drag of it is more delicious than any fancy French dessert, sparking across over-sensitive nerves and hitting that spot buried deep in you on each stroke. You gasp and clutch at sweat-slicked skin, Dave fucks you and fucks you and fucks you, until you can’t take it anymore and fall apart in his arms. Even then he doesn’t give in immediately, drawing it out like the final note as he plays you as expertly as a concert pianist. That part of you that secretly wonders if he’s just been playing you the whole time is silent, drowned out by the hot rush as he floods you with warmth while you’re still quivering, pulsing hot to the same rhythm until you’re both fully spent.

After a few long, blissful moments where neither of you move or speak, Dave stirs first.

“Can you walk?” he asks. It’s not a rhetorical question. Fuck me with that big dick you’re so fucking proud of until I can’t fucking walk, and then do it again.

You’re tempted to lie, you’re so tempted because the absolute last thing Dave York needs is an ego boost. You’ll give him this, though, he earned it tonight.

“No,” you mumble, and wait for the inevitable smug, smart-ass remark. It doesn’t come, there’s only a quiet hum from him as you stroke fingers over his damp hair. His large hand splays over your ribs, covering what’s left of the bruising. It could have been worse, you could have run into that building and not come back out again. You got off easy with two cracked ribs, relatively speaking.

This job, this life, is dangerous. It wasn’t the first close call and it won’t be the last. You know it. Dave knows it.

Sleep is a luxury now, alongside regular meals, relationships that aren’t built on half-truths and lies, and downtime. It steals up on you, eyes closing against the anonymous room that you’ll never see again after this night, in a city that’s just another name on a map. There’s a faint rustle of sheets, and a warm body that settles next to you with a brush of lips to your cheek.

Whatever comes next, Dave York will be by your side.

Your partner.

(yours)

[pascalsimp1479]

You're my ass

Javier Peña x fem reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, mentions of murder

Description: Javi witnessed something he'd rather forget and said some things he'd rather take back. now he's just trying to make up for it. No mentions of y/n

Word count: 2.5k words

“Hola mi amor.” Javi greeted you with a tender kiss on your cheek. 

“Hey.” You smiled as you joined him at his desk “got one of those for me?” You gestured to the crowd, cigarette in his hand. He handed you the one already lit before lighting his own.

“Are you finished for the day?” He asks with the dumb  smile only you got to see.

“Yup, I was thinking I could head to the store and get some things for a good meal. What do you say?” You lean over his desk revealing just slightly too much of your chest, your outfit was practical for work l but you loved teasing Javi at work, it always made him so desperate for you. He never complained either.

“Is the meal really necessary? I have one right here.” He bit his bottom lip as his eyes scanned your body, fixing indefinitely to your chest.

“How does Arepas sound?” You blush as he takes your hand and plays with your fingers 

“Whatever you want, baby, I just have to go with Carrillo to hunt down some of Pablo’s spies later on.” He said taking a long drag of his cigarette.

“Okay then, but make sure you’re careful, last time i was in that area was to clean up the mess of another narcos shootout.” You say in a worried tone, ever since Carrillo had returned police and the neighbouring cartel had been having shootouts all around the city and every time Javier returned even the slightest bit late your mind always assumed the worse.

“¿no te preocupes estaré bien? I’ll be fine.” He smiled

“I know but promise me you won’t make any ‘heroic decisions’” 

“Baby, when have I ever done that?” He smirked sarcastically 

“¿sabes que el sarcasmo te pone como un idiota? You know sarcasm makes you sound like an ass.” You joke as you walk away.

“You know you love me.” He yelled 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” 

……..

You loved cooking colombian dishes, they were far better than anything you had ever made back in the states. Once the government got closer to Escobar and realised that the Us government were actually a big help, you were assigned to the DEA and that's when you met him. You were paired with agent Peña and Murphy on day to watch a suspected deal go down, you had taken shifts in watching in pairs while the other slept and to pass the time Javier tried and somewhat managed to teach you some spanish, it wasn’t perfect but it got you alot further then if you could only say hello and thank you. 

And after weeks of trying your best not to fall for his charm like pretty much every other girl in Bogotá, you finally succumbed. But unlike with every other girl Javier was crazy about you and he could never understand why, all he knew was that his body craved you and his mind longed for you. And that's what made him stay, he was yours and you were his.

It was about 8:30 that night when Javi burst through the apartment door, slamming it behind him as he threw his badge and keys on the counter top. He didn’t stop to kiss your cheek or steal the food that was being prepared. He took a bottle of bourbon and hid on the balcony, ignoring your existence and lighting a cigarette.

“Javi? Is everything okay?” You put down the food and follow him outside. He didn’t say anything, he kept his eyes on the city and took a drink from his glass. “The food is almost ready.” You add hoping to get an answer, to which he just continued to drink. “¿javi estas bien, que paso? Javi, are you okay, what happened?” 

“I’m fine” he said quietly, visibly annoyed 

“The food is ready” you repeat again

“¿No tengo hambre, está bien, por el amor de Dios, déjame en paz, mujer?” He shouted, throwing his cigarette off the balcony.

“You no I can’t understand you when you shout. Don’t fucking start. I spent hours making all this.” You yell back

“I said just leave me the fuck alone, i’m not hungry.” He huffed and then looked away and lit another cigarette.

“¿Vete a la mierda entonces? Fuck you then” you say leaving him to the balcony to continue his sulk. You spent the rest of the night in silence, watching him sit on the balcony as you ate, you could tell whatever job he had with Carrillo had really gotten to him. He never liked to talk about what he did with Carrillo but word travels round the office. You want Javi to know he could talk to you, but because of the way he spoke to you, your stubbornness made you give him the silent treatment. It was around 4am when you felt another body enter the bed, you turned over and pretend to be asleep until you felt his arms wrap around your waist and lips press into you neck.

“Is this your way of apologising?” You pull away and turn to him.

“¿Lo lamento? I’m sorry.” He said, his tone sounding genuine 

“What happened out there?” You ask

“It doesn’t matter.” He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling 

“It obviously does if its making you act like this.” You say resting on his chest 

“I promise I’m fine ¿no volverá a suceder? It won’t happen again” his kissed your head and wrapped his arm around you.

“¿Javi por favor dime, estoy aquí para ti? Javi please tell me, i'm here for you” you gazed into his big brown eyes giving your best puppy dog look , he sighed and began to open up.

“We rounded up some of the spies Pablo had been using to get theough the city ¿Ellos donde solo niños realmente? They where just kids really” he gluped and gripped your shoulder tightly 

“What happened, its okay.” You encouraged him

“One of the kids tried to mouth off on us. Carrillo held his gun out to one of them, thought he was just gonna   threaten him. He just pulled the trigger. Didn’t even think about it.” His breath hitched slightly 

“¿que haces? What did you do?” 

“Nothing, that's the problem, i just stood and watched” he sighed “and it makes me wonder, are we actually on the good team.” You look at him concerned, you never knew he was bottling this up

“Mi amour, of course we are. Carrillo shouldn’t have done that. He’s let his hatred for Escobar get too far.” You say kissing his cheek

“It will probably get swept under the rug.” He says 

“You have to tell me when these things bother you, its not good to bottle it up.”

“I know” he grips your waist

“¿lo digo en serio Javier? I mean it Javier” you look at him sterlny hopi g to avoid issues like this in the future. He just smiles and tumbs your cheek. “Have you eaten?” You say with a smile

“I told you baby, you’re all the food I need.” He began kissing an nibbling at your neck causing you to let out a giggle and a sigh of pleasure. You spun yourself around, straddling his waist and locking it in with your thighs. His hands began to play with the fat of your ass as you began rocking yourself against him, kissing his neck. He welcomed this touch by helping set the pace with his arms

“Fuck baby feels so good” he purred, he slifterd you shirt over you head and began kneeding your boobs, pinching the nipples. He sat up so he could lavish your chest in kisses as you continued to grind on him, the slick beginning to soak through your pantys and onto his boxer shorts. “You gonna let me taste you?” He smirked as he pinned you under him.

He slid his hand down your abdomen using his thumb to tapp delicately over your clothed cunteasing you.

“Javi please i need you.” You whimpered 

“Need what? Tell me” he asked

“You, touch me please” you begged 

“¿si eso es lo que quieres bebe? If thats what you want baby” you lifted your waist allowing him to pull the panties of, then he began his work. He kept his hands gripping on your thighs, parting your legs allowing him to leave a trail of kisses to you sweet spot where he stopped for a moment to make sure you were looking so he could watch your face when he licked that first stripe up your cunt.

“Fuck” you twitched at the sensation of him tucking in, tounge fucking you, the vibrations of his groans adding to the pleasure. He licked and sucked at your clit, he kept pressure on your thighs knowing you would often squeeze them together at the overstimulation he brought you. His movements caused a sensation of reactions throughout you body, coils tightening and loosening dieing to reach the feel of release tightening at the sensation of his tongue pushing its way into you. He pulled back for a moment to the admire the wetness he had created, still keeping his fingers circulating around your clit. “Fuck baby, got you all wet you gonna cum for me?” 

“Sí, Sí Javi” you groaned “¿tócame más por favor? Touch me more please.” You grinded into his touch, whimpering as you felt him dive in again. You could feel the knot beginning to loosen as he worked, you snake your hand through his thick dark hair pushing him In further.

“You gonna cum huh?” He mumbled between your folds

“Sí, sí fuck!” You cry as your body releases the knot and your body relaxes around you, with javi’s tongue making sure he gets you to completion.

“God damn baby” Javi smiles and sits up admiring the state he had left you, licking his fingers clean “¿Tan dulce? So sweet” you sit up on your elbows admiring the man man knelt infront of you, before you lean forward trailing your hand along the ever growing bulge of his boxers.

“Are you going to let me have my dessert?” You ask

“Be my guest.” He smirked. You continued your approach, pulling down his boxers and discarding them easily. You take him into his hand and pump him while you press kisses along his pelvis. You kiss his shaft moving upwards towards his tip, he releases a sigh of pleasure as your tongue edges around him. You carry this on for a while, enough to frustrate him., he grabs your chin and pushes his thumb into your mouth to which you began to suck on.

“¿No seas tan molesto bebé? Don’t be such a tease baby.” He bit his bottom lip as you released his thumb with a pop and moved towards his cock. You wrap your hand around his base and take his tip into your mouth and swirl your tongue around him. You push down further, swallowing as much as you can gagging slightly at his thickness, the noise he made was pornographic making the wetness between your thighs grow.  You bob your head up and down, sinking as far down as you can, moaning and making vibrations only adding to the pleasure. He hissed as you hand moved down from his base to his balls, cupping and massaging them as you sucked. He grabbed the back of your head, balling your hair and moving you up and down. “Fuck, calm down I don’t wanna cum yet.”

You moved up again, moaning as the salty taste of pre-cum hit your tongue. You swallowed happily looking up at him and watching the way he melted at your touch. He mouthed curse words and closed his eyes, wiping the sweat forming at his brow as you bobbed up and down. You felt the muscles in his butt begin to flex and he pulled you off him leaving a trail of saliva connecting his cock to your mouth. “Not yet.” He managed to speak out breathlessly 

“¿Cómo me quieres? How do you want me?” You ask leaning back on your elbows.

“¿Recuéstate boca abajo? Lay on your stomach” he demands and you follow, spreading your legs slightly so he could see you fully. He hummed and livked his fingers and began rubbing your entrance. “Still so perfect, you want me huh?” His tone deepened and his eyes became full of lust.

“Yes.” You moaned

“¿dilo apropiadamente? Say it properly” he ordered 

“¿Sí, Javi, lo quiero mucho, te necesito, fóllame por favor. Yes Javi, i want it bad i need you, fuck me please.” You begged “Javi- please I-“ he cut you off thrusting hard into you, the skin on skin sound echoing through the room. You muffled your whimpers into the mattress as he worked, pounding hard and pulling you close to him and wrapping his arm around your neck.

“Don’t silence yourself, you know I like it.” He whispered into your ear. You were both up on your knees, making it easier for him to to scrape along your g-spot.

“¿Oh Dios. si, por favor, mierda? Oh god, yes, please” you cried out.

“¿Carajo me encanta cuando hablas español? fuck I love it when you speak spanish.” He kissed your cheek and groaned of the sensation of your pussy clenching around him.

“¿oh mierda, me voy a correr joder? Oh shit I'm gonna cum.” You cried out, he understood the assignment and pounded into you harder pulling you closer reducing the distance between you. The coil releases itself around his cock again adding to the slick he was creating. Your orgasm lit a match within him, bringing him closer to his release. He pushed you down onto the bed where he pushed his hands on your lower back giving him the perfect angle to push into you all the way to the hilt. 

“¿joder bebé, eres tan apretado, vas a hacer que lo pierda. mierda? fuck baby you're so tight, you're gonna make me lose it. shit.” His hips began to stutter as his thick white ropes pumped into you. He collapsed over you while you both panted, the sweat causing your skin to stick to each other. “Pretty good meal baby.” He moved off and walked into the next room.

“Thanks mi amor.” You replied, he came back with a washcloth and wiped your legs clean.

“I’m really sorry about earlier” he climbed into the bed and pulled you towards him.

“I don’t doubt it, this city is full of people who want to kill Escobar. And a lot of them will do anything to get to him, even Carrillo.” He hummed and kissed your head 

“I’m gonna take tomorrow off, I can’t promise I'll act professionally around him.” He says lighting a cigarette 

“Or is it because you don’t want Murphy to see that you have a heart?” You laugh taking a drag from his cigarette.

“¿Tienes suerte te amo o estarías en problemas? You’re lucky I love you, or you’d be in trouble.” He did a fake laugh and took the cigarette from your hand.

“¿eres un asno? You’re an ass.” You laugh

“¿si pero soy tu culo? Yeah, but I'm your ass.”

[negativeyield]

i came from ur greenout fic and u officially gave me soft ghoul comfort brain worms so soooo happy ur doing prompts. the worms must be fed

"this is the moment of just letting go" with Rain having insomnia and getting help from Swiss or Dew??

anon i could kiss you on the lips this is DELICIOUS -- from this prompt list

the dark's not taking prisoners tonight

Hitting sixty-six hours without sleep was a new record Rain had not tried to break.

He couldn’t figure out what the fucking problem was.

Rain was exhausted. Eyes heavy, brain slow. Supplements like melatonin had little effect on ghouls, but he tried it anyway. When that didn’t work, he downed some sleeping pills that only succeeded in making him see shadows that weren’t actually there— effectively scaring him into staying awake even longer.

He’d had bouts of insomnia before. Especially when they were timezone hopping on tour and his internal clock got majorly fucked. Rain would go through the usual channels: turning off any electronics, putting on some white noise, popping a sleeping pill for good measure. Sometimes he’d hit the gym a little harder to tire himself out.

Usually, these things worked.

Ironically, the only time he managed to get anywhere near sleep was in the middle of band practice. They were taking five while Mountain ran back to his room to get extra drumsticks after snapping his last spare. Most of them took that as their cue to grab a snack or go to the bathroom. Rain didn’t have the energy to do anything else but sit right where he was standing. One thing led to another, and suddenly his body was pitching backward.

Rain flailed, his reflexes grossly failing him. Luckily, he was swooped into someone’s arms before smacking his head into Moutain’s kit.

“Rain?” it was Swiss who caught him, pushing him back up to a sitting position before dropping to his knees in front of him, placing a hand on Rain’s shoulder. “You okay?”

Rain was disoriented. Head sleepy, heart beating rapidly as the adrenaline pushed its way through the overwhelming desire to lie down. He shook it off, nodding at Swiss.

“Yeah I… just guess… I.. uh,” the more Rain spoke gibberish, the more worried crossed Swiss’s face. Incoming footsteps and the anxiety of everyone seeing him like this seemed to snap Rain’s brain back into somewhat decent shape, and he managed to speak fluently. “Got a little dizzy, I guess.”

The footsteps turned out to be Dew downing the rest of a soda as he entered. His eyes fell on the two ghouls on the ground and he looked at them curiously.

“Having a picnic, boys?”

Before Rain could say anything, Swiss interjected. “Something’s wrong with Rainy.”

Dammit Swiss.

“What?” Dew’s mood immediately shifted. He hurried over while Swiss felt Rain’s forehead. “Are you sick?”

“No, I just—”

“He was sitting there and randomly went limp.”

“I got a little dizzy,” Rain argued, getting defensive even though he was lying, “I went to lie back and lost my balance.”

“Lost your balance while sitting down, huh?” Dew didn’t seem convinced. He seemed to have a particular talent for reading through his bullshit.

“I guess. Probably just need some water, I’ll be fine.”

Rain could feel Swiss staring at him. He turned to the multi-ghoul, who was intensely looking Rain up and down. “Want to tell us the last time you slept, Rain?”

Perceptive motherfucker. Sometimes he forgot Swiss had some quintessence in him.

“Uhhhh, three…” he messed up the division, counting again on his fingers. “Or four—”

“Fucking hell, Rain,” Dew looked at Swiss and then grabbed Rain’s hand. “You’re going to bed right now.”

“But we’re in the middle of—”

“The only thing we’re in the middle of your nap time. Swiss, take him to his room. I’ll meet you there after I talk to Papa.”

Swiss nodded, grabbing Rain’s forearm and basically pulling him to his feet against his protests. He didn’t have enough energy to fight the multighoul as he was led out of the practice room and toward the sleeping quarters.

However, that didn’t mean Rain wasn’t cognoscent enough to fight him verbally.

“I’m not a child, Swiss, I can go to bed myself,” he twisted out of Swiss’s grip, crossing his arms over his chest. Swiss, uncharacteristically, said nothing in response. “We really didn’t need to stop practice for this!” Silence. “It’s not like I didn’t try to sleep all those nights. I did. I tried everything.” Nothing. They reached Rain’s room and he whirled around at the blank-faced ghoul. “Are you going to fucking say anything?”

Swiss looked at him, sighing.

“You get pissy when you’re sleep-deprived.”

“Fuck you.”

“Maybe after you have a nap, Sleeping Beauty,” he said with a wink that was at least more in-character. Swiss reached around him, opening the door. “After you.”

Rain switched into a lightweight pair of pajama pants and an undershirt and laid down on his bed. Despite being tired enough to fall asleep sitting up in the practice room, here he felt wide awake again. It frustrated him enough that tears started to well up in his eyes, which was quickly noticed by Swiss.

“Rainy, what is it?” his voice was soft. Not mocking. Swiss reached out for him, and Rain decided he wanted the comfort. He grabbed Swiss’s hand and tugged weakly. The multi-ghoul laid down beside him and Rain immediately curled into him.

“I’m so tired,” he cried into his chest. The agony of being awake for so long was finally coming to a head. Swiss just rubbed his back in soothing circles as sobs racked his body. Rain was so out of sorts, he hardly noticed when the bed dipped under Dew’s weight. He took his place on Rain’s other side, entrapping him between Swiss’s tight embrace and the natural warmth of a fire ghoul.

“What do you think is keeping you up?” Dew asked gently once Rain’s sobs subsided into a dull numbness.

“I don’t know,” he shook his head, nuzzling into Swiss’s shoulder. “It’s like my mind won’t stop long enough.”

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing! Stupid shit. How much it sucks to not be sleeping, usually. Deciding who would be willing to punch me in the head just to knock me out for a little while.”

“Cirrus, probably,” Swiss muttered. Rain could feel Dew shift, probably to deliver a dirty look. “Trust me, she pents that shit—”

“You’re in a cycle, Rain,” Dew interrupted. “Not sleeping, getting anxious about not sleeping, not sleeping because you’re anxious about not sleeping— we gotta break the cycle somehow.”

“You know when my mind is usually the blankest?” Swiss said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. “After I—”

“That is a last resort,” Dew swatted at him.

“It could work, though,” Swiss argued. Rain hated to agree with Swiss being a horny bastard, but it wasn’t the worst idea.

“It could also rile him up!” Dew also made a fair point.

“Only if you can’t get him there.”

“I fucking swear Swiss. Your name is carved into my last fucking nerve.”

“Does the carving say ‘Swiss + Dew forever’ in a cute little heart?”

“Only in your dreams.”

They continued to argue. Rain had a feeling it wasn’t ending anytime soon. He settled into the crook of Swiss’s shoulder, listening to the steady beat of his heart. With Dew’s warmth and the pressure of his limbs on Rain, he started to feel heavy. Swiss and Dew’s voices grew distant. It wasn’t long before he had a moment of awareness that he was finally slipping into sleep.

And he let go.

[things-arent-what-they-seem66]

Okay!!! Have you seen that meme going around? Where a somebody took a photo of themself and their partner in bed together, their partner is ignoring them in favour of cuddling a massive plushie?

Ah yes. Me, my girlfriend and her 500 dollar four foot tall mareep- meme

Wellll

On Hell-net! Lucifer updates his feed with a photo.

Lucifer his laying on his back with a pout, his eyes are half-lidded.

Lucifer: Ah yes. Me, my husband and his 2500 dolled six foot tall ‘Luci-duck’ plushie.

Comments come pouring in

Charlie: Awww!!! That plushie is so cute!!!

Vaggie: where’d he get it ? (Maybe she can get a Charlie version)

Husk: I feel your pain

Angel Dust likes the comment and leaves a comment underneath: Don’t get jealous, I love you almost just as much. - Angel has a husk plushie too!

Angel Dust: Don’t worry big D! He’ll still give you some loving tonight! Just be as cute!

Lucifer likes the comment and leaves a comment underneath: Unfortunately he told me not to interrupt his ‘Luci-duckies’ time.

Cherri bomb: Shit dude! I actually bad for yah! I can help you burn it if you want?

Lucifer likes the comment and leaves a comment underneath: I’ve tried before. Adam couched me for a month and Charlie betrayed me - starts a mini conversation underneath with Vaggie excited that Charlie knows where the plushies come from and Charlie scolding both cherri and lucifer for thinking about burning Adams second plushie

Alastor: Ah I see he’s upgraded from a whiny little bitch (Lucifer comments underneath: Fuck off! That thing would never replace me!

Alastor responds: Seems he already has)

A few hours later…

Adam finally posts and he isn’t happy: The fuck Luci! You’re being a hypocrite! You have a fucking 5000+ dolled ten foot tall ‘Adam-duck’ plushie!

Charlie: What! Is this true!

Angel Dust: Post the pics or it isn’t true

Adam: Look at this shit! And he has the nerve to attack my Luci-Duck!!

Adam uploads a photo with Lucifer snuggled into a ten foot Adam-Duck plushie with mountains of smaller Adam plushies around him. Not all of them are ducks

Adam: Look at this! I only have the one Lucifer merchandise!

Lucifer: Adam! Don’t expose me like that!!!!

Angel Dust: Adam, let’s go Lucifer merchandise shopping tomorrow!

Adam: Fuck yeah

Lucifer: Adam!!! Stop ignoring me! We live in the same damn house, we share a room!!! Put the phone down and look at me!!!

Cherri Bomb: Huh, who knew the King was such a clinging lover?

Angel Dust: I know right. It’s actually really cute

Few hours later…

Lucifer: Adam!!!! Come on!!!! Please stop ignoring me already! I won’t ever hurt your Luci-Duck ever again!

Adam: I love my Luci-Duck even more now

Lucifer: I’m sorrrrrryyyyyyyyy!!!!

I love the fact that they have merchandise and buy each other's LMAO

Yes I've seen that meme and I love it.

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #102

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!

Reggie barged in unannounced as Clint sat on the couch with his laptop, drafting an email.

“Clint! Clint! You’re not gonna believe this!”

“What?”

“They’re back!” He dumped a grocery bag onto the coffee table, forming a mountain of snacks.

“Oh my God,” Clint said, sorting through the pile. He pulled out a flat, rigid package. “Cereal Straws! I always loved these!”

“And Oreo Cakesters! Remember them?”

“Yeah, weren’t they banned for being full of trans fat?”

“I think so, yeah,” he took a large bite of one. “But I’m pretty sure they just use palm oil now.”

“Nice!” Clint crunched into a Froot Loop Straw. “This takes me back, man. Even the way it coats the roof of my mouth in some kinda wax.”

“For real, dude. Classic.”

Clint searched the pile again. “Hey, weren’t there any of the Apple Jacks ones? Those were my favorite.”

“Sorry, I didn’t see any.”

“The Cocoa Krispies ones weren’t even that good. Why’d they bring back those instead of the Apple Jacks ones?”

Reggie shrugged.

Clint leaned back and pondered. “You know what I wish they’d bring back? Yogos. Remember those?”

“Aw, hell yeah! Those were the best! My mom used to put them in my lunch every day back in Elementary school. But you know what was even better?”

“What?”

“Chocodiles.”

“Never heard of ‘em.”

“You - what?!? Bro, you missed out! Okay, listen, basically it’s a Twinkie, right? But they cover it in chocolate.”

“So?”

“It stays moist, man! The chocolate holds in all the moisture so it doesn’t get stale!”

“Don’t Twinkies last forever?”

“That’s a myth. They start going stale right out of the factory. But Chocodiles don’t. They were goddamn magic. I’d kill for one right now.”

“So… they’re like, your chocolate-covered white whale, huh?”

“Pretty much.”

“I get it. Life hasn’t been the same for me since Altoids Sours were discontinued.”

“Now that I think about it, though…” Reggie stared off into the distance. “There was one snack that really had an impact on me.”

“What was it?”

“Goldfish-flavored Goldfish.”

“You mean… the original flavor? The plain ones? They still make those.”

“No. Goldfish-flavored. They tasted like goldfish. Like the pet, the actual fish.”

Clint grimaced and squinted at Reggie. “You’re fucking with me, right?”any

“No. No, I definitely had them. My mom got them for me after my goldfish died. She said we had to mail him to the Pepperidge Farm upstate so they could turn him into crackers. So he could live forever inside me.”

Clint muttered under his breath. “What the fuck…”

“The crackers came in a package shaped like a coffin. But it was made out of paper, and it had that foil on the inside - you know the foil, right? On the inside of a bag of Goldfish?”

Clint nodded, his eyes wide.

“I opened the package and the first thing I remember was the smell. That smell will stick with me for the rest of my days. It’s almost like walking into a fish market, or a sushi restaurant, but with something else mixed in. Maybe the flour, or the riboflavin…”

“Death?” Clint asked.

“Maybe. Anyway… I ate the whole package, then and there. It took me an hour. My mom wouldn’t let me have water, because she said it might wake him up inside my belly if I drank it. And we couldn’t wake him up before he was all together in my stomach. So I kept eating the crackers.”

“Dude…”

“I began to feel ill halfway through. I wanted to stop, to give up. I thought I might vomit. But then, my goldfish would have been gone forever. Trapped in the void between life and death, wedged between worlds, somewhere in the space between. I started hallucinating - the crackers swam in front of me like I was swimming in a fish tank myself. I realized I was smiling, and the snacks smiled back.”

Clint held his stomach. He too felt ill.

“Tears rolled down my face as I chomped down on each and every last cracker. That was the last of him. My goldfish was gone. He would be part of me forever. Forever, Clint! Have you any idea how long that is to go without something?!?”

“What do you mean?”

“For long years, I have hungered for it! For that missing essence, that exotic flavor I only ever tasted in those Goldfish-flavored Goldfish! I need it! If you think that flavor was death…? Then I must taste death!”

“You - y- you’re scaring me, man!” Clint wedged himself in the corner of the couch. He’d never been this terrified.

Reggie shook his head and grinned, chuckling as tears formed in his eyes. “Don’t be scared, Clint.” He pulled out his pocket knife. “You’ll like it at the Pepperidge Farm.”

[niemernuet]

i honestly don't care which blossoming romance prompt you chose just give me the franjo/arnaud content i'm in such dying need of i'm begging you🫠🫶🏻

Thank youuu so much for your prompt. 🥰😍 Your genius truly is unsurpassed! I chose nr 22 "playful teasing", and while it's just a short text I really think I'll have to continue it at a later time because these two are just too sweet. But first of all:

And now:

The last remains of the ski slopes lie like white ribbons wrapped around the brown mountainside. The artificial snow has withstood the spring sun another day, and only the brown patches further down in the valley reveal the constant struggle to keep it that way. It is long past the operating hours of the ski lifts, and all the tourists have been chased off the mountain because tonight the restaurant at the top is closed for the public. Outside, on the big terrace overlooking the vast summits, most of the younger club members are waiting for dinner, some with a cheap little plastic trophy in their hands, some smoking, and all of them drinking. Justin and Daniel intercept Arnaud just as he steps out of the warm restaurant with another bottle of chilled wine.

“Perfect,” Justin says, and holds out his glass. “Just what we need.”

“Actually this one’s for…,” Arnaud says and points towards the group at the other end of the patio but Justin does not let him finish.

“They don’t seem to be lacking,” he says over the shrieking and laughter wafting over from the other side, and cocks his head with a pleading smile. “Meanwhile look at us!”

 Arnaud grins, and with an exaggerated sigh fills their glasses. “I apologise. I know it’s hard for older people to walk the long distance to the bar. I hope they’re not too heavy in your hands. Do you need a straw?”

“I always forget what a funny guy you are,” Daniel answers, and clinks his newly filled glass against Arnaud’s. “Have you thought about switching to slalom? We could have a blast together.”

Arnaud laughs, though the joy in it is missing a bit. “One: Why are you even here? This is not your ski club. And two: I might actually take you up on the offer, so don’t tempt me.”

Justin and Daniel shoot each other a quick glance before Justin plucks the bottle out of Arnaud’s hand, and puts it down on the nearest bar table.

“To answer your first question: Partners are invited too,” Daniel says. “Maybe if you’d make an effort you could also have someone next year.”

Arnaud snorts into his white wine. “Yeah, right. We’re not all as lucky as you two.”

“Damn, I guess you received the list for next season’s groups as well?” Justin asked.

Arnaud puts his glass down. The sun has set behind the mountains, and the soft yet cold wind manages to creep underneath his thermal undershirt. “Am I so easy to read?”

“Only when you’re wallowing in self-pity,�� Daniel answers. “Come on, it can’t be that bad. I’m sure Alexis will still be there, right?”

Arnaud’s shoulders slump as he laughs. “Of course he is but he will be more than busy with whatever is going on between him and Gilles and Elian…” He breaks off, and with a frown stares into the distance.

“Are they…” Daniel begins cautiously.

“I don’t know!” Arnaud exclaims, and throws up his hands. “I’m not even sure they know themselves. Also, they’re nowhere near the worst part of next season…” He stares at them with barely hidden desperation as his sorrows burst out of him:

“We’re getting another Bernese! Can you fucking imagine, another bore like Lars? I mean, he’s a nice guy and all but he has no problems to spend an entire day in silence, and you know who has to be silent with him when Ralph’s off facetiming his kids for the hundredth time and Alexis and Elian and Gilles are off who fucking knows where doing who fucking knows what? Exactly, me! And now imagine there’s a second guy next to Lars and it will be just the three of us and every time I will try to keep a conversation going I will only hear ‘huh?’ because apparently my accent is so very difficult to understand.”

The first people are filing back into the restaurant and throw curious glances in their direction but Arnaud does not care. Not when he finally has someone who understands what he is going through.

Justin laughs, throws his arm around Arnaud’s shoulder, and softly guides him towards the door. “Let it all out, kid! We have all night.”

-----

Lodgings for the second groups, with the athletes not part of the national team yet, usually have to do with less.

“But this is a new low,” Arnaud mutters to himself as he leans deep into the closet, one of the shelves wedged between his foot and the wall, and pulls at the rusty bracket. The musty smell that lingers in the entire room fills his nose to the brim in there, and he can feel the dust bunnies under his fingers as they press against the wood.

“FUCK!” he yells when he slips off the bracket again. He pulls out his head, and inspects the damage to his skin. A short knock at the door is the only warning he gets before it bursts open, and a mountain of bags tumble inside.

“Sorry, this stuff is killing me,” the guy following behind pants as he pushes through the door, and drops his things at the foot of Arnaud’s bed. He puts his hands on his hips as he catches his breath. A few strands of his long bangs cling to his sweaty forehead.

“Third floor without a bloody elevator, are you kidding me? We really have to make it into the national team this season, this is unacceptable. Hi, I’m Franjo.” His eyes turn into two narrow crescents as a big smile spreads over his face. He holds out his hand, and Arnaud only has to extend his because the room is not big enough to keep a reasonable distance anyway.

“Arnaud,” Arnaud says after a moment that is just a tad too long.

“I know,” Franjo says, still smiling, and begins to kick his suitcase and bags towards the other bed.

Arnaud blinks at him. He is wearing shorts, and the shirt with their organisation’s logo has wrinkles where the backpack pulled it up.

“I’m sorry, I thought I’d be with Lars again?”

Franjo looks over his shoulder. “There was…a change of plans…as I understand it.”

Arnaud frowns, and Franjo rolls his eyes.

“Don’t tell him I told you but he doesn’t want to bunk with you anymore because you talk too much. He’d rather be with Ralph because he says he talks a lot too but only to his phone…or the kids in his phone, I don’t know.”

“Oh.”

“Though I can’t say that you do, at least so far.”

Arnaud blinks again, his mouth still hanging half open. “You’ve been in here one minute,” he finally manages.

Franjo stops kicking his bags, and opens the zipper of the biggest one. “True, I give you that,” he concedes. “Also I’ve heard you yell ‘fuck’ out in the hallway so I guess I’ve interrupted at a very inconvenient time. Sorry about that.”

“I did not…,” Arnaud exclaims, sputtering indignantly until he realises that Franjo is laughing.

“Very funny,” he mutters, and hopes that the ancient, unsightly drapes keep enough of the sunlight out so his burning cheeks are not too visible. His hopes at his embarrassment staying hidden shatter though when Franjo turns around, and steps right next to him.

“Thanks,” he smiles, and takes in the large gap between the shelves in the closet. “Is there something wrong with it?”

The faint smell of his aftershave cuts through the mustiness emanating from the closet, and it takes all of Arnaud’s self-control to answer within a socially acceptable time. “It wobbles and tilts back as soon as I put a stack of clothes on it. I think the brackets aren’t on the same height but I can’t get them out.” He looks at the superficial scratches along his index finger, and the small scab that is already forming over it.

“Oh no, what happened to your dainty fingers?” Franjo asks, and again Arnaud sucks in air before he recognises the wide grin on Franjo’s face. “Let me try, this looks like a job for a pro.”

“Of course, as soon as I find one,” Arnaud snorts, though he does take a step back until he bumps against the nightstand.

“Ha ha,” Franjo says, his head stuck into the closet. “I’ll have you know you’re…come on you little bugger…aha!” With a triumphant laugh he stands up straight again, and holds up the rusty piece of metal that used to carry one corners of the shelf for the last few decades.

“See?” he says, and holds out his hand towards Arnaud. “That’s why you need a carpenter for a job like this. Though I don’t think we can put this back in, it is totally rusted…” He sticks his head back into the wardrobe, and examines the other three brackets. “I’m sure one of the service men will have a pair of pliers to get the rest out. And the supermarket’s still open, if we’re lucky they’re carrying a box of those…and if not we could go to Sion tomorrow after the training…”

“You really are one?”

Franjo breaks off, and tilts his head until he can look at Arnaud from the inside of the closet. The hair on top of his head is longer than the rest, and falls over his eyes.

“A carpenter?” Arnaud asks.

“Of course,” Franjo answers. “And what are you? Other than a fast skier.”

Arnaud shrugs, and awkwardly crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I work in a bank part-time in spring and summer.”

“A banker?” Franjo laughs, and takes a step back, away from the old hole in the wall. “That’s good, you can calculate the depreciation of the new brackets, and whether they fit in our budget while we go to the supermarket.”

Arnaud laughs, staring at the rusty piece of metal in Franjo’s palm. For a second he wonders what it would feel like if he put his own hand in his, and again takes too long to realise that Franjo is staring at him.

“Unless you want to stay here?” Franjo asks. “But it’s not like we have to be anywhere until dinner.”

“No, no!” Arnaud hurries to say. “I’d love to come along.”

With a grin, Franjo turns around, and tears the door open. “Cool.”

[nice-bright-colors]

Friday Afternoon Five: I’m Done Edition.

This morning’s walkthrough with the Property and Architect went rather well. Add a few things fix a few things. It’s just that the corporate ramen people don’t want to just come out right now. So it looks like they can’t open until well into August.

The model room renovation is also almost done. Just a few minor tweaks to the end of the month corporate visit from Penn Entertainment. I just got the conceptual pricing for the entire renovation of the hotel. $43.9M. So yeah it might be nice to get somewhere between 1/4 and 1/2 of 1% of those costs as my fees. We’ll see.

This whole entire “driving to work” bullshit (aka commuting). Yep, it’s been a while since I actually did that. Western Burbs to Chicago Chinatown was a nightmare…so I started taking the train. I’ve driven up that mountain 12 times in the last 4 weeks. Fuck that noise.

Speaking of being at home for 4 weeks…that is a bunch of bullshit as well. When you get used to being gone Mon-Fri for 66% of the year, and suddenly you’re not. Yeah, that’s not fun. We have to learn again how to live together. Without that stupid mindset of “well, I don’t care, what do you want to do for dinner”. JFC, just make a decision and force me to agree with it, have a reason, and push that agenda.

All of that being said. I’m apparently going to shave the stubble off of my face this afternoon. Mainly because I would like to have sex again in the near future. Let’s see if she capitalizes on the 3-1/2 to 4 hour window before the stubble comes back. Not to mention, I have the fixin’s for G&T’s…and it’s been a week. My brain could use a double dose of the good feeling chemicals.

[thehighladywrites]

ACOTAR MEN X READER, GETTING CAUGHT BY YOUR CHILD

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ summary: you’re caught in by your kids, how do you guys handle the situation?

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ warnings: nsfw, crack, fluff, kids feeling traumatized

⋅˚₊‧ ୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ amara’s note: thank you the req anon!!

Azriel

Your bent on all fours, gripping your sheets as Azriel slutted you out, hands on your waist as he thrusted in and out.

As much as you loved hanging around everyone, you were in some desperate need of him.

Azriel had been away on many affairs, often leaving you alone. And though you were surrounded by everyone, you still felt a crushing loneliness that only he could fill

When he finally came home after a two weeks long business trip, you stuck to him like glue. Seriously, whatever he was doing, you were doing too

Azriel saw it snd decided to treat you good after a long time alone

“Right there,” you breathlessly tell him, urging him to speed up just a bit, his throaty groans and moans making you crazy wet

“D’ya know how—how much i missed you and this pretty little pussy? Hm?” his charming, teasing voice made your walls tighten around him, your whines getting more messy as you got closer to cumming

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he praises with a smile, proud of your strength.

It’s really not easy keeping up with Azriel, esp not in bed

“I like makin’ you feel good,” you whimper out, short gasp falling from you at the end of the statement, finding the spot inside you that makes you go insane

“Yeah, what else d’you like?” he asks with a little smirk

You’re so far out of it, you barely notice the doorhandle being pulled.

You gasp when Azriel pulls out and with his cold shadows whisk you away to the cabin. You went from being fucked on all fours to standing up, so fast that your knees almost buckled had it not been for azriel holding you up

”Az, what—what is going on? is this some sort of punishment?” you whined, grinding your ass against him.

”Not a punishment, just saving us from the most awful moment in our lives,” he says lowly as his shadows report your twin boys looking for you.

It takes a minute for your brain to register where you actually are. Rhysand’s cabin.

You also realize your both completely naked

“Az, what are we doing here?” you furrow your brows in true confusion

“The boys were about to walk in, i had to move us.”

“So you moved us to rhys’s cabin in the illyrian mountains? a closet or another room wasn’t an option?” you remarked, genuinely curious.

“I obviously wanted to be on safe side,” he said as if you were the crazy one, not him for bringing you thousands of miles from home

Rhys

After a day of teasing him relentlessly he finally caught you alone, planning on having his version of fun with you

“You think you can play with me all day and i won’t play back?” he tilts his head a little at you, surprised you actually think he’s gonna let it slide

your teasing had ranged from projecting nasty flashbacks of him pounding you in his mind to fun little kisses to his neck while he was talking to someone

“Um, no. But i was just horny, you can’t punish me for that, right?” you say slowly backing away from him as you did ur best to save your ass

Rhysand would definitely not let you cum, he would drag it out for hours and you for sure would be left crying

He pulls you closer, guiding you to bend over his lap. “You need to learn patience, my dear. And I'll be the one to teach you.”

Approximately 20 minutes into him fingering you then pulling away just as you’re about to cum, a knock is heard.

Rhysand looks at the door and calmly uses magic to clean you both up, not a hint of your activities left

“Papa, can you come to my room, i had a nightmare,” your son cries, fat tears rolling down his cheek as he clutches his favorite teddy.

Your heart breaks for him as you watch Rhys pick him up, carefully rocking him in his arms.

“Of course, buddy. Let’s go to your room, I’m here to protect from everything.”

Just before he leaves with your son, Rhys snaps his fingers, removing your clothes and binding you to the bed.

“Don’t think you’re in the clear,” he chuckles into your mind.

Cassian

He had been crazy horny all day

Anything you did was just an insane turn on. Cassian justified his horny urges by saying it was your fault

But was it really normal to be turned on by you leaning over the sink to wash your face?

Cassian sure thought it was, anything you do is sexy in his head

Reading, sexy. Walking, sexy. Eating, sexy. Yelling at him, super fucking sexy

So he was on you, having fun makeout sessions in the most random places like rhysand’s wine cellar or Mor’s closet when you borrwed a dress

“Let me fuck,” he begs, arms wrapping around your waist

“Is that how you ask for me?”

“Please, let me have sex with you. I’m dying for it, i’m dying for you.” he says the last part with a smug smile, thinking he is rizzing you up like crazy

You still let him hit

So you crawl into his lap, his body leaning against the headboard as you settle in, his hands roaming your body

He rips your shirt clean off, leaving you in nothing as he starts playing with your tits

“Dad, i’m feeling sick. Do you think Madja is still—” your daughters voice makes cassian panic, resulting in him throwing you off his lap, scrambling to look normal

“Hey, babygirl. What’s up!!” he says, smiling up at her as he tries to ignore your glare.

“Ew, oh my gods. Please tell me you guys weren’t having sex, i think i might actually throw up.”

She looks at you but you just look away, keeping the blanket around you.

“Excu— sex??? wha—what are you talking about? Babe, please, are you hearing this nonsense?” he chuckles nervously as he points to your daughter with a scandalously shocked look, like he couldn’t believe her words

“Yeah, i’m going over to auntie Feyre’s. Bye,” your daughter leaves before you have the chance to say anything else

“I mean, sex is super overrated. I don’t partake in such activities, okay? I don’t even like sex, yuck!” he yells , hoping your daughter hears as she vanishes

You stand up from where he threw you, narrowing your eyes at him as you clear your throat

He looks back at you with wide eyes, holding his hands up in defense as he remembers what he has done

“Babe, thats was a lie. Sex is fucking amazing, especially with you. And i’m sorry for throwing you, i panicked.”

“Make it up to me and i might forgive you.”

Bro makes up for it good, like really REALLY good

Eris

Eris is just like Azriel, he will not let anyone catch you. He has sealed your bedroom over and over again with tricky, protective spells.

The only way in is by blood, only his and yours.

And sometimes when he’s balls deep into you, making the bed creak, he forgets the fact that your children are a mix of those two blood types

So when you start moaning and letting out noises of pleasure, it shocks your 6-year old daughter who thinks her dad is hurting her mom

“Please, make—make me cum again, please, Eris.”

Eris is so mean sometimes. He had edged you all day, only allowing you to come once.

”You think you deserve it?” he asks

You whine, ”Fuck, please— be nice to me— please, pleaseeee.”

“An impatient slut like yourself don’t deserve to cum. You knew this would happen and you gave me fucking attitude anyway,” he scoffed.

A loud cry and fading footsteps are heard as you both freeze

You get dressed instantly and run out, worried about why your daughter was awake and wailing.

“Hey baby what’s wrong?” Eris squats down next to her crying self before he recieves a punch to the gut.

“I heard what you said to mommy, you hurt her and i hate you!” she yelled as she sobbed in your arms

You both look at each other in embarrassment, obviously understanding what she was referring to

“Oh! Um, no daddy wasn’t hurting me or was being mean. It was a game, i promise. See? I’m fine, sweetheart.”

Eris felt nauseous. He didn’t want his daughter thinking he was hurting you, just like his father had hurt his mother.

“Kit, i could never hurt your mother. I love her more than anything. It was just a game and i promise, you’ll never hear it again.”

She nodded before kissing your cheek and then running into his arms, dead asleep in just a few seconds

You kissed Eris, reassuring him that he wasn’t being to rough or mean and that you actually liked it.

Still, he never degraded you again, despite your wishes.

Lucien

It is your 100th anniversary as mates

Of course there’s a massive celebration for you

Grand balls, beautiful gowns, exclusive parties for a week straight, expensive drinks, luxurious vibes

You had the time of your life with the love of your life (see what i did there)

Azriel and Feyre had been tasked with keeping your children safe

But they get distracted for one second, allowing your girl to slip away

You and Lucien are in the bathroom, making out with your hands down his pants

You were supposed to leave for a trip after, a vacation to celebrate your love for a century but you couldn’t wait

Since you two didn’t have to worry about your kids and keeping an eye on them, you had free reign to give him a handjob whilst he played with your nipples

“You just couldn’t wait, huh?” you said smugly, sliding your thumb over the slit of his cock, making him groan

“Like you can talk, you’re here with your tits out like some common whore,” he retaliated, tugging on your sensitive nipples, enjoying the way you melted

“Daddy what are you doing?”

Your heads snap to the door in horror when you hear your toddlers voice

Feyre runs in exhausted from chasing your daugher before her eyes widen in shock as she covers your girls eyes before dragging her out.

“I’m so sorry, she managed to run away!” she exclaimed as she hurried out, shutting the door thoroughly

You and Lucien look at each other, laughing before getting dressed again.

“Is this a sign to just wait for the trip?”

“Yeah, i believe it is.”