#and now i just gotta let the current uh open wounds on my head heal up so i can go to a salon and beg them to fix my hair

[carzstarz]

MY BALD SPOT FROM PICKING IS GROWING BACK YAAAAAAY!!!!!!

[raaorqtpbpdy]

Death by Exposure

Written for the Phic Phight Prompts: At first Danny had been worried sick that Wes had figured out that he was Phantom, but when no one believed him it had sort of become funny. Still, after the anti-ecto act, and the GIW, and his own parents very public very violently vitriolic screeds against ghosts, Danny had to wonder what he'd ever done to Wes that the guy would risk exposing Danny to all that. (from @hpwotters-blog, or at least I think that's you're tumblr.), and Wes Weston wakes up to find an injured Phantom on the fire escape. (from @half-deadmagicperson)

Other prompts that will be included in later chapters but aren't in this one:

With how much time he spends on basketball and his delusional conspiracy theories, no one would ever suspect that Wes Weston has another secret hobby… (from @kadziduo)

And Wes has been spending more and more time around Fenton and Co. lately - hey! he’s only trying to get some much-needed evidence against them, not trying to get all buddy-buddy with them. And anyway, they’re an entirely annoying bunch, so he wholeheartedly blames them for the fact that he’s currently being monologued at by the ghost holding him hostage. (from @a-closet-emo)

Chapter 3: Expostulate

AO3 Link

[Warnings for blood (ectoplasm), severe injuries, implied abuse]

Danny was desperately clinging to consciousness when Wes' window slid open and the redhead poked his head out with a yawn. "Can whoever is making a racket at three in the goddamn morning kindly shut the hell up!?" he shouted. He started to pull his head back in and Danny, worried that Wes might not notice him, choked out his name.

"Wes," he said weakly, but it was enough to catch his attention.

The moment those green eyes landed on Danny they widened with utter horror. He looked like he might be sick. "Fenton?" 

"little... help?"

"Fuck! Yeah, okay, gimme a sec!"

Wes disappeared into his room, and Danny heard rustling like fabric. A moment later, Wes returned and climbed out onto the fire escape. Mindful of his wounds, he hoisted Danny up and got him through the window. He laid Danny on his mattress, which he'd completely stripped. Blankets, pillows and sheets were wadded up on the floor.

"I'll be right back, I gotta get the first-aid kit."

Danny didn't have the strength to respond, but now that he was safely out of danger where the G.I.W. wouldn't find him he could feel his healing kicking in. Without flying and hiding using up his energy, he was already beginning to recover somewhat. He laid back and tried to focus his eyes, taking in his surroundings. Wes' room had light blue walls. Unsurprisingly, one of them had a cork board covered in pictures of Danny, articles about Phantom, evidence that the two were linked, that they were the same. If the G.I.W. started doing home raids and saw that, Danny would be screwed.

There were stickers on the ceiling, old and peeling, some with neon colors and unicorns, skateboard stickers, a rainbow flag, price tags from fruit, a bumper sticker that said "My other car is a Maserati! Ha ha just kidding! I'm dirt poor," and another one that said, "baby on board," with a picture of a baby wearing a backwards baseball cap riding a skateboard. Danny might've laughed if he thought he could do it without choking on ectoplasm.

"I found it!" Wes returned with a red metal box and some towels. He stopped in the middle of his room staring at Danny. "Uh... so does the jumpsuit, like, come off?" he asked.

Danny let out a weak huff of laughter. "You've already got me... in your bed and now... you wanna get my clothes off, too?" he asked teasingly, the words slurring together slightly. "Don't you think... you're moving a little fast?"

"Very funny," Wes said flatly, rolling his eyes. Although, the joke seemed to shake him out of his terror somewhat, which was good. That, or he was really good at compartmentalizing. "At least you're not too badly injured for sarcasm. Now if you could phase off that butt-ugly jumpsuit so I can stop you from oozing all over my mattress, I'd appreciate it."

"Grab it and pull," Danny told him. Wes gripped the front of the jumpsuit and tugged while Danny made himself intangible so it could slip right off, leaving Danny laying there in ectoplasm soaked briefs on Wes' bed. Just that much exertion however was too much for him, and white rings of light flickered around his middle. Wes gasped when he finally saw the extent of the damage.

"What the hell happened to you?" he asked breathlessly.

"Was helping some... blob ghosts," Danny answered. "The Guys 'n White caught up to me... on their patrol."

"They did this to you? Why?"

"'Cause they want me dead," Danny answered, scowling. "You were at that assembly a while back; you've... you've seen the propaganda posters. Did you think they were... running a catch-and-release program? A rescue shelter?" Wes got to work on Danny's leg first, mopping up the ectoplasm there with a towel so he could get to the wound.

"I didn't think they'd do this," he said quietly.

"What did I ever do to you?" Danny asked. He didn't want to piss off the person helping him, but he couldn't stop himself from asking. "What made you start this... beef with me?"

"I care about the truth. I think it's important."

"More important than my life?"

"What life? You're a ghost."

"I'm not a normal ghost," Danny said. "I thought you, of all people, would've... figured that out by now." Wes didn't respond, just opened up an alcohol wipe and started cleaning the wound on Danny's leg.

Danny didn't flinch even once while Wes patched his leg up, disinfecting and pressing gauze over the wound and wrapping it in bandages. He did so very calmly, his hands surprisingly steady, like he'd had a lot of practice. 

"I wasn't thinking about what would happen afterwards," Wes admitted as he finished securing the bandage. "I just wanted people to believe me."

"I don't think you were thinking at all," Danny said as Wes propped him up to clean the wounds on his back. "I mean, fuck, one of your theories is that... I'm like this because my parents experimented on me. I'm pretty sure everyone... in town has heard them threaten to rip me apart molecule by molecule.... What do you think would happen to me if they found out?"

"Okay, but that theory was low on the list," Wes defended, "and the more likely theory was that they were in on it and hunting you was a cover."

"They shoot at me any time they see me!" He tried to turn to glare at Wes, only to get a smack on the head.

"Quit moving!" Wes snapped. "I gotta disinfect." Danny clenched his teeth as he felt the sting of alcohol in the wounds on his back.

"How d'you know how to do this, anyway?" Now that the worst of the bleeding, from his leg, was stemmed, Danny was recovering even faster. His body could regenerate blood and ectoplasm without immediately losing it. He was able to speak more or less clearly now, and he didn't feel like he was about to pass out.

"Kyle skateboards, and he's an idiot," Wes answered. "I used to, too, but not so much anymore. He still bribes me sometimes to patch him up before Dad finds out he's injured, so that he won't get grounded for being reckless."

"Who's Kyle?"

"My twin brother."

"You have a brother?" Danny's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He had thought he knew Wes, after all the time they'd spent antagonizing each other, but he was realizing that he didn't really know anything about Wes outside of his constant insistence on outing Danny as a ghost. "How come I've never seen him around?"

"I have two brothers, actually," Wes told him. "And you probably have seen him around. You just didn't realize because we're not identical. The other one's off at college in New York."

"Are you the older twin, or the younger twin?"

"What does it matter? We're twins."

"So the younger twin, then." Wes smacked his head again.

"Maybe stop being such a dick when I'm patching up your nasty ass ghost injuries, yeah?" Soft gauze pressed against on of the wounds on his back and Wes started wrapping bandages again. Halfway down, Wes put down more gauze for the second wound and kept wrapping. "Why did you come to me, anyway? Something happen to your actual friends?"

"They're both out of town for spring break," Danny responded. "Trust me, you were not my first choice. I wouldn't've come here at all if I wasn't completely desperate." Wes scoffed and finished bandaging the wounds on Danny's back, repositioning him to get better access to the last wound, on his side.

He cleaned it up in silence, and as he was applying disinfectant, he asked, in an uncertain voice, "Do you get hurt like this a lot?"

"I don't know about 'a lot'," Danny said, although Jazz's voice in his head told him often that if it happened more than once in his life, that would probably be considered a lot to most people. "It's been known to happen."

"How?"

"G.I.W. patrols, ghost fights, my mom's aim is actually pretty good, and sometimes I don't dodge fast enough," Danny said with a shrug, then winced at the way the movement tugged on his injuries.

"I told you not to move," Wes scolded, then, in a softer voice he asked, "Your parents have done this to you before?"

"Do you think I keep my identity a secret for my own entertainment?" Danny asked. "Most of the ghosts I fight know who I am already. They're obviously not the ones I'm worried about."

Wes finished disinfecting and pulled out another wad of gauze. "Fuck." Wes breathed out emphatically.

"What? Outta bandages?"

"No, it's just... this is making me realize just how much of an asshole I've been," he said, starting to wrap up the last wound. "I mean, I knew that I was being an asshole, honestly, but I didn't think it was this bad. It was what I had to do to get the truth out there."

"I guess maybe I should've called you out earlier, huh," Danny said. "In my defense, you were smart enough to figure out who I was, I thought you'd be smart enough to realize why I hid it in the first place. Seriously. Again, my parents shoot at me all the time."

"I thought it was an act!" Danny snorted. "Anyway, I guess," Wes glanced over at his conspiracy board. "I guess it's probably time to take that down, huh?"

"Wait... you mean you're actually giving up?" Danny couldn't help turning around to face Wes in his surprise, and cringed when it irritated his wounds. "Gah!"

"I told you to stay still!" Wes griped again, having to unwrap and re-wrap a section of bandages to keep them tight. "And no, I'm not giving up. One day, I'm personally gonna make sure everyone knows you're Phantom. But I never actually wanted you to get hurt, so... I'm revising my method."

"What's that mean?"

"It means my three step plan to expose you is more like a twenty-step plan now," Wes said with a sigh. "First, I gotta get the Guys in White out of here, then prove ghosts are sentient, and convince the government to repeal the anti-ecto acts, then convince the paranormal science community at large that ghosts aren't inherently evil, and eventually, when it's safe, I'm definitely gonna convince everyone you're Phantom."

Danny chuckled, then grunted in pain. "I'll tell you what, Wes," he said. "If you can change the world to that level, I'll show everyone I'm Phantom and prove it to them for you."

Tying off the last bandage, Wes nodded. "Deal," he said. "For now though, go to the bathroom and clean the rest of that gunk off you. I'll let you borrow some pajamas. It's the door at the end of the hall. Try not to get your bandages wet."

"Thanks, Wes," Danny said as the red-head handed him a gray t-shirt and some plaid pajama pants.

"Don't thank me yet," Wes said. "You're sleeping on the bed, on your stomach, and you don't get bedding."

"Why'd you strip your bedding anyway?"

"You think I'm gonna subject my poor dad to ectoplasm-stained sheets?" Wes scoffed. "No way. I'd be doing everyone's laundry for a month."

"Right, of course." Danny stepped out of Wes' room and into the hall, smiling.

Hearing about normal problems like that was kind of refreshing. When Danny didn't want to do chores, it was because they were dangerous for him, like cleaning his parents' lab. When his parents were mad at him, they threatened to dissect him, not to make him to the laundry. In comparison, Wes' problems sounded so trivial, and yet, Danny could still relate. He didn't like doing laundry either.

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[sekhisadventures]

Soon to Dream

Valdrakken, a private room in the Dragon’s Hoard a few days after Aziguni joined Avalon.

All of Avalon and Savage united were there, all fourteen adventurers total now, as they examined a large map of the Dragon Isles spread over the table in the center.

“There is no mistaking it everyone. Fyrakk has found the means to breach the Emerald Dream, and he seeks to take Amirdrassil.” nodded Laura Brightflame, the dracthyr currently in her more mortal guise, as she pointed to the island off the eastern coast of the Isles proper.

Nelen frowned, stroking his goatee, “Indeed… the Druids of the Flame…” he sighed, “Gordrinn’s Fangs I knew we weren’t going to make it out of this without something from that mess coming back to haunt us. I suppose I should just feel fortunate its not the Twilight’s-bloody-Hammer this time.”

Shalandrae scowled at the map, gritting her teeth, “Again with this too… can we just have one damned tree without a lunatic wanting to burn it?” she snarled. The fact that the Incarnate of Flame had targeted their new world tree had brought back some very bad memories for the druid, her hand idly feeling over the burn-scars covering the left side of her face from where a branch of Teldrassil, covered in Azerite-fueled fire, had scorched her with scars that would never heal fully… that had burned her so deeply that even her skull had been visible at first before Dareley was able to treat her wounds.

Dareley seemed to notice this, putting a hand on the druid's shoulder. "Dunnae worry lass. We ain't gonna let nothin' happen ta this tree." he smiled to her, nodding encouragingly.

Shalandrae nodded back, but she couldn't hide her anxiety. If they failed it wouldn't just be losing a world tree. All of Azeroth would be so much kindling...

Atu & Family’s Wagon, the Outskirts of Valdrakken

Leza focused and closed her eyes, holding the image in her mind as she held her hand out, waving her other hand over it as if kneading an invisible object, and with a sudden swirl of arcane energy her fingers closed around something hard and warm to the touch.

She risked a peek, then grinned and wagged her tail as she saw a pair of dark brown humanoid-shaped cookies with icing making out their features and details on them, made not from flour and sugar but pure arcane magic.

On either side of her the girl’s younger siblings, the twins Zato and Eeda were staring open mouthed at them, their tails moving so fast they were almost a blur.

“MAGIC COOKIES!” shouted Zato finally, immediately snapping one out of her hands as Eeda grabbed the other.

“Hot sands ya can make magic cookies!” grinned Eeda as she snatched the other, the two sniffing over them, then immediately scarfing them down as if they were worried they’d vanish back into the arcane energy they had been made from.

“Yupyup!” grinned Leza, “Not just those but buns too! Though th’ bigger stuffs is trickier yet… Nelen said the real trick is making sure to keep the image in my head ‘n rememberin’…” she trailed off, “… rememberin’… uh… um…” she paused, “… ah yip, rememberin’ what…” she grumbled, pulling out a journal she had been using for her notes from the lessons the worgen mage had been giving her.

She felt really lucky that Sekhi was friends with someone like Nelen, having a master she trusted to teach her sister was a big relief for the shamaness as well and if nothing else Nelen was meticulous about her lessons and had taught her a lot of good tricks to remember things.

“Oh right, yeah…” she nodded, finding the page of notes she’d taken during their conjuration practice, “Gotta remember to keep it so th’ stuffs I make ‘em out of is still th’ same as a real one… otherwise I might… uh…” she trailed off, hearing a pair of chittering sounds.

Zato and Eeda were bouncing on their toes, their tails practically a blur behind them, their eyes wide and huge grins on their faces.

She spotted a small piece of one of the conjured gingerbread men on the ground, then reached down and picked it up, giving it a nibble, then making a face. It was WAY too sweet! It was like whoever had baked it had used four times as much sugar as they needed!

She blinked slowly, then glanced at her siblings, “Uh oh…” she whispered, “Uh… m-ma?” she called towards her mother.

A moment later Zato and Eeda leapt into the air, chased each other ten times around the campfire, then bolted off into the streets of Valdrakken.

“OH YIP! MA! TH’ TWINS!” she cried out as she took off after them as her mother saw them, let out a loud yelp, and joined in the pursuit.

The Wintersky Estate, Silvermoon City

Alalestria sat in her study, which had been used by the leaders of House Wintersky since the city’s founding, turning the dagger Chillheart over and over in her hands as she scowled. After her meeting with Lord Lor’themar (rather her yelling at by him,) she had been forbidden by the ruler of the city to go after her brother turned void elf turned woman Samantha Montebank.

She stood, stalking to a map of Azeroth set up on a wide table… and all across it were splashes of color. A leygraph, much like the one in Nelen’s sanctum, but far bigger and more detailed than the modest one the mage used. On it she could see the Dragon Isles and on several spots were swirls of darkness mixed with an orange/red… the unmistakable hue of shadowflame.

She thought back to that worgen mage’s words… how he’d pointed out that her vendetta was petty in the extreme with a starcursed monster like Fyrakk causing chaos on the islands.

She smirked, well… perhaps she could use that. Travel back to the Isles and fight the Primalists… and if her sibling happened to show up and, say, get caught between one of her spells and one of the Incarnate’s minions… well, friendly fire was an unfortunate reality of warfare.

Then she scowled at that thought, banishing it immediately. Trickery? Deceit? That’s what Sam’ael would do! Those sorts of tactics were unworthy of House Wintersky! She shouldn’t need to consider the tactics of a common thug! That’s what assassins were for…

She sighed, assassins like her loyal servant Sinranir had been… but of course he was dead now. She had not confirmed this, but he would have delivered the Sapphire in person had he not been. First the Sapphire, then Sinranir, how like Sam’ael to rob her of such useful tools… at least she had gotten the Sapphire of House Wintersky back, but there was no way to get him back…

She paused, glancing out her window.

… or was there… it was just magic after all… a spell like any other… and if a traitorous cur like Dar’khan could manage it… well, nobody could blame her for wanting such a useful servant back now could they?

She glanced over at the collections of tomes that the family had collected, and several that had entered their collection since the Third War, used primarily for countering the sorceries of the Scourge.

She walked to a bookshelf and took a tome down, looking at the cover.

The Secrets of the Grave, a book wrested from the private collection of Dar’khan during a raid on Deatholme several years prior.

She opened the book, flipping through it, then grinned. Yes… Lor’themar had told her not to go after her sibling, but if it wasn’t her doing it… and even better someone who had fallen to Sam’ael’s blades… well, it wouldn’t be the first time someone had sought to avenge their own deaths on Azeroth. All she had to do was track him down.

She walked across the room, then took down a thinner tome on scrying, and began to read.

The Twisting Nether, Dissonantia’s Lair

Malgum growled and tugged at his chains but found that they were every bit as sturdy as the last… forty-seven times he had tried that today, then sighed and hung limp in them. He again tried to reach for the felfury, the overwhelming madness he had used in the Azure Span, but his back suddenly burned and after a moment he relented.

The tattoos were far from done. As Gremori had said Eredar Skin was thick and difficult, but the most important one was complete. A huge glyph of silencing on his back, which prevented him from invoking his demonic berserker state. No matter how hard he tried, the felfury was denied to him as long as that mark covered him back there.

His arms had been marked as well, but those tattoos were not complete yet… and there was another for his neck that had to be put in place to seal the spell, a ‘collar’ for the witch’s newest demon.

Malgum seethed at that thought, what a wretched fate… he had saved his sister only to wind up magical bound to become a new weapon against her and her new allies! Once the markings were complete he would not even be able to speak without Dissonantia’s leave, he wouldn’t even be able to warn them of the witch’s plot until it came time to strike the killing blow!

As he hung there however, he heard a voice.

“You there, your name is Malgum, is it not?” said a deep masculine voice.

Malgum tensed, looking around as he growled around the gag filling his mouth.

“Do not try to speak, we do not want this overheard.” the voice said again. “Pay attention boy, you are not hearing me with your ears.”

Malgum blinked slowly, then he realized the voice was right… it wasn’t a voice so much as a sudden intrusive thought in his mind.

Malgum hesitated, then thought ‘Who are you?���

Then the voice told him, and after a few moments the captive man’ari grinned around his gag, and gave a firm nod. He liked what the voice had to say.

Next Story

Previous Story

[randomgooberness]

snip.

OKAY.....SO NOW THAT MY WRITING POST APPARENTLY HAS 80K+ NOTES, MIGHT AS WELL POST THE COMIC OF THE SCENE THAT I USED AS AN EXAMPLE! 

This is Jack and Tower, they’re characters from a campaign me and my pals have been doing for over a year and a half- and it means a lot to me. Jack is my character, and he’s the mc of my webcomic, @killcount, which posts twice a week and is nearing its 5th anniversary in a few months. Tower belongs to @collabwithmyself, who is an AMAZING character writer and one of my best friends. I’m genuinely shocked over how this relationship came to be in the campaign itself- neither of us expected it but it’s currently one of my favorite things. 

Under the cut is a portion of the scene.

"Dude, I-I can walk, you don't have to--" Tower stammers in Jack’s grasp, being carried to the bathrooms of the hospital labeled Lemons Room, which the two of them had grown used to this past year.

Carrying the high of the fiery, victorious fight with the Ten of Pentacles, the ghost that had been haunting Jack’s mind for the past two months and torturing him inside out, he finds himself lighter than he had felt in a year- no…has he ever felt this good?

What happened with Tenpents would eventually settle in- the abuse he’d gone through with him living in his head would haunt him still, and he’d have to reheal from something like this yet again- as if what he went through as a child wasn’t enough. Torn open, over, and over again. 

But not tonight. All Jack knows is he feels full of butterflies as he sets Tower down.

“You have a bad head.” He smooches Towers temple.

Tower is as red as a tomato. Truthfully, their headache had considerably lessened the moment they weren't around so many people, but they're still tongue tied.

Jack laughs- tearing his eyes from his friends flusteredness. He doesn’t know why he did that, but it felt right. 

He looks in the mirror at his now shirtless form, and grimaces at the wound Tenpents had left behind- one that, his own blessing as he lit the room ablaze healed for the most part, but let behind a vivid mark.

“…ew.” He pokes at the new purple scar.

"...s'that where Tenpents got you?” Tower blinks towards Jack.

“…Yeah.” he grumbles. “…Hurt like a bitch. Went right where my appendix was when I was a kid.”

"Ugh, you had yours taken out too?" They stand up, considerably less wobbly than before. The solitude and the Advil are working wonders for their headache, thank God.

“Yeah! What, you get appendicitis as a kid?”

"Yeah, when I was eight. Sucked ass, but Jase let me borrow his DS while I was stuck in the hospital."

“That's nice.” Jack laughs a bit. “I didn't get that. My dad jus’ told Strangelove to yoink it out. Got my tonsils out the same day.”

"...what the fuck?" Tower blinks in bewilderment. "Don't you need it unless it blows up? And-- I thought you had to go to the dentist for tonsils?"

“Its good to have- but you don’t NEED it.” Jack shrugs. “Dads from the sixties where they yoinked it out if they cut you open. So he decided I didn’t need it either.”

"That's bullshit," he mumbles, awed. He approaches the sink beside Jack to wash his sweaty hands, and splashes his grimy face for good measure.

Jack laughs. “You can use the shower if you want.”

He takes a moment to drink out of his cupped hands - apparently a whole bottle of water wasn't enough for this guy!! - and nods. "Uh. Yeah. Okay. If you're cool with it."

“Yeah no I don't care.” Jack shrugs. “I might use it after. I just gotta hype myself up.” He plays with his long hair. “…this shit really is a mess when its out of the ponytail, huh?”

"You need help with that or anything?" they offer automatically. "Maybe we can cut it. Mine's getting pretty long too."

“…I don't think I’ve…ever actually cut my hair before.” Jack mutters. “…Closest I've gotten was…cutting random strands that annoyed me.”

"Huh. Well, I've never cut mine before either, always got taken to the barber." He rubs the back of his neck. "We'd probably make total messes of ourselves if we tried, huh..."

“…Yeah.” 

He looks in the mirror. 

…He’s tired of carrying all this weight with him- on his shoulders. He’s tired of it being a mess that he can never maintain, something easy for others to grab and take advantage of- even if he ties it up and keeps it close, they can always see. They can always tell. 

He vaguely remembers what Amaris told him about letting go. It…was so horrifying to him- he melted the freezer aisle in fear. 

But…he’s tired. He needs to let go. 

He takes out his first aid kit, digging out his scissors, and grabs a strand of hair. 

He angles it between the two blades, and takes a deep breath. 

He’s letting go. 

snip.

Tower takes a deep breath as the storm of Jack's emotions washes over him. But it solidifies into a burning resolve, and he hesitantly relaxes, content to simply watch Jack work.

The freckled man saws through his mane- cutting through it all with reckless abandon- cutting it onto a short bob, like how he had it as a child, and continues to cut higher.

The Tower watches as the storm brings everything down. The locks fall, and they watch them tumble like cinders from flames, like stones from a wall, like rain from the sky.

Justice, with blade in hand, cuts away the imbalances, settling the scales of his mind at last, forming an unruly crown to rule over himself as he always should have.

Change is here, painful and raw and right.

Once he’s finished, Jack stands there, staring at the mirror. 

Its…not the best. Actually, it kinda sucks. Its choppy and a buncha hairs are standing up and different lengths, but he has such a big grin. 

Its pride. Bare chest with no extra weight and letting go of hair that's grown far too long. He lets out a laugh, and looks to Tower, eyes sparkling.

His own eyes shine as he takes Jack in. Standing tall, the most at ease that Tower's ever seen him. Changed. Ready to change.

He's so proud of him.

God, he thinks he loves him.

"You... you look like a mess. In a good way."

Jack grins like a moron, lighting up. 

"Y-yeah?" His sharp teeth look less like weapons, more like crooked youth. God, Tower can feel it back.

Tower is literally lighting up, the glow returning to their markings, intensifying and fading with the pulse of their heart.

"You look... I-I guess you look more you. If that... makes sense."

"Y-yeah...I-I guess this...this is me." 

His voice is a delicate rasp, not out of fear, for once- so much excitement that his heart is pounding. He's here. He's real. 

Jack Wexler doesn't need to be a weapon, or a shield. 

Jack Wexler is allowed to love.

He stares at Tower.

When was the last time Tower felt like this? There's no envy to taint their heart, no possessiveness of something that doesn't belong to them. Just... the desire to see someone happy. To help them be happy.

Is this what love is supposed to be?

Jack places a hand on Towers cheek. 

They're both so fucking gross, standing in the gender neutral bathroom labeled Lemons, recently cut hair sprawled amongst the floor. Jack can still feel a film of old tears on his face and he still feels the slight hiccup-y feeling of a post-breakdown, but god this is the happiest he's been in weeks. 

He exhales, tracing his thumb down Towers chin.

They shut their eyes, feeling their skin buzz at the touch. For once, the circuit doesn't need to be forced - sparks jump back and forth between the two, carrying both their emotions with them. Happiness. Relief. Adoration.

After all they've gone through, even with whatever's coming next looming over the horizon, they can take solace for a moment in the eye of the storm.

Jack closes the gap between them, and their lips lock with one another. 

It's warm, and it's loving, and it's right.

He shudders, not unpleasantly. He doesn't know what to do, he's never kissed anyone before, but he rocks forward on the balls of his feet a little.

He smacks their foreheads together. 

"Sorry--!" Tower breaks away, flushed and sweating, and bursts into nervous laughter. "Sorry! Are you okay?"

Jack laughs a little, tilting his head back. 

"Yeah! Yeah! Your headbutts are nothing compared to the one Gage gave me earlier today." He snorts, leaning forward again.

"Pff-- what?" they giggle. "Sorry, I've never--" Oh, oh geez, here they go. This time they just shut their eyes and let Jack carry the kiss. They've learned a lot from him already, so... what's one more lesson?

Jack starts laughing, and leans in again. 

He kisses Tower. He's usually better at it drunk, but hey, at least it's better because the other party isn't better at it than him! 

...He gets too into it and one of the lightbulbs nearby explodes. They weren't even on.

Tower yelps, and then starts laughing all over again, pressing his head into Jack's shoulder. His face feels very hot. "Sorry!"

"It's okay!" Jack snorts. "Let's get you cleaned up, okay? Both of us. I can shower with my underwear on I don't care. You are not putting a shirt back on me, though. Just by the way."

...

[neon-junkie]

Another Night Like This

Summary: This was just meant to be another drunken fuck, a heated session between two men that have spent the last few years sticking by each other's side. Maybe that's why it turned into making love?

Pairing: Javier Escuella x Bill Williamson

Word Count: 2130

Rating: NSFW

Tags: Accidental making love, Making out, Praise kink, Dirty talk, Drunken sex.

Notes: Had a few requests for more Willscuella hehe. This is set just before RDR1 :0)

The air in New Austin is crisp, blazing down onto everybodys skin, turning their mouthes dry, and burning the back of their throat. If you're short of water or whiskey, then you're fucked; but in this case, it's the dead of night, cool enough to keep the sweat away, but still dry and almost uncomfortably humid. Luckily, for a pair of unexpected lovers, dehydration isn't the case here, as tongues are sliding against each other as Javier pushes Bill down, grabbing his wrists as he falls back and pinning them on either side of his head. Their lips only leave each other for a brief moment, but when they reconnect, they're as hungry as ever. Javier adjusts his legs, swinging them over Bills lap as he straddles him, pinning his crotch against the much larger man. It's easy for Javier to over-power Bill, usually because Bill will submit to the other man with a click of his fingers, but how could anyone not submit to a well-dressed, golden-toned man, who's dark hair is currently falling a little too close to their mouths and getting caught up in their kiss.

Javier lets out a sigh as he breaks the kiss, sitting upright and pushing his hair from his face. Bill makes his usual comment, "you're gonna get fed up with it one day 'n' just cut it all off," he tells Javier, looking up at him with blown-pupils. "Maybe..." Javier replies, his eyes looking back down into Bills. He smirks softly, an expression that he pulls whenever he sees Bill like this; patiently waiting for Javier's orders, hands now resting on his stomach, visually struggling to restrain himself from pulling Javier back down onto him. The pair had been running together ever since the gang broke up a good few years ago; The wounds will never heal, but at least they have each other to keep themselves sane, or as sane as they can be whilst roaming around the dry sands of the desert. They've been camping at this same spot for a while now, just above the shore of the San Luis River. It's the perfect campsite, far enough from the main road that they don't get bothered, yet not too far from the closest town. There's also the flawless view of Mexico, its shores seeming so close yet still so far, and Javier spends every morning watching the sunrise over his homeland before prodding Bill awake, so they can get on with their day. In a few hours from now, Javier would be waking up early, ready for his daily routine. But Bill had dragged him to the saloon last night, and the pair could barely ride back, stumbling into camp and onto each other, spending another night with each other's company, as if they haven't been doing that for the last few years. They'd not bothered with hiding in their tent like they would at previous campsites, instead, finding each other beside their campfire, hands trailing across each other before Javier made his usual bold move of straddling Bills hips. "You gonna get these off for me?" Javier questions, his hand tugging at the light pants Bill recently brought. "Sure," Bill replies. Javier de-mounts him so Bill can begin to undress. He unbuttons his vest, letting out a sigh as begins to unbutton his shirt; it was Javier's idea that Bill tried adding a vest to his outfit, and as much as the outfit suits Bill, he's far too lazy to do up so many buttons every single day. However, he's even lazier to go and buy another outfit. At least Javier was smart enough to stop bothering with wearing vests, picking out the same white shirt that Bill now wears, along with a jacket that he barely buttons up. Bill had commented that Javier was getting as lazy as he was with his appearance, to which Javier sighed and said "guess I've spent too much time around you, huh?" Javier's hands are back on Bill before Bill can barely finish peeling off his shirt, discarding his shirt into their shared tent. Javier goes straight to fondling Bill's balls, biting his tongue to try and hide his smile as Bill lets out a whimper. "Why you always gotta do that?" Bill comments, and pouts when Javier chuckles. "No reason," Javier replies, biting his tongue in an attempt to hide his grin. As always, Javier's hand begins to trail south, prodding at Bill's entrance after slipping two fingers into his mouth. Bill relaxes against him, leaning back on his elbows and lets his legs fall apart; he's not a stranger to having Javier see him like this, and vice versa. One of his hands trails over Bills stomach, thinner than he used to be, but still coated in thick, dark hair. "Shit," Bill murmurs as Javier slips a finger into it. He doesn't bother going slow, pushing all the way up to his knuckle, knowing Bill can take it. "Still loose from last night, eh?" Javier comments as he slips another finger in, rotating it slight as he begins to fuck Bill with his fingers. "Shuddup," Bill grumbles, his eyes flicking away momentarily. The pouting of his bottom lip disappears as Javier finds that spot inside him, brushing over it with his fingers, making Bills cock twitch. "Shit, Javi-" Bill whines as he falls off his elbows, laying back in the dirt. "Good boy," Javier purrs. He catches Bills eyes as the larger man looks up at him with flushed cheeks, chewing at his bottom lip; Javier knows damn-well what praise does to him, and he's happily to send hoards of it Bills way, considering that this man has gone his entire life without any. A third finger is slipped in, and this time, Bill moans, rolling his head back in the dirt. Javier adjusts his position, lying down on his side beside his lover, propped up on his elbow. He continues thrusting his fingers in and out of Bill, all the whilst dipping his head down to catch Bills lips with his own. The kiss is messy, sloppy, seasoned with whimpers and soft words of affection. "You're doing so well for me, Bill," Javier sighs against his lips, and Bills cock twitches yet again. "You're hard for me, aren't you, Bill?" Javier asks as he moves his lips away, his dark eyes staring directly into Bills hazy ones. Bill manages to let out a soft "uh-huh," nodding his head at the same time. "Good, touch yourself," Javier commands, and chuckles as Bill darts his hand down to begin pumping his length. "Eager," he says with a smirk, and yet again, Bill tells him to shut up. "You think you're ready for me, big guy?" Javier asks. "Y-yeah," Bill sheepishly replies with a nod. Javier softly laughs at his timidity, shifting his weight to lie on his side comfortably, still propped up by his elbow. "We've fucked how many times? and you're still so shy around me?" "Oh, come on, you know what I'm like!" Bill defends. "Yeah, I do, Bill," he laughs, placing a soft kiss to his lips. "But you know I wouldn't want you any other way." The words slip from Javier's mouth, and it takes him a moment to process what he's just said. His eyes meet Bills, wide as always, and Bill stutters out "you wouldn't?" "I wouldn't," Javier confirms, and slips his fingers from Bills entrance. He wipes himself off on his pants before placing the same hand on Bills hip, caressing him, kneading his skin. This time, Bill reaches up to tug at Javier's hair, pulling him down to his height, and kissing him deeply. Javier has to bite back a laugh, knowing how much his words of approval mean to the larger man. Without breaking the kiss, he shuffles onto his knees, settling between Bills thighs, and begins to unbutton his pants, tossing his gun belt in the direction of their tent. Javier feels something tug at his chest, soon realizing that Bill's helping him undress, unbuttoning his shirt. Large hands trail up to help slip the fabric over his shoulders, before entwining with his hair. The kiss is soon broken, and as Javier sits upright, he pulls Bill by his hips, wrapping his legs around his waist, and positions his cock at the larger man's entrance. They sigh in unison as Javier pushes in, rolling his hips in short and quick movements, before settling on a long and slow pace. "Good, Bill," Javier sighs, watching his length disappear and reappear. He leans forward and picks up where the two left off, with open mouthed kisses, and soft moans shared between them. Bill's hands don't seem to settle, kneading at the smaller man's waist, gripping his biceps, trailing over his back; Javier doesn't mind, he's perfectly used to this, and takes pleasure in Bills neediness. He moves his lips from Bills, brushing over his turning-grey beard with light kisses, and settles on his neck, leaving his mark as the last one has finally faded away. Once Bill's neck is covered, satisfying Javier's standards, Javier sits mostly upright, turning his focus onto rolling his hips perfectly. The sight of Bill beneath him, a total whimpering mess, isn't foreign to Javier, but it's a sight that he takes in every time. "That's it, that's my Bill," Javier praises, smiling softly when Bill lets out his flustered whine as a reply. Bill's still tugging at his cock, but Javier politely swats his hand away, replacing it with his own. One hand rests on the dirt, propping his body over the larger man's, whilst the other pumps his cock in time with his thrusts, leaving Bill to grip onto whichever part of Javier's body that he can. "F-Faster... please," Bill mumbles. "What was that?" Javier asks with a smirk, stopping his thrusts completely. He pushes his cock as deep as it can go, hitting Bills prostate and making the larger man squirm beneath him. "I said faster, dammit! ....please," Bill corrects his barking, his pout being wiped away as Javier does exactly what he's asked, picking up the pace. The sound of skin against skin echoes through the thick air, possibly trailing over to the main road, but it's nobody's business but their own. As always, Bills moans are deep and gruff, with the occasional soft whimper, whereas Javier's are light and soft, mixed with words of praise. "Javi- you've gotta..." Bill attempts to call out. "Gotta what?" Javier replies. "S-Slow down," he whimpers, making Javier raise his brow. "A second ago you were asking me to go faster. Which is it, Bill?" he questions, biting back a laugh. "S-slo... Fa-sl... Aughh," Bill grumbles, indecisive as always. "Faster? again? alright, Bill. If that's what you want," Javier chuckles, picking up the pace once more. It's hard to pump Bills cock at the same speed, but Javier does what he can, taking in the sight of the larger man mewling beneath him. "I'm gonna.... if you keep-" Bill attempts to call out yet again, and Javier doesn't slow down his pace so Bill can talk. "Cum then, Bill. Go on," he urges, his own orgasm sitting on the fence, awaiting Bills arrival. Bill half opens his eyes, nodding in agreement, before letting them fall shut again, moaning away as Javier continues to fuck him. He spills his load on his stomach, coating his dark hair, his hair turning even whiter as Javier pulls out and let his load entwine with Bills. Javier mutters "mierda," whilst Bill mutters "shit." Javier falls limp across Bills chest, paying no mind to the sticky mess between their bodies. They spend a few moments coming down from their highs, panting, groaning, licking their dry lips, until Javier shuffles his head up to kiss Bill once more. There's tenderness in the kiss, not that there isn't always; his hand cups the back of Bills head, and eventually trails down his body, settling on his thigh and eagerly squeezing him. Bill's trying his best to grip at Javiers waist, but his hands are falling weak, exhausted and still slightly drunk. The kiss eventually breaks, and the pair squint their eyes as they turn, noticing the sun slowly rising in the distance. Another night spent together, not that it's been any different for the last few years, but tonight definitely felt different. "Come on, come to bed with me," Javier says as he turns back to Bill, giving his thigh another squeeze as he nuzzles the larger man. "Alright, old man," Bill chuckles, his hand reaching up to tuck one Javier's many greying hairs behind his ear. "Says you," Javier laughs, prodding at the grey patch on his beard. "Yeah, says me," Bill smiles.

[jazzistolkienfanfics]

Choose - Elves

Hi, I was wondering if you could do an imagine/oneshot with Haldir, Glorfindel and Thranduil. Sorry, I’m a sucker for elves. 🙈

@aduialel​ here you go! i’m sorry it took so long i haven’t had a ton of time and i was really stuck for inspiration (and i altered some of your request fyi)! question: what is your native language that you mentioned?

Type: Imagine Pairings: Haldir x reader, platonic!Thranduil x reader, Glorfindel x reader Summary: Y/N is forced to choose between the three people she loves most Warnings: weird timeline idk when this is set, Word Count: 1379 words

Y/N smiled widely in relief as the Elf’s temperature broke, squeezing a rag of cold water of his forehead. 

He opened his eyes on the white healer’s bed, the cold blue so unlike his personality, and smiled at the s/c face hanging over him.

“Hello, Y/N,” Glorfindel grinned, reaching up to pry the rag from her, almost holding her hand in the process (a thought that made the elleth blush) and spreading it across his head. 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” was her only response as she searched for more herbs in the drawers. “It seems every fight that you end up wounding yourself and then getting sick.”

“Eh, what can I say? I live on the edge.” Glorfindel swung his legs over the edge of the bed, smirking at the healer.

“If that’s what you’d like to call it,” Y/N rolled her eyes, though she flashed a wink at him as she spread a pounded-up mixture of herbs and medicine over a nasty slash on his forearm. “Go on, get outta here.”

“Anything for you, hiril vuin (my lady),” he teased, standing with an unfair amount of grace, tossing his brown-blond hair over his shoulder and sweeping away.

Y/N just shook her head, putting away the jars and bandages she’d taken out. She felt a sudden tap on her shoulder and dropped her store of athelas on the floor. The glass shattered everywhere.

“Goheno nin!” someone frantically apologised, dashing into Y/N’s view and beginning to pick up the pieces. The person who’d tapped her shoulder had been, unsurprisingly …

“It’s alright, Haldir,” Y/N smiled reassuringly. Haldir had no choice but to return it - Y/N’s smiles made everything better. He had been visiting Mirkwood, where Y/N and Glorfindel currently resided. “That was my fault.”

“No, I surprised you, and-” he cut off the word as he reached of the same piece of glass as Y/N, catching her hand instead of the shard. He realised it quickly, an embarrassed smile darting across his face, accompanied by a red tint on his cheeks. “Sorry.”

“Haldir, I don’t know how many times I should tell you, but you don’t need to apologise for everything!” Y/N laughed. She felt a small flutter in her heart as well - he was pretty cute.

Her laugh … Haldir loved it - it made him feel light and happy, as though there was not a worry in the world. They finished cleaning up together, Y/N putting the glass in a basket for the purpose, and turned to smile at Haldir again.

“So, why’d you come down here? Glorfindel just left, if you were after him.”

“I, uh, I actually came here to see how you were holding up,” he admitted. For all his capabilities in battle, he was helpless around this marvel of an elleth. 

Y/N looked down at her feet. “There’s gotta be another reason. Come on, now, don’t spare my feelings, spit it out.”

Haldir sighed. “I was coming down here to say hello, but then your father intercepted me.”

“My father?”

“Yeah, he’s visiting. He wants you to come see him.”

She blew a strand of h/l h/c hair out of her face, shelving the athelas in a new jar and offering Haldir her arm. He gladly took it. 

“Well, then, let’s not delay.”

—

“Ah, you’re finally here, Y/N,” her father said as she swept into Thranduil’s entrance hall with Haldir just behind her. 

“Lord Celeborn,” she said reluctantly, stiffly performing the standard hand-extending greeting. “Lord Thranduil.”

The King of the Woodland Realm winked at her from his throne, his business facade dropping for just a second for him. Y/N also briefly broke face, giving him a tiny quirk of a smirk before turning back to the visitor.

“You needn’t be so formal with me, daughter,” Lord Celeborn replied. 

Y/N just sighed. The last time they had parted ways had not been very pleasant, and she wasn’t exactly thrilled to see her father again. “Alright, Father. What do you want?”

“There is an easy answer to that question.” Celeborn, ever the dramatic, swept towards her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “You must choose a suitor.”

“We’ve been over this!” Y/N cried. “I don’t want to marry yet. And if I did - I want it to be for love!”

“Then I give you an ultimatum,” he said, any benevolence long gone from his voice. “Marry someone of your choice within the next week - or marry someone from Lorien and come back to us.”

With that, he strode from the room, leaving Y/N looking after him in utter shock and horror.

“I don’t know,” Thranduil drawled, one of his legs crossed over the other as he lounged dramatically. “I think that went well.”

Y/N turned very slowly to stare at him, her posture deadly still as she bored holes into his face. Everyone in the room averted their eyes, knowing exactly how Y/N was the only one who could have any effect whatsoever at this point in his life (apart from his son, who wasn’t even there then).

“You mean to tell me that me having my life ruined by my father, who wants me to marry not for love but for his benefit is an example of it ‘going well’?”

Thranduil winced, reconsidering his words. “Well, he gave you a choice.”

She scoffed. “Oh, please, don’t you talk to me about good parenting.”

Y/N wanted to take it back, but he was surprisingly not affected, perhaps taking note of her unfortunate situation. 

“Well, I suppose you’d better choose someone soon then,” Thranduil said. “Sadly, I’m unavailable. Only marry once and all that.”

Y/N had to laugh at him - the drama queen of a king that she loved as she would a brother. There’d been a point when she was younger when she had had a little thing for him - and he was still undeniably attractive - but Y/N was past that now. 

“Oh, yeah, because you’re the only ellon anyone finds attractive.”

He had no response to that but for an indulgent chuckle and a playful, “Out of my throne room, Y/L/N.”

��Whatever my King wishes,” she mock-curtsied, leaving the room.

—

“He made it sound so easy,” Y/N groaned, sitting with her head in her hands on one of the beds in the healing ward. “Find someone and marry them in a couple days.”

It was true - she only had three days left until she married some total slob from Lorien. 

“You’ll figure it out, I promise,” Glorfindel reassured her. 

Y/N stared at the ellon sitting across from her, giving him a weak smile. Next to Glorfindel was Haldir, spinning a knife over his fingers and staring at the shining blade. 

She sighed, standing and rubbing her eyes tiredly. “I’m going to take a walk and clear my head.”

The halls of Mirkwood were empty at the late hour when the moon was high in the sky, and Y/N’s shoes were the only sound echoing off the walls.

She leaned against one, sliding down it and resting her forehead on her curled-up knees, her arms wrapping tightly around herself. 

“What am I going to do?” she asked herself.

A choked breath later, someone raised her chin, and she found herself staring into Glorfindel’s blue eyes. 

“What you always do,” he said. “Figure it out.”  

Unable to stop herself, Y/N threw her arms around him and kissed him. He made a shocked noise, freezing for a second before wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing back with a gentle push.

Y/N pulled back suddenly, breathing rapidly. “Oh. Oh, wow.”

Glorfindel’s eyes were still wide with shock, but he gave a kind of nervous laugh and sweet smile. Y/N thought, with a pang, about Haldir, and about his evident feelings for her. She remembered some of the strange looks she’d caught the two warriors exchanging and realised each was probably as jealous as the other.

But as much as she like Haldir, she knew that her fate with him would be moving back to Lorien.

So she held out her hand to Glorfindel, and asked, “Will you help me figure it out?”

His tiny grin widened, and he accepted her hand. “Of course.”

A/N - I’M SO SORRY I HAD NO INSPIRATION I’M A PIECE OF SHIT IK IF YOU WANNA REQUEST SOMETHING DIFFERENT GO AHEAD

ALSO EVERYONE REQUESTTTTTT!

[bravo-four-seal-team]

An Email with a side of regret.

Summary : 3 months after Ashley spoke to Amelia, thats how long its been, 3 months in captivity, by mid august her and two others from her unit were save, while recovering in medical, she takes Amelia’s advice - she finally reaches out to her brother

Co-written/proof read: @disasterfandoms

Tags: 

@rebelwrites @chibsytelford @jayhalsteadfan-2417 @pinkrockstar19

@softi92 @itsonautopilot @velvetcardiganbucky @mrsmarvelous1995 @supervalcsi @thegirlwhoisalwayswriting  @galaxysanduniversesinmymind

She’s laid up on a gurney, injuries healing, fluids being given, blood is drawn after she was knocked out. Now she was awake, they had 24 hours of observation to get the go-ahead to fly out to the San Diego base to receive further treatment at the base hospital there, then go under the psychological profiling, and then a physical evaluation before being allowed to continue their jobs. 

3 months ago, Gunnery Sergeant Cole, Staff Sergeant Sawyer, and Sergeant Clarkes were taken into captivity after the rest of their unit were killed in an ambush. 3 months of hell on Earth, trying to find ways to get out, or get a message to someone, when another Unit found them and get them back to base.

Which is how they all ended up in the middle of the medical wing. Cole and Clarkes had contacted their family, while Ashley was toying with the idea of reaching out to her brother. 3 months put a lot of things into perspective for her.

 “Fuck, Amelia was right” she grumbled, opening the computer in front of her, and began typing, her mind was all over the place, but one thing she knew she needed to do was to apologize for her actions and anything she did to cause pain. 

At least if she reached out she could say she did, she didn’t expect a response, but she had played her conversation with Amelia over and over in her mind, forcing herself to survive to get home, promising herself to try and fix things. 

“What are you doing over there Sawyer?” Cole asked 

“Writing.”

“To who?”

“My brother” she responded, never looking away from a screen, continuing to type away at the incoming disaster. She could hear shuffling towards her. 

“No mention of family in your file,” Cole said, looking at her, watching as her hands moved across the keyboard, hearing a thump, they watched as their medic walked into a wall and burst into giggles. 

“Yeah well, there wasn't any point in mentioning him Gunny” Ashley responded, “Remember how I said I joined because a family member was hurt?”, stopping to look up at her superior. 

Cole nodded. “Yeah, what are you gonna tell me a tragic backstory?” he asked, laughing at the thought.

“Brother was blown up in 2005, maybe 6 can’t remember, but I was 16. Left the hospital and found out what I needed and joined 2008, he’s Navy, Navy SEALs to be exact” she muttered, resuming her typing. 

“Ah, so the baddest of badasses. Gotcha” Cole smirked, as she shook her head. “Maybe you’ll take me up on that offer of drinks and dinner.” 

“No. You’ve been trying for what? 8-9 years to get me to go out with you, not happening, I don’t date. Focus on the job and that's it.” Ashley said, hitting send 

“You need a life outside of work, and you realize it's about 5 am over there?” Cole frowned

“Well, I doubt he will read it anyway.” 

Ashley, settled down, sleeping for a few hours. She was woken up by a nurse to check her wounds, she read over what she sent. “WHY DID NOBODY STOP ME,” she shouted.

 Cole laughed “You were pretty determined.” 

“I started it off with ‘Sorry to disappoint but I'm very much alive Mark!’” Ashley said gesturing to the screen 

“I mean, humor.” 

She didn’t see the message saying that her email had been opened. 

The email:

To: T.Sawyer@Outlook.com

From: A.C.Sawyer@gmail.com

Subject: Surprise Bitch I lived. (plz open this)

Hey T. or do I start this with Dear Trent Sawyer or Petty Officer Sawyer?

Sorry to disappoint, I'm very much ALIVE. I can hear you now ‘That's not something to joke about Ashley’, yeah I know, just makes it easier. You probably don’t want me calling you T. so I won’t. I'm currently out in Baghdad, with another month of deployment left, then off to another base stateside. Not much going on out here, got me thinking about something someone said, over the past few months, and it ate away at me. I hate when people are right. Amelia was right, that I should have done this ages ago.

(As I am writing this, I just watched Craig walk into a wall, he’s on some good pain meds, our medic is high as a kite. Giggling like a child now.)

Let me begin with, I’m sorry for what I did in 2012, it was a stupid fight, I shouldn’t have said the things I did, I am sorry, I regret it, have done everyday, always expecting a call from Mom saying I was to attend your funeral, that thought terrifies me (Always had, especially after your injury).

I’m not expecting you to respond. Pretend this never came in for all I care, but I need you to know this.

Look the things I said to you Trent was uncalled for, there were times earlier on that I wanted to contact you, but I knew I’d either end up with your wife snapping at me for reaching out or radio silence from you, then mom told me you guys split and I didn’t reach out because, well, I thought I’d just make the wound worse, no point in doing that, don't go pouring salt into an open wound right?

(Can you believe my damn Gunny is still tryna get me to go out on a date with him? I made it clear for the past 8-9 years the answer is No. I’m thinking about punching him.)

Guess I don’t need to worry about you as much anymore if you got people, always say that family doesn’t end in blood, those who help you will be there for you. I caused you a shitload of hassle growing up, then with the fight. Sorry about that. Don’t think I’ll ever stop being sorry about that. Sorry about any hurt I caused, it wasn’t fair on you at all.  

God this is a mess, ha, I’m sorry, you're reading this mess. I didn’t plan this properly, and it’s probably super early for you as well, sorry… I was on base about May time? In Virginia, saw you, avoided you, didn’t want to cause any fights. I mean, Bravo is a tight unit; one word from Hayes, or your CO and it’d be my career on the line for even picking a fight or posing as a threat to a member of your weird little family there (Please get your CO some time off, he looks like he's about to have a nervous breakdown). It was easier to keep in the shadows.

You look like you're doing well, like you got the people in your life that care and worry for you, so that was good to well see and hear, which means I don’t gotta keep an eye out for trouble you get into. Looks like you're dating again as well, she seems nice (Let her know she was right, honestly, I am not happy about her being right.). You seem super happy which is good to see. 

Perhaps we could meet up when I’m back in about 2 months, I got to do a month in San Diego before going back home to Virginia. (For context for why I’ll be out in San Diego, the unit was ambushed, 3 months ago, there were 3 of us to survive, we got found yesterday, which puts life into perspective. Got psych evals and physical evals to do after healing. I fought, they don’t like fighters, man, they hate ‘em.) 

We could grab a drink and catch up, or uh… just check on each other once a month. I’m not looking for you to want to, you know, repair our messed up as hell relationship or reconnect. I know that ship sailed a year after we never contacted each other, again my fault. I'm sorry about it, sorry about all the pain caused. 

Who the hell am I kidding? I’ll send this and never get a response, you can’t fix something that is so broken. Remember what dad would tell us, “if it's unrepairable leave it”, that's what I did to our relationship. I miss having my brother in my life, miss being able to talk to you. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day. 

Just look after yourself Trent, don’t let anyone take your happiness away, fight always to get back to your family, to mom, your friends, your girlfriend. Fight always to get back to them. 

Don’t ever give up ok? You fight to get back no matter what. (You don’t break that promise you made me: to fight to come back to your family)

Look after yourself Big Bro. 

Ashley. 

(I’m gonna punch my Gunny now.)

[shadow-assassin-blix]

A Picture is a Poem Without Words

Chapter 5

A/N: “Talk” “Spanish” ‘Thoughts’ Alludes to some sexy times. Lots of talks about feelings on multiple parties. Javier makes a phone appearance. Felix and Amado appear for a smidge. Blix begins to show some of her dark side.

Not gonna lie. Timeline of the show is about to get wonky, I will admit. I will give fair warning when that happens. Just rearranging certain events as it were. 

A few days later, and Blix was bored out of her mind. Her stitches itched. She wanted the cast off. She was tired of avoiding arguments with Diego. She honestly was two seconds away from setting the damn house on fire.

She had gone through her files 5 times, and talked with her team, who had finished up the crime scene at La Tertulia. Nothing had been stolen, just made to appear that way. It was all a trap to get them there and try to take them out. According to intel, König had figured out that the FBI was on his tail, but he didn’t know much more beyond that.

That had been two days ago. She was currently pacing the floors. Chepe often made jokes, about her being like a carnival game. One sicario was brave enough to try and throw a tennis ball at her. She had been irritated enough to throw a knife near his face, in retaliation. No one dared to do anything similar since.

She was waiting for Pacho to return from his meeting with Escobar. Something about there being an issue in LA. She usually tuned out when he heard him talk business to his associates.

While she was waiting, a doctor had apparently been called to come in and look over wounds. Her stitches were removed, as was her cast. She was told to gently exercise with it, so as to not cause the muscles to stiffen and cause her more pain.

Once he left, she had nothing to do again, but pass time. She didn’t want to read, she wasn’t hungry. If she looked at her files again, she was going to throw them in the trash.

She eventually decided to go for a swim to pass the time. She ignored some of the whispers she heard from his men as she walked by. She had many scars throughout her body; she was well aware of what they looked like.

She swam for about an hour, during which Pacho had eventually returned, irritated. His irritation did fade a bit once he looked out from the balcony attached to his office and saw Blix swimming.

Chepe stood next to him and commented, “She is quite beautiful, no?”

Pacho smirked and nodded, “She is.”

Blix finally got tired of swimming and stepped out. As she was drying off, Diego walked over to her.

“Hm. I can see the appeal. Somewhat. You are almost beautiful. The scars though, tsk,” He began, saying it lowly to her. “You know Pacho is just using you right? You know that you mean nothing to him? That once you are no longer needed, he will cut you out? Don’t get use to his attention. It won’t last.”

Blix doesn’t respond, like she usually did. She just wrapped the towel around herself and went inside.

She took a quick shower and got dressed. While everyone was distracted with Pacho’s return she moved her files and notes and took them to the garage.

She looked around for the most inconspicuous car he owned. Which wound up being a dark green corvette, a convertible. She walked over to the wall that held the keys and found the one labeled Corvette. She grabbed them and unlocked the driver side door, reaching over and setting her files down onto the passenger seat.

When she straightened up, she jumped as she sees Chepe standing next to her.

“Trying to make the great escape eh?” Chepe teased, leaning against the car.

“I just need some air. Away from here. I am tired of being stuck here,” She quietly admitted, with a sigh. “Does Pacho know I’m out here?”

“No. I saw you sneak this way by chance. If you want to go out, I can take you, if you would like?” He offered politely.

She looked down, annoyed, and honestly exasperated. She had a quick thought; she wasn’t sure if it would work.

“Okay. Do you mind running in to get me a drink then? I don’t wanna risk running into Diego again,” She quietly pleaded. “A soda please?”

“Sure. I can do that, Little Lady,” Chepe answered, calling her the nickname that some of the guys had begun to call her.

He walked away and once he gotten a little bit away from her, she jumped in the car and locked the door. She quickly started it as Chepe, made his way back over to try and get her out. He was too slow, and she drove off thankful that each car had its own garage opener.

She drove past the guards and made her way out onto the lonely road that lead back to Cali.

As Chepe stood there, chuckling, Pacho wandered in. “What’s going on?”

��Little bird flew the nest. She apparently needed to get away for a while,” Chepe replied before turning around to go back into the house. “Let her have a day to herself Pacho. Also. Might want to talk Diego. I believe he may have said something to her again.”

“She took my favorite. A little concern about that,” He mumbled to himself, a hand rubbing over his chin nervously.

Chepe laughed at that, as they both made their way back to Pacho’s office. An hour later they finished business, and Pacho requested for Diego to come see him.

A moment later Diego appeared before him.

“My love. Why must you constantly be at odds with her?” Pacho asked sitting at his desk.

“Why did you even bring her here? Why are you even bothering with her? She said it herself, the deal the brothers want, won’t matter until Escobar is out of the picture. Why keep her around?” Diego rapid fired his questions in response.

“I like her. Simple as that. I brought her here to take care of her while she healed. I keep her around, because I enjoy talking to her. I know my answers may upset you. But you also seem to think that I’m replacing you with her, and that’s not true,” He answered truthfully, looking him in the eyes.

“I still love you Diego. She’s not taking me away from you. In fact, I’m quite certain I’ve spent most of this week with you. In your arms. Not hers. So why do you continue to belittle her?” He continued as he stood before Diego and pulled him close.

Diego looked away, and felt a small amount of guilt as he reflected over the comments he said to her.

“I will… try to tolerate her more. I make no promises. But I will stop trying to goad her into an argument,” Diego conceded.

“Thank you. That’s all I want,” Pacho said pressing a kiss to Diego’s lips. “Now, I have to go find her, and make sure she’s okay. You owe her an apology by the way.”

Diego rolled his eyes slightly but nodded his head.

Back with Blix, she had finally arrived home, parking the corvette gently in front of her home. She grabbed her stuff out of the seat, and went inside, sighing in relief at the sight of her home.

She set her files down in her office alongside her sat phone. She checked on the food in her fridge, some of which had spoiled so she tossed it out. She decided then that she wanted to go to the store and get her own groceries.

She did just that, the store she liked was only two blocks down, so she walked to it. She grabbed a couple of different meats to make meals with, and then she got a lot of junk food. Once she was done getting what she needed between food and personal hygiene items, she checked out. Her trip took about 40 mins, but it made her feel a lot better already.

While she enjoyed being at Pacho’s home, she was often left to her own devices, and her movements were restricted around the house, depending on where he had his meetings.

She quite frankly grew bored, and while she tried to strike up conversation with the men around the house, they often avoided her. Whether it was because she was a federal agent or because Pacho ordered them to not speak with her, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she simply couldn’t do much.

She returned to her house and put away everything. She called up Jacque to see if she could come into work that night. He very enthusiastically told her yes. So, she got ready, dressing up in a black halter top mini dress, with a simple v-neck. It’s straps and bodice were lace-y, the skirt ending just above mid-thigh, and flowy. She slipped on her black strappy high heels.

She did some simple makeup, lip-gloss, and a bit of eyeshadow. She thought about walking to work, but then she stared at the lovely little corvette before her. She grabbed her purse, making sure her house keys were in it, along with some cash, her IDs and such before she snatched the car keys. ‘It’s such a pretty car. I mean it should be admired, should it not?’

She drove to work, smiling. When she got to work, she greeted Jacque and the waitresses. The official story for them was that she was in a car crash. So, they all came up to check on her, and made sure she was okay.

She told them she was fine, and ready to get back to normal. The night went on like it normally did, locals in the beginning, before switching to the younger crowd.

Her head at one point did begin to pound, and she had to take a seat while she worked, because she felt a bit lightheaded.

Jacque eventually sent off on her break, and as she made her way over to the familiar taco truck, she felt a bit exhausted. She didn’t have too much time to think on it as a small force ran into her, arms wrapping around her tightly.

“Miss Bee! You’re okay. We were so worried! I -We missed you!” Came the small voice of Paulo.

She hugged him back once she regained her bearings. “Hi honey. Yes. I’m okay. I missed you too.”

She stepped forward as Paulo talked her ear off, catching her up on the local and familial drama.

“Slow down for a moment honey. I gotta order,” Blix said, trying to get him to pause for a moment. “Hello Henri. How are you?”

“I’m good little fox. I’m happy to see you out and about. Are you sure you’re okay to be working already?” Henri asked concern, looking her over.

“I’m fine. I may see about heading out early. My head is aching. But uh.. I would like the steak burrito, please?” She assured before placing her order.

“Oh? Who upset you honey?” He asked as he began to make it.

“Why do you ask that? It’s just a burrito,” Blix protested.

“You don’t order the burrito, unless you are feeling upset. It’s a part of your quirks. Steak tacos on normal days, chicken quesadillas when you have strange cravings, cause you tend to dunk them in whatever sauce is available, and burritos when you’re really upset by something,” He listed out as he cooked.

She stared at him in surprise, blinking slowly. “I… I don’t know what to say that.”

“As I said, it’s just something I noticed over the past year. By the way this is on the house,” he noted as he began assembling the burrito.

A moment later, he hands her the burrito wrapped in some aluminum foil, and a couple of napkins. He then puts out a sign saying that he’s gone on break and comes outside.

He beckons her over to one of the picnic tables, and tells Paulo to go inside, that he can catch up later.

Blix made her way over to him, hopping up to sit on the tabletop, as she took a bite of her burrito.

“Alright, lil fox, what’s going on?” Henri began, gently nudging her with his shoulder.

“I seem to have the worst taste in men,” She began softly.

“This guy I’m… dating? Sleeping with? I don’t really know what exactly it is, he… he has… a partner, who… doesn’t care for me too much, is the nice way to put it,” She slowly explained trying to take care in her words.

“I knew he had this partner from the beginning, or rather I suspected it. That’s not my problem. The problem is… I have spent the past week, being goaded and taunted by this other person, because of my looks,” She stated with a sigh, staring down at her food dejectedly. “Often times, I can ignore what people say about me. But this past week, has really done a number on me.”

“Is the man you are seeing aware of the comments, and insults?” Henri asked after a moment.

“Yes. He knows…about some of it. I gave up after the third day of it, and his partner giving no shits about what he says,” She confessed. “The thing is, I spent years… years… trying to get over my scars. There was a large portion of my life where I would spend an hour every morning, putting on makeup to cover them up.”

“What made you stop doing that?” He asked curiously.

“My friend in Bogota. He… he was the first guy who looked at me, sans makeup, and didn’t flinch. He told me that I looked like a goddess. Athena in human form. It was the sincerest compliment I had ever gotten in years. I stopped caring after that,” She answered with a fond smile, thinking of Javier.

“Sounds like a good man. Why aren’t you with him then?” Henri wondered with a chuckle.

Blix laughed in response, before replying, “Because the man is terrified of commitment.”

“Ahh. Okay then,” He responded, nodding his head. “It sounds to me however, that you need to talk to your other suitor. If this relationship is to continue, all of you have to be on the same page. Being outed by his other significant other, is not fair to you.”

“I… I don’t know anymore, Henri. Feels like I shouldn’t even bother with it anymore. Not gonna lie, I kind of ran off on him today. Just… couldn’t deal with it anymore. Maybe I am just meant to be alone,” She shrugged, before taking a large bite to distract herself.

“Now, that sounds like giving up. I didn’t take you for a quitter,” He lightly admonished. “Take some time to yourself. The next time you see him, if your heart starts to race, or you feel butterflies in your stomach, then that’s worth pursuing. It means his mere presence makes you happy.”

She smiled softly at that and nodded her head. She continued eating, the two of them talking for a while longer, before the both of them had to return to work.

She worked for another hour before leaving early. Her head was pounding, and she felt exhausted. She sat in the driver’s side of the car, resting her eyes for a moment. The lightheadedness had return as well. She heard a tap on her door, and she rolled the window down and sees Diego standing there.

“Move over to the next seat. I’ll take you home. Pacho is waiting for you there,” Diego softly ordered.

She stared at him in suspicion first, before slowly crawling over the center console, and sitting in the passenger seat. He gets in and started the car, after making sure she was secured in her seat.

“I’m… sorry.” Diego suddenly stated after a minute.

“Wow. Did that taste like vinegar coming out of your mouth?” She asked bitterly.

“Yes. It did actually,” He answered shortly.

“Thanks. I guess. You know… that I’m not trying to take him from you, right? If… when… he decides he doesn’t want me anymore, I’ll go. I’m not… here to ruin what the 2 of you have,” She quietly commented, staring out the window.

“I know…,” He responded. “Though… I have a feeling that you are going to be around for long time. The last girl he was with, he never brought her to the house. Never got her flowers. He likes you, that much I can tell. Which was why… I got territorial. Which was unwarranted. I can’t say that we will be best friends, but I will try to be less of an ass.”

“Okay. That works. Was Pacho pissed that I took his car?” She asked wanting to change the subject.

“Pissed? Concerned is more like it. This is his favorite. His baby,” Diego snorted, as they pulled up to her house.

“Oops.” She said quietly, a small snicker slipping out.

As the car came to a stop, she stepped out to see Pacho, waiting for her on the steps. He looked up at her, as she stepped forward. As his eyes locked onto hers, she felt her heart race a bit. ‘Damnit, Henri.’

She gently stepped passed him to unlock her door and walked inside without saying anything to him.

She made her way to her kitchen to get a glass of water, and some pain medicine. She swallowed the meds quickly before chugging down some water. When she finished, she noticed Pacho standing before her.

“Diego told me…everything. We spoke earlier. Hopefully, now we can all live somewhat peacefully with one another,” Pacho began.

As much as she wanted to believe that, her doubts and insecurities threatened to raise their ugly heads. She leaned against the kitchen counter behind her, gazing at the kitchen tile. Pacho moved to stand before her, and gently cupped her face with his hands, silently asking her to look up.

She does so slowly, hesitantly, biting her lip nervously.

“What’s the matter, my sweet?” He asked concerned.

“Diego… he made some points though. There is no need for you to dote over me when I’ve already agreed to do what you want. Your deal is as good as done, once the brothers have typed it up. So, why bother with me?” She questioned, her tone serious.

“I dote over you because I wish to. How many times do I have to tell you, that I find you absolutely gorgeous? Extremely breathtaking? A goddess? I’m with you, because I like you,” He praised. “Maybe I am being somewhat selfish in that I also want to learn about your every secret. Your beautiful, and charming. Smart. Witty. You have a dark side to you, that intrigues me greatly. Why wouldn’t I want to be with you?”

He doesn’t allow her to answer as he pressed his lips to her. Her hands slowly wrapped around his back, as one of his slid down her side.

“This dress is sexy, but... I feel like it’ll look better on the floor,” He whispered against her lips.

His hand on her side, grabbed a handful of her dress, bunching it up as he began to pull at it.

They continued to kiss until they were gasping for breath and had to pull away.

“I want you to come with me to meet with the Gallardo. We’ll be going to Panama. It’ll just be me and a few others,” Pacho requested in a whisper.

“Why? What do you need me for?” She quietly asked, curious.

“I want you by my side. Simple as that,” Pacho answered. “What do you say?”

She started to answer when her phone rang. “Hold that thought.” She said pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Hello?” She spoke into the kitchen phone.

“Hey. It’s me,” Came Javier’s voice.

“Hi. What’s up? It’s like 1am,” She said with concern.

“We got Gacha. Earlier today. We… we killed him,” He announced with a sigh.

“What? Oh my god! That’s… that’s amazing!” She congratulated. “But uh… shouldn’t you be out celebrating? Drinking? Sex with a random woman?”

As she spoke, Pacho came up behind her, and pressed kisses to the back and side of her neck.

“Thought about it… but uh… didn’t quite feel like it, I guess. I mean. I have been drinking, just not at a bar,” He responded, somewhat hesitantly.

“Javi. What’s wrong? This is a win. One step closer to Escobar, yeah?” She contended, somewhat confused by his tone.

“I uhh. Do you… do you ever think about us?” Javi inquired.

She sighed at that question, while also attempting to get Pacho to stop with his ministrations that were slowly getting bolder. His hand had slipped under her skirt and were softly massaging her inner thigh.

“How much have you had to drink Javi?” She questioned.

“What does that have to do with anything?” Javier asked back, offended.

“You don’t talk about feelings. Unless you’ve had a few. Remember, that’s how you broke up with me? Got shitfaced and told me that you saw our relationship heading nowhere,” She replied somewhat bitterly.

“…. What if I said that I was lying? That I do see something with you?” Javi inquired after a moment.

“I’d say that I would rather have this conversation when you’re sober and in front of me. Listen. Go sleep honey. I’m proud of you. Call me when you’re sober,” She answered before slowly hanging up.

She gently leaned back into Pacho’s chest with a heavy sigh. “Is Diego still outside?”

“No. Sent him home with Navegante,” Pacho murmured as he slowly began to unzip the back of her dress.

She pulled away then and began walking toward the stairs. “Good. Come upstairs then.”

He followed behind her and as they stepped into her room, she kicked off her shoes. She stepped into her bathroom for a moment to wash off her makeup before anything else.

When she stepped back out into her room, Pacho was sitting on her bed, sans shoes and socks. She slowly slipped the dress off from around her shoulders, before doing a little wiggle as she pulled it down her hips.

She stood in front of him in just her underwear and straddled his hips a moment later. She stared at the shirt he wore, a shirt that was 3 different colors. Not exactly the best looking in her opinion.

“How much… do you like this shirt?” She coyly asked, pulling at the collar with an index finger.

“It’s… alright. Why?” He inquired squinting his eyes at her in suspicion.

She simply reached over to her bedside table, and after a momentary struggle of trying to find it blindly, she found her pocketknife. She flipped it opened and gently held it at the collar of his shirt. She bit her bottom lip softly as she held his shirt firmly in her left hand. She dragged the knife down, the blade slowly ripping the fabric.

Once there was a decent tear in the shirt, she set the knife back down on the table. She then began to pull at the tear, firmly, shredding the shirt down the middle.

The entire time that was going on, Pacho watched her curiously, and was only slightly concerned when she pulled out the knife.

“So, I take it, you didn’t like the shirt?” Pacho joked once she had finished shredding it and was shoving it off his shoulders.

“It’s… it was ugly honey. I’m sorry. But… you can pull off many looks, but this… This is a no,” She slowly responded pressing a small kiss along his collar.

He laughed loudly at her response and just nodded his head. “Understandable. Just know that I can and will get you back for it. Though I will agree. It wasn’t my best.”

She giggled and sighed before sadly stating, “I’m… super tired… I would love to continue this, but I may pass out on you.”

“It’s okay. We can do some catching up in Panama if you wish?” Pacho offered kissing her slowly.

“Yeah. I like the sound of that,” She agreed before getting up to go grab an old band t-shirt to put on and take off her bra.

She could hear Pacho undressing further as well, and once she was in the shirt and her underwear, she turned to see him in just his boxers. They slipped under the covers, and Pacho quietly told her about his day, laying on his side, his head propped up on his arm. When he mentioned the horse ranch she froze.

“Wait. You… you have a ranch… with… with horses???? And you… never told me?” She asked with wide eyes staring at him.

“Yes. Would you like me to take you there sometime this week?” Pacho asked surprised.

“Uh. Yes! I love horses! Grandparents had a horse ranch, and it was the best part of my summers as a kid,” She explained excitedly. “If I had known about the ranch, I wouldn’t have gotten bored. I’d been harassin’ you to take me every day.”

He smiled sadly at her, and he apologized softly, “I’m sorry you got bored. Not going to lie, I’m used to women who love sitting around and doing nothing.”

His hand softly stroked her side as he spoke. She smiled in response, reaching up to run her hand along his jaw.

“It’s not a big deal honey. I’ve been told I’m like a husky, need to be walked 15 times a day or I’ll lose my mind,” She lightly joked.

“Then I’ll make sure you have plenty to do,” Pacho assured as he pulled her closer to him.

She snuggled into his chest, and they slowly fell asleep together.

The next morning, was a blur as they got dressed and ate a quick breakfast. She definitely packed up all her snacks, because she refused to leave her junk food behind.

As they stepped outside, her neighbor, Mrs. Garcia, said hello. She waved at her distractedly as Pacho opened the car door for her.

As they drove out to his house, he mentioned that she could have a car to claim as her own to use. “Just not this one. This one is… special.”

They spent the day at his house and planned a time to go see the horse ranch the next day. It was going to be in the afternoon, once Gilberto and Miguel left after their meeting.

The day passed normally, there were no arguments between her and Diego. They even had pleasant conservations throughout the day.

The next morning was a bit chilly, and she threw on a large fleece cardigan over her shorts and tank. As she walked around, she ran into Navegante and politely asked if the brothers had arrived yet.

Navegante informed her, “Yes, they’ve been here for about an hour now.”

She nodded her head in understanding before making her way into the kitchen. She made herself a cup of tea with honey, before grabbing 3 more cups and filling them with black coffee. She threw sugar packets into one pocket of her cardigan and different flavors of creamer packs into the other.

She made her way upstairs, gradually, and into Pacho’s office. The three were standing around the table pouring over a map. She cleared her throat to alert their attention to her.

“Sorry to interrupt. Thought some fresh coffee might help?” She offered holding them up.

Pacho smiled somewhat tightly but said thank you. She sets the cups down, pulling out the packets of sugar and creamer as her hands became free.

She glanced down at the map, which was of Mexico, and found herself looking at it confused. Most of Mexico was marked off into sectors; the various different territories. Everywhere except one place.

“Guadalajara, yes?” She confirmed without much thought. “Why is the Baja not marked off?”

Miguel cleared his throat before answering, “Guerra. Opium dealer. He owns the Baja. Doesn’t like cocaine.”

“But Gallardo’s probably made him offer right?” She guessed looking at all 3 of them.

“Yes. He probably has why?” Pacho questioned.

“You said it yourself. Gallardo’s arrogant. Probably thinks that if he controls all of Mexico, he has you in a checkmate,” Blix began to explain. “Make Guerra a better offer. Or as Marlon Brando would say, ‘Make him an offer he can’t refuse.’ It’s what I would do.”

Gilberto smirked at her before grabbing his phone and handing it and a number on a post-it note.

“Then do it.” His tone was challenging, like he was daring her.

She took both from him slowly, took a deep breath, and called the number. ‘I’m being tested. Well. Let’s see how I do then.”

The phone rang for a moment before someone finally answered.

“Hello, may I speak to Mr. Guerra please?” She politely requested.

“Mr. Guerra isn’t available righ-“ the man began before Blix cut him off.

“Listen. As someone who is clearly an overpaid secretary, I’m calling bullshit. Please tell Guerra that a representative of the Cali Cartel wishes to speak to him. Now,” She informed him firmly.

A few minutes passed before another voice, older and gravellier, answered, “Guerra speaking. How may I help you?”

“Hello. My name is Blix. My… associates have heard rumors that Gallardo offered to bring you into the cocaine business, yes?” She began and before letting him answer continued. “We wish to make you a better offer?”

“Oh? Is that so? What could you possibly offer me?” Guerra inquired sounding somewhat agitated.

“I’m willing to bet that Gallardo only offered about 10% of the profits. We’d like to give you something a little more than chump change,” She offered as she leaned against the table, taking a sip of her tea.

“50%” Guerra stated.

“Guerra. I may have been born at night, but it certainly wasn’t last night. 50% is too high and you know it. Don’t insult my intelligence,” She lightly warned. “20%”

“Hm. 40%” He threw back.

“30%.” She responded hoping to trick him into going lower

“25%.” He threw out before he tried to take it back, stumbling over his words. “N-Wa-“

“Deal.” She confirmed before he could say anything. “One of my associates will be in contact with you to iron out the details, within the next day or so.”

“You are a good businesswoman, I must say. It’s not often I fumble over a deal,” Guerra complimented.

“For some reason, I just don’t believe that. You knew I wasn’t going to go much higher than 20, you just wanted to see if you could get me to agree to something higher,” She responded ignoring the compliment. “I would also like to inform you Mr. Guerra, that you should forget about your travel plans to Panama. Wouldn’t want to cause any… conflicts of interest.”

“Ah. An intelligent woman indeed. Good, you’ll need that while working with the cartel,” He stated. “Gallardo isnt going to be pleased by this.”

“Gallardo isn’t my concern. Do know this Mr. Guerra. Gallardo will probably at some point retaliate. He’s a prideful man. It’s in his nature. But what he does to you, will be nothing in comparison to what we will do if you try to betray us,” She cautioned.

“Are you… are you threatening me?” He accused.

“No. Warning. Because... Gallardo will take revenge, sure. But Cali? No. Revenge is petty. Beneath us,” She stated darkly. “Accidents however… Accidents can and do happen every day. Like… fires, gas leaks, that sort of thing can happen anywhere, like at your restaurant, your home/ranch, that shitty lil town you’ve proclaimed yourself as king, or your acres of opium. Would be such a shame… if anything happened to your livelihood.”

It was quiet, but she could hear him breathing, “Understood.”

“Good! As I said, earlier, someone will be in touch to finetune the details. Have a lovely day, Mr. Guerra,” She ended the call with a perky tone.

She handed the phone back to Gilberto and said, “That wasn’t too hard. Enjoy your coffees.”

She walked away with her tea, toward her room, to get dressed for the afternoon.

Pacho watched her leave with an impressed smirk plastered on his face, his eyes dark as he watched her leave.

“Did that… really just happen?” Miguel asked in disbelief.

“It did indeed. I told you. She has a darkness to her, and I love seeing it,” Pacho grinned, lighting a cigarette. “It was also her way of speeding up the meeting so we can go to the ranch.”

The brothers laughed and soon enough their meeting had ended. As soon as it was over, he walked down to Blix’s room. He leaned against the door-jam as he watched her get ready. She was slipping on a pair of cowboy boots when she noticed him standing there.

“Oh? Done so soon?” She greeted happily, walking over to him.

As she stepped up to him, he pulled her close and kissing her passionately.

“Wow. What uh… what was that for? Not that I’m complaining,” She wondered breathlessly, when they pulled apart a moment later.

“You are very sexy. Even moreso when threatening men. Couldn’t help myself,” He whispered to her.

She shook her head at him before excitedly asking, “So the ranch? Horses?”

He nodded, laughing at her as she bounced up and down in front of him, like a child.

They made their way down to his car, and off they went to the ranch. The ranch was only 20 minutes from his home and as they pulled up her excitement ramped up.

She was out the door before he could even turn the car off. She rushed up to the stalls and began excitedly talking to both the horses and the stable hands that were working.

Pacho slowly walked up behind her and listened to her coo to the horses as she ran her hands down their faces.

They spent several hours there, half of it spent with her in awe of each horse, and the other half was her riding around the stables on some of the horses.

Lunch was served late there, and as they ate, he commented, “If I had known the ranch would make you so happy, I would’ve brought you sooner. Don’t think I’ve seen you smile so much.”

“I smile? What do you mean?” She asked confused as she looked at him taking a sip of the daiquiri that he insisted on making her.

“I mean, that since the second we pulled up, you haven’t stopped smiling. You smiled even when Rowdy tried to eat your shirt. It’s quite beautiful to see you so happy,” He further explained with a fond smile.

She looked down, a light blush gracing her cheeks.

“You mentioned last night that your grandparents had a ranch? What happened there?” Pacho asked curiously.

“The short story? My grandparents died, and my mother didn’t want to deal with it,” She explained quietly as looked away.

“And the long story?” Pacho lightly probed, his hand reaching out to hold hers.

“My sisters and I… we loved it. It was the best 2 to 3 weeks of our summer. Spending our time at the ranch. Training horses. My grandfather had show and race horses. We would trade off each day on who we would work with on what.” She began thinking about to it fondly.

“When they died, my mother wanted nothing to do with it. Sold off the horses. Fired the workers. Cut down the apple orchard we had opened for the public to go apple picking. The barns have been hit hard with storms, and my mother didn’t care to fix them. If she could she would’ve sold the land as well,” She explained rather sadly.

“Why didn’t she?” Pacho inquired.

“Grandparents left it in their will that the ranch was to go to us. That when we were old enough, we could decide who would run it. That the land could only be sold by us if we all agreed to. So, my mother found a loophole around it. Can’t have much of a ranch if there’s nothing there,” She concluded with a half shrug.

“I’m sorry your mother stole that from you and your siblings,” Pacho consoled as he lifted her hand to press a kiss to it.

She didn’t respond beyond shrugging and letting out a small sigh.

“So. Tonight we leave for Panama yeah?” Blix changed the subject.

He nodded his head, and reported, “Yes. We leave on a late flight, check into our hotel, and then meet with Gallardo tomorrow at noon. In fact, we should probably head back, and pack up.”

They did just that, got home, packed, and she met a few other members, like Salcedo, and a couple of guards going with them.

The flight to Panama was swift, and soon they were in their hotel room, resting. Morning came around, and as they made their way to the hotel where Gallardo was at, Pacho made a quick explanation.

“When we get there, if you could please wait downstairs for 20 minutes. I doubt the meeting shall take very long, but I would prefer it if you did not get involved any more than you have. I’ll have a guard with you, just go shopping or something. I’ll come retrieve you,” He informed her as they pulled up to the hotel.

She raised an eyebrow and decided she wasn’t going to argue about this, right now. She got out and with her newly grown shadow in the form of a 30 something year old man named Thierry; she wandered the shops.

She came across a jewelry store and waltzed in, looking at everything bored. Something eventually caught her eye as she made her way over to the men’s jewelry.

As she looked at it, a small smile grew on her face. A store assistant came over and asked if he could help her.

“Yes. Can I see that necklace please?” She politely asked pointing at it.

He reached in and grabbed the necklace, displaying it in the palm of his hand.

She inspected it closely and hesitantly said, “Umm. That necklace has a small scratch on it… would there happen to be anything similar to it?”

A manager happened to be walking by and overheard the conversation. He inspected the necklace and spotted the imperfection before telling the employee to put it with the discount items somewhat annoyed.

“Come this way ma’am. I’m sure this one over here will please you greatly,” He schmoozed in a hoity manner, giving her a look.

He brought her over to another display case and pulled out a similar necklace. She nodded her head, stating ”Yeah. This one is much better. How much?”

“$647.32. In American dollars.” He answered in a mockingly sad tone.

She reached into her bag and pulled out the envelope that her tips from the brothers in it. She counted out 650 and told him to keep the change. He tightly smiled and boxed it up before handing it to her.

She rolled her eyes at his attitude and made her way back out to her guard.

“Just because your item got fucked up, doesn’t mean you need to get all snooty about it,” She muttered under her breath annoyed.

She continued exploring, getting slowly more and more annoyed with her babysitter, since he kept trying to steer her over to the elevators. She eventually made her way through a large crowd and lost him after a moment.

She noticed as she walked further on that there was an art auction going on in one of the conference rooms that was open to the public.

As she strolled that way, she ran into 2 men, one of whom she had seen pictures of.

“Mr. Gallardo. That was quick, I hope Pacho wasn’t too cruel with you,” She greeted as she blinked at him.

“No. Not at all miss?” He prompted.

“Blix. I hear you enjoy art; would you like to join me in viewing the auction?” She politely asked before turning to the other man with him. “Hello. You can join us as well Mr.?”

“Amado. I’ll just.. wait here. Thanks.” He declined with a nod of his head.

Felix and she made their way into the auction and began looking over the art. Blix stared at some items with intensity, and Felix who did look at the art, was more intrigued by the woman next to him.

“So, you are with the Cali? A bit odd for a federal agent, no?” Felix questioned, looking at her curiously.

“Hm. It’s… an interesting arrangement let’s just go with that. Besides. They are not my concern. Not my division as it were,” She replied meeting his eyes.

“Yes. I heard you were in art crimes,” Felix acknowledged as they made their way through a section of impressionist art.

“Yes. Art is quite fascinating. Horace once said that a picture was a poem without words,” Blix noted. “That picture in my opinion can mean anything. There’s always something that speaks to you. Whether it’s religious, political, or personal. Art is a reflection of you.”

They stopped near a canvas that had a weeping willow tree, the vines covered in ice.

“Take this for example. To you it’s simply a tree. To me… it reminds me of my childhood home. We had willows everywhere,” She said as an example. “Art, no matter the format, is an extension of you. Extension of your personality.”

He smiled at her and nodded, and before he could respond, they heard a throat clear behind them. As they turned to it, Pacho stood there, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Uh-oh. It appears I’m in trouble. It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Gallardo,” She whispered conspiratorially holding her hand out to shake.

He took it and instead of shaking it, kissed the back of it. “The pleasure was mine. I do hope Mr. Herrera brings you out to our meetings more often.”

He walked away and met up with Amado, before disappearing.

Blix quietly followed Pacho who she could tell was fuming. His shoulders were tensed, and he was breathing roughly.

They made their way back to their hotel in silence. They even left that night instead of staying like they originally planned.

As they stepped over the threshold of his home, she finally broke the tension, “Are you going to stay mad at me forever? Or are you going to finally tell me what’s wrong?”

“I had the guard with you for a reason. He was there to protect you. Instead of doing what I asked you not only ignored it, but put yourself onto Gallardo’s radar, for no reason” He fumed, glaring at her.

“I am a federal agent. I can take care of myself. I do not need a guard or protection. I can protect myself quite well. Been doing so for a very long time,” She reminded him.

“As for Gallardo, I ran into him by accident. I didn’t seek him out. I figured he knew who I was, which he did, and I was just being polite. That’s it,” She reassured.

He took a deep breath, looking away. “I don’t like you putting yourself in unnecessary danger. If he had decided to retaliate against me, using you…”

She stepped up to him, placing her hands on his chest, and soothed, “But he didn’t. I’m still here. Annoyed that we didn’t stay in Panama, especially after I got you something, but still here.”

He placed his hands on her hips, and said, “Oh? You did? What?”

“Not giving it to you now. You were a brat. I’ll give it to ya when you’ve earned it,” She teased as she walked away.

Pacho raised an eyebrow at that comment and chased after her, grabbing her around the waist and throwing her over his shoulder.

“A brat eh? Takes one to know I think,” Pacho mocked, smacking her on the ass.

“Really? Did you seriously just?” She asked in disbelief, before smacking his butt in return. “Turnabout is fair play.”

He carried her upstairs, both of them laughing at each other, before he decided to make it up to her all night long.

A few days had passed, and she still had yet to give Pacho the necklace she got him. He was convinced it was a watch. It wasn’t until a package arrived for her at Pacho’s house that she decided to give him the gift. Especially when she realized that the gift was from Gallardo. It was the painting of the willow tree that they had looked at together.

The painting came with a note, “It was a pleasure speaking you, my lady. I hope we can talk more soon.”

Pacho was annoyed by its presence. So, she pulled out the velvet box that held his necklace in it, hoping it would soothe things over.

He was sitting in at his desk in his office when she walked in. She moved over to him and gently sat in his lap, presenting the box to him. He opened it slowly.

“A crocodile?” Pacho questioned confused.

“I don’t know jackshit about watches, so don’t ever expect one from me. But I do know that in most ancient cultures, the crocodile is one of the few animals that was revered. They’ve been worshipped longer than God. Deified for well over a millennium,” She began to explain as she took it out of the box.

“They represent duality. Tough enough to withstand bullets, but do not do well with criticism. They are precise with every move they make and see opportunities where others cannot. They are cunning, strong, brave, and dependable. That’s what I see when I look at you,” She described as she hooked it around his neck.

“So, my primordial being, do not bother yourself with the opinions of sheep or the thoughts of lesser men. I certainly don’t,” She requested with a kiss. “I want you to wear it for good luck. Protection.”

Her phone at that point began to ring, and she stared at the number slightly confused, for she did not recognize it. She answered it after a moment. “Hello?”

“Hello Miss Lage. This is Felix Gallardo,” Came the response.

“Oh. Mr. Gallardo, how are you?” She replied turning to Pacho with a wide eye look. His returning look was with narrowed eyes, and a tense jaw.

“I simply wanted to make sure that painting arrived safely,” He informed softly.

“Yes. Yes, it did. I was hoping to be able to thank you in person, but this works too. It’s quite lovely,” She thanked, wondering where this was heading.

“Good. I must say, I was a bit hesitant to get it for you, since you looked at it so sadly, but then I saw a glimmer of something, that… I could relate to,” Felix admitted. “I saw a longing. For home. I often get that way myself thinking about Sinaloa.”

“Home? Not necessarily. Simpler times, more like. Haven’t missed home in quite some time,” She lightly argued.

“Hm. It is rather interesting, though. The things we would do for those we consider home. Safe. Like threatening an opium dealer to cut a deal for your lover. Guerra said he spoke to a charming young lady. Would hate for anything to befall said lady, for sticking her nose into business she does not belong in,” He vaguely threatened.

“Well. Mr. Gallardo. I would simply say that I can take care of myself. I’ve dealt with plenty of villains, Felix, and I hate to break it to you, but I’ve faced scarier. Have a lovely day,” She hung up the phone after that.

“Villains? You mean… your mother?” Pacho tried to clarify.

“Let’s just say, ruining a ranch, was nowhere the worst thing she ever did to me,” She whispered vaguely gesturing at her face.

“I see. Well then. I guess it’s a good thing you are mine. Anyone tries to harm you, they’d be dead,” He promised after a moment of silence, fully understanding what she was implying.

She smiled sweetly at him, and they spent the rest of the day talking about his work. He was giving her a glimpse into his world and how it worked. That to her was a level of trust she wasn’t expecting, but she appreciated it, nonetheless.

Neither of them were aware of the chaos that was about to unfold, due to the events going on in Medellin.

[kikoqueenofrats]

TW mention of injury and bruises

Hey so remember when I said I’d post the fic if people gave the post enough attention?

Yeah I decided I didn’t need that and went ahead anyways-

So yeah, enjoy stick oc shenanigan's- 

Also @toastraccoon​ Because she let me rant about my two idiots and now they’re getting a story because of her-

Also yes this is gonna be in multiple parts-

It was just an average day for Mari. 

They were currently exploring a new desktop they had stumbled into. Like they always did, keeping an eye out for any user activity as humans usually didn't like seeing stick figures randomly appearing on their computer.

Mari had to stay alert at all times incase they were discovered, so they could leave the computer immediately after.

They checked the screen to see if the user of this computer was still asleep...yup, the poor guy had probably been working on some sort of writing project before Mari had stumbled in but now they were completely out of it, so Mari currently had free reign of the computer.

Well as free as they could be without completely wrecking it, Mari didn't feel the need to do that to a random person...even if they did end up being a stick hating jerk.

Mari whistled out a tune whilst they walked across the word document currently holding the users project. They began to think about the adventures they had been on and all the sticks they had met. None of them seemed to want to leave their desktop to explore the internet with Them, too content to leave the lives they were currently leading.

Oh well their loss.

A loud thud followed by a coughing fit brought Mari out of their thoughts. They looked towards the noise and noticed a small blue stick figure curled up on the floor.

Well that wasn't there before.

"HEY!!" Mari called out to them as they jumped down from the tab. The blue stick flinched, beginning to frantically look around before their eyes landed on Mari.

They jumped, backing away from Mari as much as they could, their eyes not leaving Mari's face.

Mari slowly made their way over, taking notice of how dirty and disheveled the blue stick was...and also the fact that they were shaking like a leaf.

"You okay?" Mari asked, kneeling in front of the blue stick so they wouldn't look as threatening.

The blue stick looked at them hesitantly, debating on whether or not they should answer that question, if they could answer that question.

They opened their mouth and what came out was a gravely version of their own voice.

"I...I'm not sure..I..."

That was all the blue stick could say before their throat closed up on them in favor of the tears that were now streaming down their face. 

Mari took that in, they weren't the best at dealing with this kind of problem, however Mari was determined to help this unfortunate stick. 

Blue was a mess, both physically and mentally, their body was covered in what looked like burn marks and dirt, there was a slight red tinge to some of the places on their body as well...most likely open wounds from whatever the poor stick went through.

"Hey...you look like you've been through a lot..do..uh..you wanna get clean? I can help" Mari wasn't sure how comforting they sounded...but it seemed to work.

The blue stick figure nodded slowly and tried to get to their feet.

Great! Mari knew just what to do, they quickly opened the internet browser and looked up a game they knew would help.

Mari didn't notice just how much the blue stick was struggling to stand on their own until they had located the game they were looking for. 

It was one of those, wash and dress this cute pet kind of game. The pet wasn't all that cute in Maris opinion...it was actually kind of creepy.

Mari quickly shook the thought away as they went to grab the blue stick. Mari should really try to put a name to them...

"Hey what's your name?" Mari asked as they gently took the blue sticks hand and pulled them to their feet "my name's Maroon...Mari for short, I gave it to myself pretty neat huh?"

The blue stick slowly nodded, trying to keep themselves from falling over again as the sudden movement had caused their head to spin.

After a while they replied, "I..don't really...have one" they smiled sheepishly, their voice still horse.

"That's okay" Mari replied "I'll give you one after we get you cleaned up and healed alright" They smiled as they pulled the blue stick onto the web page.

The blue stick nodded in response, still shaking slightly as they were forced to stand on their damaged legs. 

Mari quickly pulled out the shower head from the games task bar and pointed it at the blue stick. "I'm gonna turn the water on now, brace yourself" Mari grinned turning on the shower head before the blue stick could reply.

Despite the warning the Blue stick still yelled in surprise as the cold water hit their skin, they pulled their arms up in defense.

"It's okay, it's okay you'll be clean" Mari reassured continuing to move the shower head in an attempt to clean all of the dirt on the blue sticks body. 

After a while of this the blue stick was finally clean.

Whilst the blue stick was drying themselves off Mari quickly grabbed the Minecraft cube from off the main desktops task bar and began pulling out different ingredients for a potion and a brewing stand.

The blue stick may be clean, but the wounds were still there.

Mari just hoped this would work.

After finishing their task Mari pulled out the many ingredients for a potion of healing, they hadn’t done this in a while, but they had done this before so they were confident that they would get this right. After the mental reassurance they quickly began the brewing process. 

Mari then decided to figure out what they were going to call the blue stick figure whilst the potion was brewing.

Running over to the still open web page they began typing "different shades of blue" into the task bar.

The blue stick was still sitting on the edge of the web page, now bundled up inside the towel that was drying them. They were watching Mari curiously, wondering what they were doing.

After finishing their sentence and hitting search Mari waited for a few moments for the page to load before hitting the images part of the search results.

They jumped down and began randomly clicking the coloured squares and comparing them to the stick sitting a few feet away from them.

After doing this about two times Mari seemed to find a colour that matched, looking at the images name they turned to the blue stick figure smiling proudly.

"How do you like the name Cerulean... Cel for short?" They asked.

The blue stick thought about it for a few moments before nodding "yeah...that sounds nice" they smiled "thanks"

"No problem Cel!" Mari grinned before running off to go check on their potion.

It had just finished brewing by the time Mari got to it. They quickly grabbed the bottle from the stand and ran back.

"Here" Mari grinned excitedly holding the bottle out to Cel. Cel hesitated for a few moments before taking the bottle, "it'll help you feel better, trust me" Mari reassured them, noticing the hesitant look Cel had given them.

Cel nodded slowly before downing the entire thing at once. A few moments passed and nothing really changed...then slowly but surly Cel’s wounds began to heal. A few minuets later and all of Cel’s open wounds were gone. A few of the bruises remained however, but since the potion of healing mostly covered open wounds Mari was expecting this.

That didn’t mean they weren’t still incredibly relived.

"Yes! It worked!!" They grinned fist pumping in victory, frightening Cel slightly as a result. Mari didn’t notice this and continued "Now" Maris once excited face was now serious "what happened to you?".

Maris face softened as they noticed Cel nervously biting their lip. However they were anxious to find this information out and was about to push them more before Cel spoke. 

"My game...was attacked and...I was thrown into the icon...over there" Cel gestured in the direction of the smaller task bar on the desktop with a shaking hand. The one that contained the volume and WiFi icons.

Mari nodded along as Cel continued "It broke and...I guess I was sent here..." They shrugged. 

After a few minuets of silence Mari assumed Cel was finished.

"Wow...that sounds rough..." Mari mused "Well now I'm here...maybe I can help you" Cel seemed to perk up at that "you can?" They gasped, Mari nodded in reply.

"Yeah I can, I know the internet like the back of my hand!" Mari stated confidently, truth be told they were lying slightly...all they had been doing for the past few months was randomly jumping from one desktop to another...they didn't really have a way to plan out their routes.

But if this was the way to keep their new friend then they were all for it.

A groan echoed across the desktop and Mari tensed, Oh no the user's waking up!. They quickly grabbed Cel and yanked them away, in response Cel let out a startled yelp.

"We gotta go!" Mari gasped after arriving at their destination. They let go of Cels hand and grabbed onto the WiFi icon.

"Mari wa-" Cel gasped as Mari pulled, a large glowing hole akin to a rip in paper suddenly burst into existence as the icon broke and Mari turned to Cel again.

"Come one!" They ordered holding out their hand. Cel hesitated again, but decided that whatever Mari was freaking out over wasn't something Cel wanted to deal with so they took it.

With that, the duo jumped into the hole as the user watched in confusion...wondering if they were still asleep. 

[pinkjeanist]

I’d like to request something for the valentine event. Can I have a Reader x Dabi where the reader is infiltrating the league of villains to take them out from the inside. She’s kind of a natural caretaker though and always cleans up after the villains and reminds them to eat and sleep regularly just out of habit. Dabi ends up developing feelings for her and craves more attention and ends up falling for her. I guess the tropes are enemies to lovers and forbidden relationship. Thank you!

fire flower || dabi

a/n: the stuff i just churned out for this request doesn’t match what you wanted word for word, but i actually feel really good about how it came out! please accept the near-2,000 words as an apology!!!! also, the song i chose for this one is really chill and kinda-sorta gives me dabi vibes, i highly recommend listening to it!!! {valentine event} [masterlist and requests]

desc.: That night, you learned two things about Dabi: 1), he already knew that you were working for the heroes and didn’t really care, and 2), he sucks at flirting.

w/c: 1,863

“Anything new?” Hawks closes the door behind himself and watches you scale the room back and forth looking for supplies. You let out a sigh and kept your gaze away from him. These check-in’s were starting to make you more nervous with each passing one. 

“Nothing.”

“You’re around one of them almost all the time. You’ve met Shigaraki, and you still don’t have anything?” You knew he wasn’t trying to be rude, but he had every right to be. You’d been under cover for three months with Hawks and had only given the heroes scraps to work with. But it wasn’t that you couldn’t get any information- you had a whole stockpile of data in the back of your mind- but it wasn’t anything too important. Or, at least, anything that was important in the moment. “The directors are getting angry.”

“I know they are, but I’m doing what I can,” You replied. You finally found the aid kit you were looking for deep in your wardrobe and set it on the bed. “There’s only so much I can get out of them without seeming suspicious.”

“They aren’t suspecting you. If anything, they should be suspecting me.” Hawks leaned against the door and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He was right- they’d probably be more assuming of a pro hero than some random healer they found on the street (or so they thought). “Look, you hang around Dabi a lot, right? You know he’s one of our biggest targets. He likes you. Get something out of him.”

“He doesn’t like me,” You argued, the fatigue leave your lungs with your voice. “He’s using me. All he needs me for are those scars of his.”

You finally looked up at Hawks to find a blank stare in return, which was never a good thing coming from him. It was the look he gave people when he was trying to read them- which really wasn’t good for you, seeing as how you currently harbored a lot of details you’d rather he didn’t know.

After a few long moments, he turned and left without so much as a goodbye, which was to be expected. You sighed again and began hauling your healing supplies to the main floor of the building, where you assumed Dabi had curled up with a drink as he waited for you to tend to his wounds- again. It was his fault for going out on missions instead of sending LIberation members to do his dirty work, but it was also your fault for worrying over him. It sounded ridiculous until you reminded yourself that he was the enemy.

When you arrived downstairs, you found Twice beaten all to hell and Toga standing over him, whispering amongst themselves. A nurse was tending to them already, but Dabi was nowhere in sight, and you could already tell that Twice had more than a few fractures.

“Where’s Dabi?” You asked, about to dismiss the other nurse. 

“Oh, he’s over in that broom closet,” Toga gestured, seeming more than a little upset. “He used too much of his quirk and got himself burned, again.”

You sighed, and placed a hand on her shoulder. She seemed relatively unscathed, save for her torn-up knees. She really needed to stop wearing skirts on missions. “I should help Twice first…”

“No, go to him.” She wasn’t smiling, and deciding that the nurse was doing a good enough job, you complied. You’d probably find Twice and help him later, anyway.

You approached the closet and knocked gently, and not hearing a reply, you let yourself in to find Dabi with his back propped up against the shelves. He tensed as you closed the door behind you. His pants were torn and his legs were scratched up underneath, but his sleeves had been burned clear to his biceps, and the scarring had been wiped away to leave fresh wounds. It would scar deeper than it had before with the help of your quirk, but you worried about whether or not he could stand the healing process it would take to get there.

“I thought I told you not to be so hard on yourself,” You said, kneeling beside him and setting your kit aside. Most of the items in it wouldn’t do you much good, now. He didn’t reply as you pulled a liter of water from the kit (an element necessary to making your quirk work) and watched as he visibly flinched. “I’ll try to be gentle. Hold still as best as you can.”

You took a rag from the kit and stuffed it between his teeth before uncapping the water and slowly beginning to pour it up the expanse of his injuries. He huffed and shook, but refused to make any sound. When you finished, you briefly took the rag from his mouth as he was left panting.

“I’m gonna have to touch you.”

“…I know.”

“It’s gonna hurt.”

“…I know.”

You sighed to yourself and carefully stuffed the rag back between his teeth. With a weight settling heavily on your chest, you took him by his burnt hands and activated your quirk.

~

When you heard a knock at your door that evening, you almost expected it to be Hawks, until you remember that he did most of his sneaking that late at night. Instead you opened it to find Dabi, leaning against your doorframe, a rather expensively-seeming bottle of wine hanging at his side. His arms were wrapped in bandages, but you were sure he didn’t need them hours after you’d put them on him.

You swallowed. “I’ve got plenty of wine, thanks.”

“Oh, no, this is for me. I just wanna talk.” 

You felt your chest tighten. Had he overheard something? How much did they know? Where was Hawks? And then, against your goodwill, your heart had the audacity to reply, “He wouldn’t hurt you. You’re practically one of them, anyway.” 

So, you stepped back and let him inside instead of lying that you were too tired or something of the like, and he made a languidly-paced beeline for your seldom-used balcony. He opened the wine, and you hurried to get the glasses from the cupboard.

When you emerged onto the balcony, he’d already been drinking generously from the bottle, but took the wine glass, anyway. He poured your drink and took one last drink before using his glass properly. “You’re lookin’ radiant tonight, sweetheart.” 

You felt the heaviness leave your chest with a sigh, replaced with a different kind of weight. It was a weight that pressed downward but didn’t choke, and kissed your lungs until you blushed. “Did you come all the way up here just to flatter me?”

“Ah, well, gotta butter you up, somehow.” He poured more wine into your glass as if to prove his point. “You are lookin’ fine, though. Deadass.” 

“Um. Thanks.” You drank enough wine at once to be deemed “socially improper” at his “compliment.” God, he infuriated you. He irked at you and picked at your heart until it felt full. And sad. You couldn’t look at Dabi without being sad. “What did you wanna talk about?”

“What, is this not enough?”

“If you just wanted to flirt with me, you wouldn’t be trying to get me tipsy.” 

He humphed. “Yeah, seems right. Well, anyway, I just…had a question.” He poured himself more wine to his already half-full glass. The both of you would run out in minutes, at this rate.

He leaned against the railing. “Now, I know that you’re only here because we’re paying you, and because you’re working for Hawks and all-”

“What does that mean?” You inquired, hand tightening around the glass. “”Because I’m working for Hawks?””

“It means, I know you’re working for him and the heroes, but in your case, I really couldn’t care less. Care to know why?”

You shake your head, but he smirks and continues, anyway: “He isn’t in the circle. He never was. He’s been giving us intel on the heroes and we’ve been giving him bullshit in return, and he’s taken every bit of it back to wherever the hell he came from. But you- I’ve given you every bit of information you need to tear down our entire League, and you’re still here.”

You look up at him and swallow. “You’re testing me.”

“I already did. And congrats, you passed!” He poured more wine into my glass. “Now, my question, which I’m sure you’re gonna be thrilled to hear: when are you gonna stop pretending to be one of them?”

Your hand tightened around your glass. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t bullshit me, now. I know you.”

“You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I don’t have to know someone’s tragic little backstory or whatever to know how they act, what they want. You want to be here. And really, I want you here, too.” He stepped into my space, and I felt my nerves shoot up at the sudden closeness, though not so much out of fear. “I like you. The others like you too, but that’s not the point, right now.”

“I thought that was the point, seeing as how you’re trying to recruit me.”

“Well now, I’m trying to woo you, so shut up.” You found yourself huffing in amusement, even as your hands trembled around your glass. He was looking at you so intently you could feel his heat, his passion, and you burned beneath it. It was intoxicating, and worrying, and suffocating. “You know, I’ve been watching you for a while, now.”

“Oh, I figured.”

“Shh. Anyway, you look pretty cute, running around trying to save our asses every time we come home a little more than bruised. Especially my ass. I also like it when you wear that perfume, the uh, the flowery one, the…” 

“…the cherry blossom one, yeah.” 

“Yeah, the cherry blossom one. It really adds to that sensation your quirk gives me. I’m addicted to your quirk, by the way. It suits that pretty face of yours.”

“You suck at flirting.” 

“But it’s working, isn’t it?” He downed half of his glass with a smirk, and you shift your feet at the weight of his words. 

His bandaged hand reached up to rest on the side of your jaw as if he were about to pull you close, but after standing there for a few long moments, he suddenly turned and walked back towards the room to your bedroom.

A part of you panicked. “Where are you going?”

He set his wine on the nightstand before he threw himself down in your bed and grabbed the remote to your television. “Netflix.” He grabbed his wine again and glanced at you over the rim. “Won’t you be joining me? I think I need my bandages checked, after all.”

He knew damn well you didn’t need to check his bandages, and you knew damn well what he wanted. But you also knew what you wanted, and you also knew that you’d sank too deep into this pit you’d dug for yourself to climb back out of it.

He really was a pain in your ass.

[isawrightless]

I’ll Drown When I See You

Jill Valentine, Carlos Oliveira After escaping Raccoon City, Carlos offers Jill some shelter.

set directly after the events of resident evil 3. Rating: M -----

Finding herself homeless and directionless after Raccoon City’s destruction, Jill kept clinging to the only real leads she had: Chris was somewhere in Europe, and Barry was helping from the background, prioritizing the safety of his family. She’d be meeting them soon. But she was tired and hurt. There was not a part of her that didn’t ache, mentally or physically, and for now she needed a place to rest.

Checking in at a hotel proved itself to be a difficult task. For all she’d been through, all the tragedy she had endured, Jill Valentine couldn’t stand the glare and the whispering about her reasons and the state of her body; Why does she have so many bruises? Why is she limping? Is she on the run from something? Is it even safe to be here? Did she come from Raccoon City?

Those questions lingered on the eyes of anyone who even glimpsed at her. Sure, the blood and dirt were gone and the clothes were new (she’d made good on the promise of burning the old ones), but the situation remained the same. She had just escaped from a city that had been wiped out from existence and her own figure was a walking reminder of that.

Then Carlos; sweet, compassionate Carlos, all battered and bruised too, offered shelter. Asked Jill to stay with him in this small rented cabin he’d found.

And now here they are.

She’s not allowed to worry about anything else besides her own healing, that’s the deal. When the topic of buying new clothes and some other necessesities comes up, Jill’s adamant that she’ll buy them herself with whatever money she still has stored somewhere but Carlos stands his ground. She’s his guest, after all. And he’s taking the couch, no problem, she gets the bed. She needs it more.

When she tries to reason with him that she doesn’t mind the couch, it falls on deaf ears.

“Don’t worry, Supercop,” he says. “Just take it easy.”

And she does. Or at least tries to. The second her head hits the pillow, she can’t close her eyes. Whenever she does, that thing shows up, or the corpse of another teammate. Joseph always makes a guest appearence in her dreams. The first real death she’d witnessed at the start of this entire nightmare. He always stands there, half-eaten, limbs missing, speaking through a hole in his face, asking her not to leave him there. It’s cold. It’s cold and he’s alone. And she wants to scream, to tell him she did try to save him, she tried to save everyone, she really did.

She always wakes up before she can hear an answer and spends the rest of the day haunted and frustrated.

Which is why she’s more than confused when she sits up on the bed, sweaty amd startled, looks out the window and finds out it’s night time. A glance on the clock tells her it’s 22:00 PM.

She doesn’t feel rested at all.

Spotting a bag near the end of the bed, she leans over and brings it to her lap, looks inside to find some toothpaste, a toothbrush, soap and a body moisturiser. A couple of other bags are neatly placed on the floor, next to the bed. Inside them, she finds tank tops and t-shirts, two pairs of sweatpants, shorts and brand new underwear. It makes her smile, her first moment of true relief afer all that hell. But the thought of Carlos trying to guess and pick which kind of underwear she’d like is almost too cute.

On the nightstand there’s a water bottle that she opens and drinks in small sips even though what she wants is to drink it all in one go to quench her thrist. When she’s done, her lips feel softer, something she appreciates immensily. Ignoring the aching muscles, she picks some of her new clothes (a pair of sweatpants, the tank top and her brand new cotton panties), stands up on unsteady feet, takes a few steps foward and realizes she needs to brace herself against the wall to get some support.

Heading to the bathroom, she refuses to look at herself in the mirror while setting the clothes she’s going to wear on top of the sink. Undressing, she holds herself when a chill runs down her spine. It’s fine. A false pretense, perhaps, but it’s fine, it’s a worthy delusion. Let her drown in it’s fine it’s fine it’s fine.

Starting the shower, she rests against the tile wall as she waits for the water to get warm. The cold tile against her skin makes her gasp in surprise. She stretches a hand out to check the water’s temperature and then steps right in.

She can barely move her arms without feeling them burn, but she scrubs her body and washes her hair until her skin is red and her scalp hurts. Something needs to be done, something needs to happen, but her chest feels broken and she’s got no home, no plan, no instructions to follow now. Only ghosts that haunt her at every corner.

Calling her out.

Daring her to go on living while they remain dead and frozen in time, wiped out from existence as if they never even mattered in the first place.

As the water runs down her body, she realizes the extent of her injuries. Her right shoulder is bruised, left arm stinging as the soap clings to that wound, her thighs are purple and yellow on different places, and if she squints she can almost pretend they’re something pretty and delicate, like little glaxies on her skin.

There’s a cut and a bruise just above her hip that probably need more attention than she’s currently showing.

She stands under the showerhead for a while, letting the hot water hit the back of her neck, easing her strain. The urge to cry is strong, eyes already rimmed with tears, but she’s way too stubborn to let them fall. Not the smartest choice considering all the words she refuses to say out loud are choking her, chest tight with agony as she swallows back a sob.

She’d give anything to disappear right now.

Taking a deep breath, she finds the courage to cut off the water and step out of the shower. She dries herself with a towel, biting her bottom lip to keep the discomfort that raising her arms brings, and puts on her new clothes, feeling at least a little bit refreshed. She brushes her teeth with her brand new toothbrush and when she’s done, she stares at object for a moment.

He’s thought of everything.

Back into the bedroom, she can hear him pacing around the main room, and she  tries to prepare herself to go meet him. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous or why her heart is beating a little faster and she refuses to think too much on it.

But that’s Day 1.

Day 2 is quiet.

She’s siting on a worn out couch, body finally giving in to all the injuries it sustainted just a few days ago and it’s hard to move. Her arms feel like they’re about to fall off and she’s sore all over. Some wounds are still tender, and speech doesn’t come easily without the presence of a headache.

Carlos goes out again, brings her painkillers, helps her chase them down with a glass of water. She smiles at him because she can see how worried he is, can even guess what he’s thinking.

Maybe the vaccine didn’t work.

“Do you wanna watch TV?” he asks, voice giving him away. “The reception is, uh, pretty bad but there’s gotta be something good to watch.”

She shakes her head no, still eyeying him like a hawk, and he moves back to sit next to her. “You hungry then?”

“Not at all,” she manages to say.

“You sure? I don’t mean to brag but I’m a great cook.”

“You are?”

“Best one around.”

“Hit the jackpot then.”

It takes a second for her words to sink in and when they do, Carlos gives a boyish smile and says, “That’s my line.”

She tries to laugh and move but that ache pulls at her strings once again, making her flinch. He draws her closer to him, and she lets him.

They fall into a  routine by day 4.

Carlos cooks for them and does some errands and no matter how much Jill protests, she’s told she needs to stay still and heal. She does point out how flawed that train of thought it considering he went through hell too but he always ends up making an excuse.

To say that her heart is free from all that agony from before would be a lie but by now the only thing that truly bothers her-physically- is her left arm. It aches from time to time, a jolt of pain that stings and keeps her awake at night, completely alert, a reminder of what could have been.

She looks at the wound that monster left her, a little gift, exames it again and again, and it’s closed and healing but the pain is still there and Jill knows, she knows that it will never go away.

Carlos comes back that day with some new blankets (the ones at the cabin are simply awful and prickly) and some pepperoni pizza.

This sort of domestic bliss, where they function on pretending the outside world doesn’t exist and they won’t have to figure out what to do about all they’ve been through carries on through day 5 to 6.

On day 7, Jill gets out of the shower, puts on a t-shirt (blue, as Carlos assumed that’s her favorite color), a pair of panties and some shorts and heads to the kitchen to help with dinner.

He smiles when he sees her, a beer in hand, and jokes he’s got a great taste for clothes.

Perhaps it’s the sense of peace that has fallen over them, even if temporary, or maybe it’s just the carefree way he makes her feel, but Jill sticks her tongue out, steals his beer, takes a sip and smirks at him.

She expects some teasing, some kind of silly payback. Instead, he steps closer, leans in and kisses her. Just like that; no warning, no nothing, as if the two of them have been doing this forever, like it’s a habit they’ll never grow out of. And she responds eagerly, kissing back, arms going around his neck when he deepens the kiss, his tongue on hers, hands firmly placed on her hips, holding her steady, afraid she might slip away.

The tenderness is almost alarming. He’s taking his time, enjoying every sensation and she can’t help but press against him. He gets the hint, smiling in the middle of the kiss, sliding his hands down her body, grabbing her ass and squeezing, drawing a moan out of her. She steps back to catch her breath, already missing him. He brings a hand up to cup her face, thumb swiping across her bottom lip as he rests his forehead on hers, staring right into her bright blue eyes.

There’s another kiss before he drags his mouth away to focus on her neck, gently biting and sucking, leaving his mark on her soft flesh. She gives in to him so easily, mind racing with need. Reaching down she tries to unbuckle his belt but the action proves to be a bit too much for her sore shoulder and she ends up hissing in pain, wincing as the burning sensation flares up then goes all the way down to her hand. The wound on her left arm stings like crazy, and she tries not to think too much about it, despite the ache.

There’s no running from Carlos’ sweetness, though, and he stops everything he’s doing, stepping back to look at her. She can feel a slight blush sweeping across her face and she hates it.

“It’s nothing, I’m fine,” she says.

The last thing she wants is to ruin the mood, especially when he’s got her all worked up already and she’s been waiting for this, been needing this for a while. Carlos shakes his head, “So stubborn,” he breathes out before picking her up. She doesn’t really know his plan, but she hooks her right arm around his neck as he takes her to the bedroom. His scent is intoxicating and by the time he gets her inside the room letting go of him seems like the hardest thing in the world. But then he sets her down on the bed, all handsome and sweet, shaggy hair all over his face, that crooked smile still plastered on his lips and she can hardly wait for what’s to come.

Sitting up, she adjusts herself a bit and watches as he takes off his black t-shirt, takes a second to admire his hairy chest and toned abdomen and then goes back to watching, biting her bottom lip while he unbuckles his belt, kicks his shoes and socks off before climbing on top of her, diving back in for her lips, hands working on taking off her t-shirt, helping her out of the sleeves. He discards the piece of clothing by throwing it across the room and draws back to take a good look at her. She’s at his mercy, breasts exposed, nipples hard, scars spread across her skin; some are rather large and faded, gifts from that cold, horrible mansion; some are new, pearly white and glistening around bruises and light scratches still lost in the process of healing. And she’s beautiful.

“Oh, c'mon,” Carlos starts, licking his bottom lip. He leans down, right hand fixing up a few strands of her hair. “You can’t be real.”

Jill chooses to hide how much his words mean to her in a small smile and a scoff; she was never one to open up properly and she’s not about to list all the reasons why she has been avoiding looking in the mirror, at least not now. Thankfully, Carlos goes back to kissing her and that suits her just fine.

She trails a hand down his torso before reaching his unbuckled belt and then going further, palming him through his pants. He’s hard and she’s soaking wet and anxious and the little grunt he lets out in her ear doesn’t help things. All hope of self control goes out the window the second he kisses his way down to her breasts, bringing a hand to cup one of them while his mouth works on the other one, the tip of his tongue circling a nipple before sucking on it, making her arch her back and moan. He steals a quick glance at her, wishing he could frame the moment forever, as cliche and cheesy as that sounds. But she’s gorgeous, she’s absolutely gorgeous, and to have her unguarded like this, for him, it sends him into a state of euphoria that he can’t quite explain.

He alternates between one breast and the other, enjoying her gasps and moans and by the time he’s done, when he comes back up for a kiss, her breasts are glistening with saliva, a slight flush covering them. His actions serve only to encourage her, demolishing any kind of hesitation or worry. She wastes no time unzipping his pants as he kisses her long and good, reaching inside his boxers to pull his cock out, holding it in her hands firmly; he is big and thick, smooth, veiny and throbbing, precome trickling down his length, and she starts stroking him slowly, up and down, pressing right against that sweet, sensitive spot under the head of his cock with each upstroke. He groans, mouth open against hers, closes his eyes and lets himself fall into her touch, hips thrusting into her hand, trying to set his own rhythm, showing her how he likes it.

Jill doesn’t see or hear anything that isn’t him. It’s impossible to think of anything else when he’s so handsome, throwing his head back and moaning only to stare at her with those kind eyes of his. She thinks she could stay like this for a long while, just watching him, her hand wrapped around his cock, feeling him hot and twitching, begging for something else.

He doesn’t give time for her to improvise though. Panting, he grabs her wrist, ceasing her movements. Grinning, he leans back, hands sliding up and down her legs until he hooks his fingers on the waistband of her shorts and pulls them down along with her panties. She can’t help the small smirk as she lifts her hips and bends her knees to help him take them off.

He’s stealing kisses, dragging his mouth down her body, marking her here and there, being careful around the bruises, fighting the need to just have her every time she lets out a shaky breath. He grabs one of her thighs with his right hand, the other one staying firmly on her hip, his mouth not once leaving her skin, and she gets the hint, spreads her legs to accomodate him further. That’s when he glances at her, finds her staring down at him, her short hair framing her face, and he almost loses it. But he carries down with his mouth, teasing and kissing her inner thighs, his beard tickling her, soft licks against her skin, breath ghosting over the spot between her legs until she gasps out his name.

And then there’s this moment, a fraction of time in which he realizes that this is happening, this is really happening and she wants him, too, she wants him and she’s waiting and so he runs his tongue along her slit, feels proud when her hands goes on on top of his head, fingers tangling in his hair. He licks her slowly, explores every inch, every fold, wants to taste every bit of her.

When she moans he changes the pace, teases, circles her entrance with the tip of his tongue, presses it flat against her and licks like a hungry, needy man, eats her out nicely, takes his time. Then she begs, asks for more and he swirls his tongue around her clit one, two, three times, moves his head up and down, his nose adding a much needed friction and then he sucks on her clit, keeps going until she’s arching her back off the bed and grinding against his face. He follows her rhythm, the one she imposes, eyes closed, voice cracking.

“Carlos,” she says, sill holding on to his hair, desperately lifting her hips, rocking on his mouth. “I’m gonna come-” It’s the way her voice cracks at the end of the word ‘come’ that drives him insane, eager to taste more of her, to have her melting on his tongue.

He hums in response, increases the pressure and holds her tighter as she squirms and writhes, moans his name again and again until it turns into a soundless cry, until time stops and she tenses, comes on his tongue, muscles spasming and toes curling while he helps her ride out her orgasm. She tries to pull away, it’s too much, she’s too sensitive, but he can’t help himself, he wants just a bit more because maybe he’ll never have her like this again, maybe this is just a one time thing so he wants every drop of her, he wants to be a little selfish here, make sure this day will be burned in his brain forever; she’s honey scented, holy in every way, and so he gives her one final lick and stops when she starts shaking.

The sound of her breathing echoes through the room, her chest rising and falling rapidly as he backs away and looks up at her, a satisfied grin on his face when he sees the state she’s in. He’s got something to say, a little joke to make, but it fades to nothing the second she grabs his face in her hands and pulls him into a bruising kiss.

Too many things hide in that kiss, from little trinkents to precious jewels, that kiss changes everything the second she tastes herself on him, the second he grabs hold of her again and deepens said kiss, finds all those treasures hidden in each soft breath, and he feels her hands tugging at the waistband of his pants, “Take these off,” she says through gritted teeth and he does as he’s told, moves away from her for one second that feels like forever and slides out of his pants and boxers, cock twitching, missing her hand, wondering how her mouth would feel on him, knowing that there’s no way he can let her do that to him now otherwise he won’t last, he won’t last at all.

“Come here,” her voice is low and demanding in the softest way possible. He gets back on the bed, sits in front of her, kisses her again, and they stay like that for a while, just exploring each other’s mouths until she can’t help herself and grabs hold of him and he grunts in her mouth because he’s been hard for so long now, been needing her for so long, and watching her orgasm a few moments ago, knowing he provoked that almost made him burst right then and there, and now her hand is on him again and he can’t control himself.

“You’re the sweetest thing I have ever tasted,” he confesses, breathless, “Jill, you’re the sweetest fucking thing.”

And Jill nods, not really knowing how to respond to such a bold statement, her face flushed, she nods and flattens a hand against his chest and pushes him down on the mattress, straddles him and although her plan is clear, she winces and hisses in pain the second she tries to move her other arm and as much as she tries to play it off, it doesn’t go unnoticed by Carlos.

He’s quick to sit up, to cup her face, eyes scanning her frame. “You alright?” and his words are a bit rushed, stumbling in his own want and worry. “Wanna stop?”

“No, don’t even think about it,” she adds quickly.

“You sure?”

“Wait, I’m not Supercop anymore?” she says with a smirk. “I’m just a little sore.”

“Then let me take care of you,” he says, caressing her face, robbing her of a kiss. “If it’s still okay.”

The concern is endearing, the implication of his words even more so. “Of course it’s still okay.”

Another kiss, he lowers her onto the mattress, runs his hands up and down her body until he stops them at her bent knees. She spreads her legs for him again, and he’s so consumed by her he feels almost tipsy, everything goes hazy for a minute. He’s been hard and aching to the point of desperation even, but he swears, he does, that if she asked him to just go down on her again he would, oh god, he would, no doubt about it.

Except she’s waiting, the gleam in her blue eyes making him fall in love with her, because yes, that’s what he’s feeling, love. He’s known for days and she’s changed his entire life and he won’t stomach it when she leaves. She’s worked her way into his heart, growing around it like a vine and he doesn’t want her to let go.

“Carlos,” she whispers, but there’s urgency hiding behind her tone.

He grabs her legs, bringing her closer to him, holding his cock by the base then gently guiding himself inside her; just the tip first, to see her reaction, and then he moves an inch more and she bites her bottom lip again, looks down at him, expectation written across her face. Then he goes all in; she’s so wet, so ready, there’s no resistance. They both sigh in relief at the feeling, her little moan contrasting with his grunt, and she’s grateful for the time he gives her to get used to him; it’s been a while since she’s been with anyone but even then she had never felt as complete as she’s feeling right now.

He fits so perfectly, stretches her up good, and he’s looking at her as if she’s made of diamonds, searching for any sign on discomfort on her face and honestly, having someone care so much like this is bringing her to the edge of tears.

This is not a quick fuck. This is not a we made it out alive kind of celebration. There’s more here, there’s so much more, she can see it in his eyes.

He leans forward, his body covering hers as he props himself up with one arm on her side to keep from crushing her. Staring right into her eyes, he kisses her lips and starts moving. It’s a steady pace at first, as if he’s trying to understand her, trying to see what drives her crazy, what she likes.

Can he be rough?

Can he hold her a little tighter?

Those silent questions are answered when she urges him on, her hands on his shoulder, bringing him down on her so her breasts are flush against his chest and his face is an inch away from hers. He kisses her when he starts moving, feels her breaking into a moan but then respond, moving her hips in accordance to his, but even so she’s letting him lead; he’s the one in control this time around.

So he thrusts slowly, long strokes that make her want to just push him down again and ride him because she thinks he might have made her a little insane here, a little too obsessed. She watches him, his handsome face and its perfect features, then darts her glance down to where they’re both connected, sees him move, sees and feels him pullig back until just the head of his cock is inside, and then he slides in again, repeats the motion again and again until she can’t take it anymore, wraps her legs around his waist and says, “Faster.”

“Yeah?” he asks, still set on that same rhythm, looking for permission, focusing his gaze for one instance at a huge bruise near her hip.

“Please,” she begs in the middle of a kiss. “Please.”

He increases the pace gradually, watches the changes on her face, and when she throws her arms around his neck (all the flinching and wincing still there but to hell with them to hell with them, this means so much more), he finally lets go. His thrusts grow harder and faster, so much so that he accidently slips out, and when that happens he drives her mad by grabbing his cock and rubbing it on her clit for a few seconds, a small tease that earns him some more pretty little moans, his name spilling out of her lips like sugar.

He’s in trouble, he concludes, he’s in trouble. This woman may as well be his everything.

He will drown himself in her if she asks him to.

Lodge himself into her bones.

Never let her go.

If she wants him as much as he wants her.

(and he hopes she does he hopes she does)

When he thrusts back into her, he wastes no time, no more teasing, he moves, feels her nails digging into his flesh, little red moons forming all over his skin, she’s clenching around him and he’s pounding into her so fast and hard the slap from skin against skin is loud enough to reverberate on the walls. Throught it all, he doesn’t break eye contact, no, looks at her as if she’s meant to be worshipped.

Jill is lost in a trance, feeling his cock in and out of her, he’s so big and hard, he’s so perfect, so good, she could stay like this forever and then he hits that spot, that little spot and she clenchs around him and moans, which in turn makes him groan. “Right there,” she says, “Right there, don’t stop, please, just like that.”

Carlos nods, he’s mesmerized, trying to hold back his own release, showering her neck with kisses, licking the salt off of her skin, hips working nonstop. “Fuck,” he says, voice hoarse. “You feel so good. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

She clings to him as if her life depends on it (and god knows it did), she clings to him, their hearts beating in perfect synchrony.

This is meant to be, she thinks, this is meant to be.

His thrusts are even harder now, rocking them back and forth on the bed. He buries his head on the crook of her neck, muffling his groans. She gives up on trying to follow his rhythm, gives up completely, this is too good, too fucking good, she can only take it. She’s so close, he knows, she doesn’t even need to tell him with the way she tightening around his cock, the way her moans are turning into almost sobs, her shaky voice trying to utter a warning, one that he loves so much.

He keeps up the pace while sliding a hand down her body, finding her clit, still a little swollen and sensitive from his earlier ministrations. This time she does cry out, holding on to him. It’s overwhelming; she’s right at the edge and she doesn’t want it to end, fuck, don’t let this end.

He’s losing control, pumping into her, his warm breath on her skin, and when that wave hits her, when her face gets hot and her breathing heavy she asks for one thing, just one tiny thing. “Come with me,” she says. “Come with me, please, please, come with me.”

“Inside you?” and such simple question should sound a lot more like caution than it does in that moment. In that moment though, that simple question is about trust above anything else, and she nods, all desperate and pretty, she nods.

“Inside me,” she orders as he kisses her. “Inside me, it’s okay, fill me up, let me-” her voice breaks when he speeds up the pace. “Let me feel you, I need to feel you.”

He places a hand around her neck, doesn’t apply pressure, just keeps it there and stares at her and fucks her and kisses her and says “I’ll fill you up then, I’ll do it, you’ll be all mine, right, just mine?” he asks in between pants, voice rough and brash and still laced with adoration.

“Just yours.”

She means it.

He thrusts into her with hard, fast, long strokes, and she’s clenching around his thick cock, coming with such intensity that she bites the inside of her cheek to keep from truly screaming.

At the same time, his movements grow erratic, his grunts and groans a lot louder, and then he’s burying himself into her to the hilt and coming deep inside her, breathing so hard he feels like he might pass out.

She holds on to him as they both wait until they can breathe normally again, but he can’t resist kissing her, not when she’s giving him that look, not when he’s so scared of never seeing her again after this that he can feel his bones trembling. After a moment, when the world goes back to existing, he slips out of her and rolls to her side, brings her with him. She’s curled up around him like a cat, and he’s smiling, stroking her hair idly.

“You’re not in pain, are you?” he asks.

Shaking her head, she chuckles. “Sex is one hell of a drug, you know.”

“You’re one hell of a drug.”

“Oh god,” she laughs at the line.

“No, I’m serious. Got me screwed up for life here,” he admits. “Pretty sure I’m addicted.”

It’s quiet for a moment, Carlos is already cursing himself for ruining this. Too blunt. Too blunt and they don’t even know what they’re going to do tomorrow.

But then she looks up at him, and says: “For life is a big commitment.”

“Yeah, well, I’m a man of my word,” he says.

“That’s good to know,” she smiles at him, rests her head on his chest and closes her eyes.

Carlos wraps an arm around her then, holds her tight and close, the stupidest smile decorating his face.

And for the first time in months, Jill sleeps peacefully.

--- a/n: i’m rusty as hell but writing this brought me joy. i dedicate this to my lovely friend @passionedance because holy shit she put up with me gushing about these two a lot. <3 also, i hope everyone is okay and taking care of themselves. <3

[tibbinswrites]

Hi! For the prompts can you do destiel stories and #4 and #16?? Thanks! ❤❤

Hi Nonnie!! Thank you so much for the request. Sorry it’s taken me so long to finish, I had a few false starts with it. Enjoy ^_^

(prompts are open. Send me a number between 1 and 635 and I’ll write a thing for you)

I’ve now done prompts for: #1, #2, #4 and #16, #10, #78, #170 and #502 but all the others are fair game :D

Prompt #4: “I’m not okay.” and Prompt #16: Kiss

The first time Cas realised that he couldn’t heal anymore, it was when Dean had already lost about two pints of blood. His thigh had a long gash in it, and he was currently slumped against the wall trying to get his breath back from where he’d been winded by the cruel cinderblock while Cas took out the werewolf that had tossed him there. He poked at the wound and hissed, trying not to wonder if that little spark of white in amongst all the red was bone or if his eyes were doing that unreliable thing that happened somewhere around pint two and a half.

The still smoking corpse of the werewolf dropped and Cas was by his side in an instant, crouching down and placing two fingers to his forehead with a small smile. Dean waited for the relief, for the delicate brush of Cas’s grace to get knitting his leg back together, but when the pain didn’t abate, and when Cas’ smile fell into wide-eyed horror, he knew what had happened.

“Dean—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Dean said quickly. Forcing his lips into something that was probably more a pained grimace than a smile. “It’s alright. Here’s what I need you to do. I need you to go to the car and get the first aid kit out the trunk and bring it back here, okay?” He kept his voice as calm as possible, knowing that this was a huge thing for Cas, and that he was on the verge of panicking, of trying to force a heal, which could mean all kinds of bad shit was about to go down if Dean didn’t give him a task.

Cas blinked and tore his hand away from Dean’s forehead.

“Yes,” he said, standing a lot more clumsily than his usual graceful movements, “I— I can do that. Dean, will you…?”

“I’ll be here.”

Cas nodded, but it still took him another few seconds to leave and Dean was pretty sure he was beating him self up pretty bad right now. He was also pretty sure that he’d beat himself up way worse if Dean actually died while he was out getting band-aids so he concentrated real hard on not doing that. Not that this was a fatal wound really. Infection was the worst danger, and blood loss, but those could both be remedied the human way. It would suck, but he’d be fine.

Sam was going to throw a huge bitch fit when he realised that this meant Dean had a ready-made excuse to do nothing but sit in front of the TV for at least two weeks. What a shame.

Cas returned, holding the box and practically falling at Dean’s side.

“Thanks, buddy. That’s great.” Dean said, deciding that keeping a stream of reassurance would not only keep Cas from freaking out, but it would also give him something to focus on other than the huge, gaping wound in his leg. He took the box from Cas’ shaking hands and flipped open the lid. Well… first things first. He pulled out the fifth of whiskey and put the box down on the floor so he could unscrew the lid.

“What are you doing?” Cas demanded, making to snatch the bottle from him, but Dean held it protectively into his chest.

“Trust me,” he said with a small laugh, “I’m gonna need it.” Then he took several large gulps, waited for the warmth to bloom in his stomach and poured a liberal amount onto his ruined leg. “Fuck!” He yelled as the sharp burning pain sliced through his thigh, he smashed his free fist against the floor as a distraction and would have dropped the bottle if Cas hadn’t rescued it, concern and guilt etched into every line of his face.

“What can I do?” He asked, and Dean’s heart broke at the plea in his voice, desperate to help, desperate for some kind of direction. Dean was breathing hard, and he was shaking with a mixture of pain and adrenaline.

“You’re gonna have to stitch me up, buddy,” he said, holding a hand out so Cas could see the tremor. “I need a pair of steady hands and a can do attitude. You’ve got those, right?”

“I— yes?”

“’Course you do.” Dean said firmly, pushing the towards Cas. “Needle and dental floss, and you can’t stop once you start, you’ve gotta keep going till it’s done.”

“Dean—”

“You’ve got this. Hell, you’re probably more qualified to do this than I’ve ever been. You’ve got all that angel knowledge in your head, and you once built me up from scratch, right? This is easy.”

Cas’ face set determined and he nodded before ripping up the seam of Dean’s jeans to peel the denim away from the wound. Dean winced and was suddenly very glad that all his blood was otherwise occupied because in different circumstances he’d be having another kind of hard time. Cas pulled out what he needed and used a clean rag to wipe away as much blood as he could, used the rest of the whisky to wash his hands with and readied the needle over Dean’s skin before pausing to meet his eyes.

“Ready?”

Dean held up a finger, then grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniels and took a few more slugs. “Okay,” he rasped. “Go nuts.”

The first press of the needle had Dean clenching his teeth so hard he was surprised he wasn’t pushing them back into his gums.

“Ninety degrees, above the fat, centimetre to the right of the wound,” Cas muttered, seemingly to himself.

“Watch who you’re calling fat,” Dean gritted back. Cas’ eyes stayed fixed on Dean’s leg but his lips twitched into a thin smile. Then he twisted the needle into position and Dean forgot to be funny. “Son of a bitch!” He yelled.

The needle poked through the other side of the gash and Dean felt like he might throw up.

“Pull until two inches of thread left on the right side.” Cas continued, his tone apologetic as he took hold of the needle and began to pull.

Dean let out a series of noises that were somewhere between gasping and screaming as he felt the dental floss move through sinew and only the fear of ripping through more of his leg kept him from thrashing and trying to kick Cas away. It might not be the worst pain he’d ever experienced but it still freaking hurt.

“It’s alright.” Cas soothed, pulling the two sides of the wound together and tying off the floss with a precision that made no sense considering this was his first suture.

While Cas worked Dean examined him. There was nothing else to focus on other than the pain but that would be all kinds of unhelpful. So he watched Cas, the firm line of his jaw, the deft fingers adding a third throw to the floss for extra security, the mixture of steel and grief in his eyes.

He let out a grunt as Cas began on the second suture—at what Dean would bet was exactly a quarter inch down from the first—and Cas’ lips pulled in tighter.

“Are you okay?” Dean asked. He might be the one with muscle exposed to air but Cas seemed to be laser focussed on his task, his eyes barely moving from the needle and thread, as though he was terrified to look at the wound itself. Weird, he’d never thought of Cas as squeamish, he’d certainly never shown a sign of it before.

“Fine,” Cas said bluntly, his tone indicating anything but.

“Uh-huh.”

“Dean, please, I’m trying to concentrate.”

Dean wanted to argue, but pissing off the guy stitching up his leg probably wasn’t the best idea so he dropped it. Cas worked quickly, soon getting the hang of the routine of it and in less than half an hour there were eleven neat little knots of thread along his thigh.

“Nice work.”

Cas sat back and dropped the needle and floss back into the first aid kit.

“I’m not okay,” he said quietly, wiping his bloodied hands on a rag.

“No?”

“I could have lost you.” His voice was so soft, so mournful and it twinged something in his chest.

“What, to this?” Dean gestured to his leg. “Dude, it’s just a scratch, it was never gonna kill me.”

“But what if it was worse?” Cas argued. “What if it’s worse next time? If I can’t heal—”

Dean reached out a hand and placed it on Cas’ shoulder. “Cas, it’s not on you, okay? No matter what happens, it’s not your fault. Sometimes you’ve just gotta roll with the punches and do what you can. Like today, you stitched me up real good and once it heals it’s gonna be a badass scar. There’s no point crying about what ifs. What happens happens, and we pick our fate. And I for one wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Then, before he could second-guess himself, he curled his hand around the back of Cas’ neck, yanking him forward so that their lips met. Even startled, Cas recovered quickly, catching himself so that he didn’t topple completely into Dean, one hand came up to hesitantly cradle his cheek. The touch was so light that it tickled and Dean took it as encouragement to deepen the kiss, pushing into it all the things he had pushed down, the words he’d refused to say, the feelings that had always seemed to stick in his throat. Cas let out a breathy sound that was a little like awe as he pulled back, his eyes shining as he looked at Dean like he was somehow worthy of the love of an angel.

Dean looked away. It hurt too much, to have that kind of delicate faith gently placed into his clumsy hands.

“I’ll blame that on the Jack later,” Dean mumbled, ashamed to know that it was true. “But that was my choice and I want you to know that before I chicken out.”

“Dean—”

“Help me up.” He cut in, using the wall behind him and his good leg to start the process. “We should get back.”

“Alright.”

Cas took his arm and helped pull him upright. He hissed in pain as he tried to put weight on his leg but it hurt a hell of a lot less than it did, and it should heal pretty clean.

“For the record,” Cas said conversationally as they hobbled their way to the car, the first aid kit in Cas’ other hand rattling a little with each step. “If you ever wanted to make that choice again, I’d be amenable to it.”

Dean couldn’t help a little grin starting to split his face. “Oh, would you now?”

“Yes.” Cas said, a pink flush spreading up his neck as Dean turned to look at him. “I would.”

Dean chuckled and, feeling brave, ducked his head in to peck Cas’ cheek, relishing in the ensuing blush and the small, sweet smile.

“Good.”

[one-spidey-boii]

BUMMER SUMMER || peter parker; ch seven

read ch six here

masterlist

an; you guys, i hit 100 followers. that’s crazy. 100 may seem like a bitch ass number compared to other accounts, but i couldn’t be more proud. thank you!! i hope you continue to enjoy this story and leave feedback.

warnings; mentions of battle wounds (i.e. blood/scars/etc), future smut, mature language, fluff, angst, both peter and oc are 18+!!

word count; 5.1k+

edie's pov

i tried to help peter clean up, but he wasn't having any of it. so i was left to my own devices while he scrambled to get everything in order. after he leaves the room for the first time, i try to stand up. i wrap the blanket around my body and move towards to edge of the bed. everything is going just fine until i put weight onto my legs and attempt to take a step. my feet crumble beneath me and i snap a hand up to my mouth to stifle any noise that threatens to come from the pain. so for a while, i just sit. on the floor. waiting for peter to come back.

when footsteps sound off from down the hall, i brace myself for whatever reprimand i'm going to get from peter, but what comes through the door makes me sigh with relief and choke up with fear. not the kind of fear you get from jump scares or creepy noises, but the kind of fear you get when you know you've been a disappointment.

"what the hell are you doing on the floor?" tony asks as he waltzes over to help me up. his voice is unreadable. i let him wrap an arm around my upper back and lift me up onto the bed, but i'm too afraid to say anything. he pulls a chair over to sit in front of me and he rests there awaiting an answer, but i choose to avoid it altogether.

"where's peter?" i ask shyly. yeah, it's a good way to change the topic, but a part of me really does want to know.

tony raises one eyebrow and pauses to take in my features before replying, "i told the kid to stay out of the room until i got here. he's sitting in the living room like a lost puppy."

my head tilts at his words. why would he do that? wouldn't he want peter here with me?

"i wanted to talk to you without mr. parker in the room. and when i ask you this- i don't want you to think about him when you answer, got it?" i nod my head reluctantly, and he continues on with a sigh, "kid, do you wanna go home?"

"w-what? no! absolutely not." my insides tense up at the thought of being sent home after only a couple of weeks. mr. stark said he needed me here, why is he trying to send me home?

"just listen to me, okay? you've already gotten hurt for reasons i don't understand. and... i gotta be honest- i don't want to send you home, but i don't want you going back out there either."

"what happens to peter if you send me back?" my question comes out as a whisper, i want to challenge him somehow. surely he won't take this away from peter too. tony just sighs and shakes his head.

"don't worry about him right now. what we need to talk about is if you're-" i cut him off.

"you're going to send him home too." i accuse, borderline horrified at the idea, "how could you do that? you know how much this means to him." i take in a sharp breath of air as pain shoots up and down my side. it's silent for a few seconds.

"i don't want any of that. who else am i gonna have to protect all my toys?" he asks with a playful smile, but i know he's still hesitant about all of this, "i'll cut you a deal, alright?" i nod, "you don't go out until you are one hundred percent healed up. let peter handle all that. and i'm making happy stay here until you're ready to patrol again."

i immediately shake my head in protest, "happy hates babysitting! don't make him do that!" i plead, trying to pull the guilt card for happy's sake- and to be honest, i don't want anyone worrying about me and watching over my shoulder until i'm better, "peter can look after me. he got me this far." i say lightly, trying to make the situation a little less of a bummer.

tony takes in my features again, analyzing my words. he brings his fingers up to pinch the bridge of his nose, but to my luck he eventually nods his head.

"fine, fine. but you'll keep me updated on your recovery and only go out again when i say so, alright?" he bargains once again. this time i take his deal and nod my head with a smile. tony slaps his knees once and stands up.

"now lay back down and rest, young lady. i'll be expecting an update when you get up." tony says with a playful twinge to his words, but i know he's completely serious. before he's entirely out of the room, my mouth begins to move before i even realize it, "you know, peter does take good care of me."

i don't know why i just said that.

tony stops by the door and takes once last look around the room, "yeah, yeah," he pauses, "i know he does." and with that, he's gone.

-

it didn't take me long to fall asleep after mr. stark left. my body was tired and weak after working to heal as fast as it could. if only i was peter and i could heal on my own.

when i wake up, i panic slightly when i can't see anything. the light of the room is subdued and i can't even make out the ceiling above me. i move a hand to my face to find a piece of paper. it's taped to my forehead and covers my entire face. i peel it off and take in the messy handwriting scrawled across the page.

'left for patrol. mr. stark said to set out some fancy healing cream for you. it's next to your bed. he also said to leave it on for 5 minutes at most cause blah blah i don't remember why. be back before you know it -peter'

at the end of the note by his name, there's a faint 'x' next to it. the letter had been hastily erased, but my stomach jumps at the gesture. i wish he didn't feel like he had to erase it.

i fold the note carefully and set it on the cart next to my bed, next to that is the cream i assume he was talking about. i look over the text on the tube and read the directions. on the back it says something about enhanced cell regeneration, remove after five minutes, and does not diminish the appearance of scars.

i swallow thickly, nervous about applying this weird stuff to my skin. my fingers slowly twist the cap open and i squeeze a small amount onto my hand. the cream is clear and almost jelly-like as i rub it along my side. it stings at first, making me inhale with clenched teeth, but almost instantly it numbs my entire side along with my hand.

i'm afraid to keep it on my hand so i hop out of the bed and walk over to the sink to wash it off. only then does it occur to me that i hopped out of bed and walked over here. thank goodness for tony stark and his high tech, well, everything.

looking in the little mirror above the sink, i take in my tired appearance- complete with bags under my eyes and sunken cheeks. it's hard to look at myself this way, i have never fallen so low. i have never been hurt so badly before.

i just rest my now wet hands against the sides of the sink and let my head drop. i take notice i'm still in my bra and underwear, but since i'm alone at the moment i'm not worried about being seen. my cheeks do flush at the idea of peter seeing me this way, clad only in a dark purple bra and mismatched pale blue underwear.

after what feels like five minutes, i grab a hand towel and wet it under the running water of the faucet. the numbing properties of the cream are working surprisingly well- i don't feel anything as i wipe it away and wash it off.

still, my heart drops at the sight of the scar, now partially healed, but still red and angry. the line of it is jagged and violent looking. with hesitant fingers i run them along the length of it. it's horrible and ugly and for the first time in a long time- i feel ashamed. i now have to sport a scar for the rest of my life, one that i never saw coming.

i force myself to look away and tuck my hair behind my ears. my hair is riddled with sweat and it sticks to my neck, making me yearn for a shower. i let my feet carry me to the bathroom connected to my room. there i make the decision to take a bath instead when i spot the bubble bath under the sink.

after preparing everything, i slide my remaining clothes off and slip into the hot water of the tub. the bubbles are already everywhere and they easily cover the surface of the water. i close my eyes and let out a sigh.

my thoughts drift to peter, and i let myself think of him. i know something is going on inside his head, and i know it's because of me. it tugs on my heart every time he avoids or ignores me even during the slightest of encounters. i never wanted our friendship to turn into this and it bugs me beyond belief that i can't figure out why it's happening.

my eyes shoot open when i hear my name being called throughout the compound, followed by the sounds of something crashing. i sit up in the water and wait for it to stop sloshing around so that i can listen closer.

"edie?! oh my god mr. stark is going to kill me. i'll be dead by morning- edie! where are you?" it's peter, and from what i can tell he's freaking out, obviously. i let out a sigh of relief and call out to him.

"i'm in my room! it's okay, peter." the loud noises stop at my bedroom door.

"oh thank goodness. c-can i come in?" he asks, out of breath. i take in my current position— very naked and taking a bath; but covered completely by bubbles.

still a little hesitant and increasingly nervous, i call out again, "uh yeah. come in."

before the last words leave my mouth, a loud crunch and thud comes from the front of my room. i can barely see it through the crack of the bathroom door, but i know something is broken. it's silent for a hot second.

"um. oh yikes. i, uh, broke your door. not on purpose though! but it is, uh, not on the hinges anymore." he utters nervously. i can't help but laugh.

"what? who knew you were sooooo strong!" i tease, stretching out the words. some shuffling comes from my room.

"wait, where are you? what's going on?" his confused voice make me giggle. ew, giggle? really? i stifle the thought and take on a serious face.

"i'm in the bathroom, parker. stop freaking out." i reply, not at all annoyed despite my words and tone.

the shuffling behind the door stops, "you're pooping? and talking to me at the same time?" peter asks hesitantly. okay, now i’m annoyed.

"no you dipshit, im taking a bath. and everyone poops by the way, there's a children's book about it!" i yell. most of the time his innocent demeanor is endearing, but right now it's just making both of us uncomfortable.

suddenly the door creaks open wider and peter pops his head in the room, one hand covering his eyes. he still has his mask on and i roll my eyes. what is it with this boy and wearing his mask all the time?

"i just wanna make sure you're okay...a-are you okay?" he asks with a shaky voice. i can't help but smile at how nervous he is, but then again, so am i.

clearing my throat, i speak, "you can move your hand. i'm covered by, uh bubbles." peter slowly parts his fingers and peeks at me through them.

"hi." he whispers from the door.

"hi, peter." i whisper back.

he lowers his hand down to his side and steps completely into the spacious bathroom. he shuffles for a moment and decides on leaning against the doorframe with one arm up by his head. i eye him up and down, trying to get a feel for what is going through his head. he looks ridiculous standing in my bathroom, still clad in his spiderman suit that clings to his body like a second skin. it outlines the muscles in his arms, chest, and legs- truly not leaving much to the imagination. i feel my cheeks flush.

then for the second time that day, words are coming out of my mouth without my permission, "do you wanna sit?" i pull my hand out from beneath the water and tap the edge of the tub. the eyes on peter's mask widen and his arm slips from its position on the door frame. i just smile at him, despite my brain kicking me for saying anything at all.

to my surprise, he nods and settles himself on the edge of the tub down by my legs.

he whispers again, "hi."

a rush of heat floods my body at his new position and it's my turn to stutter, "hi." i'm suddenly all too aware of just how naked i am, only a thin layer of bubbles separating peter's eyes from seeing every bit of my body. and a tiny part of me doesn't hate the idea. an even smaller part wonders if peter is thinking the same thing.

"i'm glad you're okay." he says, a soft confidence laced within his words. his hand comes up to rest by my shoulder on the tub, just barely touching my skin. i nod my head and look down at the suddenly very interesting bubbles. i forgot that peter was the one who caught me when i fell in through the doors. he was the one to take care of me while we waited for mr. stark to arrive. he was the one who had to watch me bleed. with that thought, i look back up at him and gently rest my head on his hand, happy to find his eyes on mine.

"take your mask off peter." i whisper, still feeling foggy inside my head.

he shakes his head, "no."

"no?" my eyes widen at his words.

"no, e."

"come on, pete. it's not like i haven't see you before. what's the big deal?" as i say this i lean up in the water and stretch my hand to graze the edge of his mask. just as i'm about to pull it upwards and off his head, peter grabs my wrist roughly and holds it in his hand.

"if i take my mask off, all of this becomes much more real...and i don't want to see you like this." he says and looks away from my gaze. my stomach drops and i pull my hand away from his grip. all the comfort and confidence is instantly replaced with horrible, ugly nerves.

"what do you mean 'like this'? what- you can't look at me now? is it the scar? or is it because i invited you in and god forbid i'm naked under all these fucking bubbles? you didn't have you come in here, parker." my heart hurts and i spit out his name like it's venom on my lips. i can't stop my mind from reeling. peter looks at me and scoffs.

"you really don't get it, do you?" he questions as he stands up from his spot.

i sit up farther in the water, eyes glaring into his, "get what?"

his eyes widen as he rushes to put both his hands on my shoulders, shoving me back down into the water with unnecessary force. my head hits the back wall as water sloshes out of the tub, "for fucks sake, edie, cover yourself up!" his voice booms and i stay put. then it dawns on me. does he think-?

"i wasn't trying to-" i plead but he cuts me off.

"it's not that i don't want- fuck!" he pulls his mask off his head and stares at me with fiery eyes, "i do want to..." then he makes a growling noise that comes from the back of his throat, "what do you want me to say? what am i supposed to think coming in here?" he rambles on. i draw my eyebrows together and sink down into the water even more.

"i wasn't trying anything, peter. i-i'm sorry if you got the wrong idea," i whisper, defeated by how this whole thing is turning out. my head throbs from hitting the wall of the tub and my heart hurts from peter's words.

"yeah. okay, edie. i'll see you in the morning." and with that, he walks out of the bathroom, leaving his mask on the edge of the sink, the eyes glaring back at me.

my vision becomes blurry. just the idea of him thinking those things about me is enough to make me shut down completely. i stand up and step out of the tub, bubbles still clinging to my body. i walk over to the full-length mirror and my eyes lock on the scar. it looks the same as before, ugly, and a single tear runs down my chin.

peter's pov

i'm so unbelievably angry with myself. i can feel every part of my body on fire due to the complete and utter rage coursing through it. when people say they're so angry they see red, they aren't lying. there’s no way to erase what just happened between edie and i. the look on her face and the fast beat of her heart will forever be burned into my head. but above all my anger, that one thing i feel the most, is fear.

the fear i’ve ruined my relationship with edie all together because i'm too much of a coward to speak the truth. the fear that she now sees me as someone who would think those awful and cruel things about her. the fear that she thinks i don't want her just because of a scar.

none of it is true. sitting there, inches from her body made my head spin and my heart jump around my chest. i wanted to touch her, to feel her soft skin underneath my fingers as they danced down her neck and shoulders. instead, i panicked and said things so far from the truth.

i discard my suit and stand in the annoying thong that mr. stark insisted i wear to avoid having a visible panty line. he said it would be more embarrassing to have that than wear a goddamn thong. whatever, it doesn't even matter now. my brain is practically swimming in my head and making me sick to my stomach. i strip completely and prepare myself for a cold shower.

-

the next morning is quiet. i wake up earlier than usual for no good reason. maybe my brain just doesn't wanna give me the satisfaction of sleep. i step out of bed and tug a pair of sweatpants on over my hips along with a white t-shirt over my head. taking a deep breath, i make my way to the kitchen for some sort of breakfast, coming up with toast and a glass of orange juice.

my thoughts drift to edie, probably fast asleep in her bed. i hope she got to sleep last night, after everything that happened. that's the least she deserves.

something in my gut twists and i'm overwhelmed with the need to do something about this shitty situation. i'm fucking tired of walking on eggshells and making things worse, none of this is worth it.

with a deep breath, i allow my feet to carry me across the hardwood floors to edie's room with a glass of orange juice in my hand. the door is still off the hinges from when i ripped off accidentally. and there she is, sitting on her bed with a book in her hands. she looks peaceful and for a second it loosens the knot in my chest.

i clear my throat, "orange juice?" i extend my hand with the glass towards her.

her head snaps up and she meets my gaze. with an unreadable expression on her face, she sets the book down in her lap and gently closes the cover. my arm starts to shake from holding it still for too long and i pull it back to my chest. her head tilts the slightest bit at me, her eyes wandering over my body.

i shiver under her watch, suddenly extremely self-conscious about my clothes and my hair and the small pimple forming on my chin and-

"will you go to the store and get me some paint?" she asks, her question throws me off, "i can't stand these blank walls anymore. i'm thinking a soft yellow color will do just fine," she finishes. i bob my mouth like a fish and can only nod my head at her.

before i go to leave the room, she makes one more request, "leave the orange juice?” there is the smallest hint of a smile on her lips, and that’s enough for me.

edie's pov

when peter got back from the store, i had just finished the book i started last night. with no intention of sleeping, i pulled it out of the suitcase i had yet to unpack and got comfortable on the bed. just as i set it down, peter skid to a halt right outside my doorframe.

out of breath, he says, "i got two gallons of paint and a couple of brushes and those wheely things and...uh here." he holds the buckets of paint and bags out in front of him.

i smile at the boy. after last night's events, i've come to a conclusion; everything that happened up to that point was just a weird fluke in our friendship. all the strange feelings and awkward glances could be boiled down to one thing; us being alone in the compound. it was just hormonal teenage tendencies and it's truly nothing to worry about. every one of my feelings were just the result of built up emotions that showed themselves in weird ways. things can go back to normal now.

"thanks, pete. could you help me pull the bed away from the wall?" i chirp at him. for a second it seems like he's frozen in place, then a smile spreads across his face and he lets out a breathy little laugh.

"uh, yeah. of course." he replies and grasps the opposite side of the bed that i'm on. with a simple tug, the frame scrapes across the floor and comes to rest in the middle of the room. we both stand up straight and his eyes meet mine, he smiles wider.

"alrighty, let's get going then, yeah?" i huff out. with that, we each pour out paint into our respective pans and get to work. i take the south two walls and peter claims the north. i find myself enjoying the silence that falls between us.

every once in a while, i feel his eyes on me. i know when the other side of the room is completely silent, he's watching me. it doesn't bother me, i know he must feel bad about last night. that person wasn't peter and i know that. i just hope he'll forgive himself.

when i get to the parts of the wall i can't reach, i drag a stool in from the kitchen to stand on. unfortunately, it isn't enough height to allow me access to the top of the high ceiling. with a huff, i hop down and look around my room for something else to use. peter has turned his attention back to his side of the room and seems to be having a much easier time reaching the top, he’s much farther along than i am too.

after finding nothing else that could help, i climb back up on the stool and stand on my tiptoes, stretching as far as i can, giving me just enough height to get the job done. i smile at my victory and continue with a sense of pride. throughout this whole time, not one thought drifted to the scar on my side.

peter's pov

she looks beautiful, her frame stretching to reach the remaining white spots on the wall. i just finished the first coat on my side of the room when i set my paint roller down and stand back to admire her. the cotton fabric of her shirt is riding up her side, showing enough skin to let me see a part of her scar. i haven't seen it since it was first being mended back together by the fancy laser pen. it looks a lot better than it did, without the blood and all.

yet, it's still hard to look at. the line of it stretches along a good portion of her body. the marred skin still red and bruises are starting to form around the edges. my mind flashes back to the feeling of her in my arms when she collapsed, then to the sight of her in the tub. two contrasting events that made my feelings for her change.

edie's pov

"gotcha bitch!" i yell in triumph as i finally reach a part of the wall i was working on longer than i'd like to admit. the victory doesn't last long though as i survey the remaining sections of white. hiding my annoyance, i hop off the stool and move it to a new area, heart set on staying positive during these...trying times.

i'm back to painting for a few minutes and the other side of the room has gone silent again. i try to hide the small smirk that creeps along my lips, knowing what the silence entails. i know i vowed to forget everything that happened last night, but i'm growing to like the new attention from peter, whatever it may mean. i continue painting.

warm fingers brush against my exposed side and my body flinches at the contact, causing the wandering fingers to pull back. i squeeze my eyes shut and lower my hand holding the paintbrush. i don't want to turn my head. i don't want to move at all, but knowing the fingers belong to peter gives me a sense of relief, he's just curious. so i let him be.

peter slowly lifts my shirt ever so slightly and places one finger at the top of my scar, right under my ribcage. he drags it down along the jagged line, slow enough i'm not even sure it’s actually happening. his fingers feel nice on my hot skin, making my body shiver. he continues to run a single finger around the outline of the wound. every time he reaches my hip, his touch lingers just the tiniest bit longer.

this is okay. he's just curious. it isn't scary, it's...nice.

when he presses his lips to my skin, my heart explodes. i want to stop him, to tell him he doesn't have to do this. he doesn't have to touch me this way. i don't want him to touch me this way.

oh, but that would be a lie.

"peter..." i whisper, hands shaking along with my legs that still stand on the stool.

he trails soft, wet kisses down my side and hums a 'yes' at the sound of his name. each kiss is placed delicately on the edge of the scar, following the sharp line of it.

"what are you...?" i trail off when he lets out a soft hush between kisses. my head is reeling and my heart is beating faster than i ever thought possible. once peter reaches my hip, i force myself to slowly turn my body towards him. he's now eye level with my torso and i tentatively slide my fingers through his soft hair. he tilts his head up to look at me with his warm brown eyes. he wraps his arms around my body hesitantly and rests his hands on the small of my back.

"hi." he whispers sheepishly.

i let out a sound that can only be described as a sad laugh that got caught in my throat. i'm simply beyond words as i just stare down at the sweet boy with the widest, brightest smile i can manage. he breaks our gaze and peppers more kisses across my stomach. his touch is so gentle, so soft and careful.

"so so beautiful," he mumbles each word between every perfectly placed kiss. his lips linger in all the right spots, igniting a fire in my belly- among other places. the feeling is intoxicating. he is intoxicating. i want more. more of him and his sweet words.

i grab his fingers and thread them through my own. his lips break away from my skin and he peers up at me again, the smallest smile on his face. he takes my hands and wraps them around his neck, then he does something that throws me off my feet, literally. his hands slide down my body to take hold of my thighs and with one quick motions he lifts my feet off of the stool, making a gasp rise from my throat. peter lowers me down to his level and taps my legs with his fingers, whispering a soft come here, prompting me to wrap them around his waist.

i suck in a deep breath, staring into his dark eyes, "what is going on?" i ask in disbelief. he lets out a deep chuckle and kisses my forehead as he simply shakes his head. i furrow my brows at him.

he carries me over to the bed, still in the middle of the room and sits down on the edge, holding me tight in his lap. i'm in awe at his strength. and the way he treats me like the most precious thing in the world. peter leans forward and rests his forehead against mine. after a few long seconds, he whispers gentle words against my lips,

“i’ve wanted to do this ever since we got to this stupid compound.”

|| taglist; @my-patronus-is-mabel-pines @whycantileaveyou @lovewolfspirit @kitykatnumber

let me know if you wanna be added to the taglist :))

[porkchop-ao3]

A Thrill I’ve Never Known (Chapter 54)

Play

Times are tough right now, aren’t they, folks? We all deserve a bit of fun smut to distract us for a while. So yeah, this chapter isn’t entirely smut, but its mostly... Specific tags: semi-public, oral, first-times

Enjoy! x

Tagging @emily-strange ❤

(All chapters tagged with #ATINK and also posted on Ao3, username PorkChop)

-

The next time I saw Arthur was after a couple of days, and he had just got back to camp and was trimming his beard. I hadn't seen him arrive since I was busy chopping vegetables, thankfully my leg was healed enough to stand on comfortably and I was taking advantage of my returning mobility by helping out. I still needed a cane to walk to give me that extra sense of stability, it was more because I was scared of tripping and landing on my wounds than an actual necessity. 

I approached Arthur when I was done with the vegetables and Pearson no longer required my help. 

"Hi stranger," I said, sidling up to him. I made him jump a bit by accident, and he turned to look at me.

"Oh, hey, it's nice to see you moving about, that leg's getting better," he commented, "I'm sorry I ain't been back in a couple days, I had stuff to do over in Annesburg and I didn't wanna keep riding back and forth, not through Murfree country," he explained.

"Oh, of course, can't be mad at you taking care of yourself. You bumped into any since we've been staying here?" I asked. He paused for a moment. 

"Yes," he said, but offered no elaboration. I didn't prod. "I'm heading down to the river for a bath before I leave you again," he said, his tone lightening up as he changed the subject. 

"What you gotta do next?" I questioned. He brushed his fingers over his chin, dusting away stray clippings of hair. 

"I gotta meet Sadie and Dutch in Saint Denis," he told me, putting down his scissors. Saint Denis! His insistence on tempting fate by going back there again boggled my mind until he told me his reasons. "Colm's being hanged."

"Colm O'Driscoll?" I balked. Arthur nodded. "Oh, my. And you're going there to watch?"

"I'm going there to make damn sure it happens. This ain't the first time he's been dangled off a rope, somehow his boys always manage to get him out of there. This time, he ain't getting away." 

"I'd love to come watch," I told him. Oh, to see the man who'd caused Arthur so much pain and caused the gang so much trouble swinging from the gallows, to hear his neck snap as the floor opened up, to see the colour drain from his face and the motion cease in his body… 

"You wouldn't," Arthur snorted, knowing me far too well. 

"The idea of it appeals, but right, I've never been able to watch that kind of thing," I admitted with a chuckle. Every time I happened to be passing a public hanging, I'd look the other way as soon as the lever was pulled. The truth is no matter what that sicko had done, watching death was not something I could take satisfaction in. 

"You coming to uh, keep watch while I bathe?" He asked after a moment, his voice quiet. 

"What am I watching, you?" I teased. 

"I ain't fussed where your eyes go as long as there ain't no nasty fellers passing by trying to start some funny business while I ain't got nowhere comfortable to holster a gun," he chuckled. 

I giggled and nodded, "I got your back."

"Come on then," he jerked his head and picked up a towel and some soap, and we headed down the slope towards the river. We walked down a ways until the area felt excluded enough, and Arthur held onto my arm the whole time to make sure I didn't slip. 

I sat down on a nearby rock as Arthur stripped bare, leaving his clothes with me. I smiled at his tan-deprived buttocks as he waded into the water, hissing at the cool temperature, his body tensing. 

"How's the water?" I asked sarcastically. 

"Let's just say there's a reason I ain't turning 'round yet," he said, his voice a little jerky as he shivered. I frowned. 

"Why's that?" I asked in genuine curiosity. He laughed aloud. 

"Never mind," he was quick to reply, then turned to face me once his lower half was submerged in the water.

"Hmm," I hummed aloud, still frowning.

"You'd be coming in with me if it weren't for the dressing on your leg," he said, changing the subject. 

"Why, do I stink?" I asked with a laugh. 

"No, not that I've noticed," he smirked at me. "But I could've just got used to it, you never know," he teased. 

"Don't even joke about it, that might be true." 

"If it is, we all reek. Don't worry about it," he shrugged in amusement, then dipped down under the water and scrubbed at his hair, rising up and shaking a spray of water in all directions. He lifted his hands, "throw the soap?" 

I tossed it, watching it plop into the water a short distance from his outstretched hands. He sighed and crouched, reaching around underwater for it, trying to grab it before the current took it away.

"Sorry, I never said I could throw," I called. 

"You can shoot an arrow straighter than I can and yet you can't throw a bar of soap?" He questioned. I smiled at him and shrugged. He managed to find it, and scrubbed the thing over his chest and under his armpits. 

"So what have you been doing while you've been out?" I asked. He blew out a stream of air through pursed lips and met my eyes. 

"A couple of jobs. I helped get those stolen horses back for Eagle Flies, then yesterday I went along with Bill to Van Horn," he told me, then dropped his gaze down and started washing his legs, "stagecoach thing. Explosives. Nothing good or exciting, I assure you."

"Charles said you met someone in Annesburg," I said. He hummed and nodded. 

"I saw someone I recognised when I took that girl home. Went to check it out," he said, his expression a little tense, "Mrs. Downes. Her husband owed us money, died before I could collect it. This was months ago. She paid off the last of the debt and now she's– well, she's doing things she shouldn't have to be doing just to get by." 

Arthur was ashamed, I could see it on his face. 

"I've tried to offer her some help but she ain't ever gonna forgive me, I know that," he added, and I nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry, you can't change other people's feelings," I said softly, and he nodded. 

"I don't… necessarily want her forgiveness. I just wanted to do something good for her, maybe help her get out of where she is– ain't a nice place for a lady and her son," he said, then looked a little nervous to say the next thing, "I, uh, I gave her some money. Not too much, just…" he trailed off. 

"That was kind," I told him, and he stared at me for some time. I frowned a bit. 

He recognised my confusion and cleared his throat. "Was worried you might be a little upset that I gave her money when I should be saving for you an' me." 

"I said I'd let you do what you gotta do. This included. I ain't mad, Arthur, money ain't anything I care about," I shrugged my shoulders and he watched me for a while before relaxing. 

"You're a good lady, a real good one. I don't deserve–"

"Don't start," I rolled my eyes and smirked in amusement, cutting him off before he could go there. I fought the grin trying to spread across my face and looked down to tweak the buttons on Arthur's shirt, smoothing my fingers over the fabric.

"Hey," he said, "look at me."

I did as he asked, meeting his eyes. 

"Once this is over you and me are gonna have the rest of our lives together," he told me. "We just gotta stop ourselves getting impatient."

"The rest of our lives," I repeated, letting the grin take over. "I hope I get to see you become an old, old man."

"What'chu on about? I am an old man," he gestured to his broad chest and soft yet toned stomach with his muscular arms and I cocked a brow at him. 

"You ain't old. I mean Uncle-old," I said, "at the very least."

"I ain't too sprightly," he shook his head. "I'm not like Uncle just yet but I'm sure starting to feel my age."

"Christ, Arthur, how old are you, exactly?"

He had to think for a moment. "Thirty-six. I think," he shrugged one shoulder.

"Thirty-six. And you're talking like you're in your fifties," I shook my head at him. He snorted and looked away, stretching as he tried to scrub his back with the soap.

I admired the way his arms and chest worked with his movements, pressing my lips together to resist the indulgent smile that wanted to appear. I wondered if it was bad of me to enjoy watching him so much, the poor man was only trying to bathe.

"You sure don't look like an old man," I told him, my voice coming out lower and a damn sight more sultry than I intended. 

"Mm?" He hummed lightly, the corner of his mouth lifting. 

"You look… handsome."

"Why'd you hesitate before you said that?" He let out a breathy laugh, his hand moving under water, between his legs, looking indecent only because I'd chosen to see it that way once my mind had begun to turn down an inappropriate path.

"Because handsome don't feel like the right word. Handsome is when you're wearing a nice shirt and vest, and you've put a little pomade in your hair," I explained, tilting my head, pausing as he ducked under water briefly again to scrub at his face and hair. "But when you're all wet and your hair's messy… I sure like looking at it but it's a different kind of nice," I grinned. 

"That's pretty complicated," he teased me, beginning to emerge from the water, apparently satisfied that he was clean. "But I appreciate the sentiment." 

"You ain't gotta be shy," I told him playfully when he cupped his privates with his hands, not allowing me a single glimpse of his entire body.

"I'm not shy," he chuckled, but still didn't move his hands. I looked around, the area was completely void of passers by, there wasn't an easy path close by so I doubted anyone would ever see him. 

"It's just me," I reassured him, holding the towel towards him when he got close enough, swapping it for the soap. 

"That's my point. It ain't a modesty thing, it's a pride thing. I don't wanna put any pictures in your head," he laughed, scrubbing the towel over his body, always careful not to flash a glimpse. 

"I am so confused," I said slowly, shaking my head like an idiot. 

Arthur was flushed since I'd basically cornered him into explaining. "The water's real cold, princess. Some things... get a little smaller. You don't need to see nothing."

"I'm perfectly satisfied with the size of everything on your body, I couldn't possibly be disappointed by anything you could show me," I smirked. "Come a little closer." 

"Why?" He asked suspiciously. 

"I won't look. But maybe I could…" I trailed off, my eyes dropping to the towel. "I could warm you up a little."

"You being dirty, sweetheart?" His face was a mix of surprise and amusement. 

"I'm in the mood for it," I admitted. 

"Out here?" His voice raised in pitch.

"You opposed to that?" 

Arthur glanced around. "Not really," he said, scrubbing the towel under his arms, still keeping the bottom of it hanging down over his groin.

"Come here then," I purred, and he slowly closed the gap. He stood just in front of me, his knees close to mine. He watched me intensely as my hand slid under the edge of the towel, my fingertips walking like little legs up his inner thigh. 

I could tell he wasn't breathing, but he let out an audible hiss of breath when my hand wrapped around him. I looked up at him to see his eyes flutter closed momentarily as I began to gently play with him, brushing my hand back and forth, rubbing my thumb in a feather light dance over the tip. 

"What– what're we doing? You want to lie down with me, want me to take you out here?" He questioned, his voice shaking a touch. 

"I want to play around, try something," I told him. "You ever had a lady use her mouth to make you feel nice?"

"Fuck, only once," he breathed. 

"Did you like it?" 

"Yes," he nodded easily and I smiled. 

"I liked it when you did it to me," I whispered. 

"You want that now? I can– I'm real happy to, I like doin' it," he stammered out, his cock filling out in my hand, twitching upright, lengthening. 

"I'm not asking you to do anything, I just want to play, for now," I told him.

I brushed the towel aside, exposing him. He didn't stop me and I leaned forwards to his belly, pressing kisses to his warm, soft flesh, moving sideways under his chest, lingering at the shallow hollow beneath his rib cage. I breathed over him, tilting my head until my forehead pressed against his chest. I looked down at my hand as it moved over him, and I paused briefly to slick my palm with spit. Arthur moved the towel completely, draping it over his shoulders as he hummed out his first audible moan. 

"This nice?" I asked, returning my lips to his body, kissing down over his abdomen, the toned line down the centre towards his navel. He exhaled his confirmation without hesitation.

His abs flexed when I brushed over a sensitive, ticklish part of his belly and a low, sudden grunt sounded above me. I brought my free hand to his body, stroking it up over his chest, my palms feeling the firm peaks of his nipples before I slid my hand all the way down. It slipped between his thighs, cupping and fondling him as my other hand picked up the pace over his shaft. My heart began to pound, and I turned my eyes upwards to see him watching me closely. His hand brushed over my cheek, up to my temple and through my hair. I exhaled softly at his pleasant touch, closing my eyes and kissing down lower, beneath his navel, down to where his hair became thicker and more coarse until my hand knocked into my chin and I realised how close I was… 

"Jesus Christ," Arthur exhaled almost inaudibly, his fingers burying themselves in my hair, scratching lightly at the base of my skull. "I feel like I'm gonna cum before you even start, watching you's getting me so worked up," he whispered. The corner of my lips lifted in satisfaction.

I loosened my hold on his cock, thumbed at the head and smeared the slick that gathered there as I slid my hand right down to the base. I watched as it twitched when the cool air met it, and heard Arthur's small, growl of a moan. I opened my mouth a little and tilted my head, leaning in to press a lingering open-mouthed kiss to the side of his cock, low down beside my hand. Arthur made a sound mighty close to a whimper and he rocked forwards on the balls of his feet momentarily before dropping back and letting out a stuttered breath. Warmth flooded and pounded between my legs and in my cheeks as I saw how aroused he was, how starved for the pleasure I could give him he was becoming. 

I kissed him again, and again, moving up his length towards the tip, where my lips lingered with the kiss. I turned my head to and fro, dragging my lips over the slick head and feeling his arousal coating my lips like rouge. Arthur released a series of high pitched ah's and I pulled back to look into his eyes as I made a show of licking my lips. I didn't know what to expect but the flavour that hit me was a mild one, just a little salty, and I resisted the instinct to make a content hum as if I'd just tried a new kind of food.

"Fuck, fuck," he whispered, licking his own lips and fidgeting on his feet. His cock twitched in my hand again, and a clear stringy bead oozed from the tip, dripping down before I could attempt to catch it with my tongue. 

"Oh my God," I breathed, my whole body tingling with intense, unignorable arousal.

I pushed forward, drawing my tongue over his cock, right down to my hand before tilting my head and retreating right back up to the tip. I encircled my lips around the end of it, immediately gaining a gasp and a jolt of Arthur's hips. I let out a sultry laugh at his reaction and he wailed out like he was going to cry. I'd never seen him like it before, not so intensely. 

"Please," he begged, his voice low and husky. Please? Please what? I thought to myself, sliding my lips down a little more. "Ah, fuck, that's it, princess. Good girl. How much can you– you're going real far, shit," he commented as I slowly took more of him into my mouth, being careful to keep my teeth away. 

I soon felt like I'd start to retch if I went any further and I froze, how on earth was I meant to tend to his entire cock? Was I even doing it right? It was supposed to go this far into my mouth, wasn't it? I was only assuming. I began to feel nervous, heart rate galloping again. I slid my lips back over the head, and he groaned when the tight ring of my mouth slid back and forth over the most sensitive part of him, and my hand began to stroke the rest of him. I sucked a little as I pulled back and Arthur's moan was loud and unbridled, so I did it a few more times, producing more and more intense reactions until I lifted my eyes to meet his, and suddenly the hand on my head pulled me off. 

He gasped, tensed, cock pulsating. 

"S-sorry, I nearly came and I didn't– fuck, it feels so good I don't want it to be over yet," he told me, and I let the relief slow my heart, for a moment I feared I'd done something wrong. "Okay… okay I'm good," he told me after a moment and I returned to him, taking him back into my mouth and sliding down. 

I went a little further than before, trying hard to relax so that I wouldn't gag. It was hard, my mouth watered profusely and I tried to swallow what I could before I started drooling all over the place like a mess. The act squeezed the muscles at the back of my mouth around him and Arthur's hips rocked forwards a bit as he growled out. I coughed as my gag reflex was triggered and I withdrew.

"Shit, princess, I never meant to do that. You alright?" He questioned, cupping my face and tilting my head up to look at him. I nodded licking my lips and looking into his eyes, watching them soften in concern before shifting into something more sultry and aroused at the sight of me. "Do you want to stop?" He asked, despite his clear enjoyment. 

"No, I like it. Just don't– try not to do that again. It'd be real embarrassing if I threw up," I laughed, out of breath. 

"I won't, I promise I'll have more control over myself," he whispered, stroking the sides of my head as I trailed my tongue around the head of his cock, then up and down the sides slowly, hearing his little hums and groans returning. "I'll warn you when I'm about to… I won't do it in your mouth," he told me. 

I hummed against the underside of his cock as I lifted it up, peeking up at him past his length. "I thought that was the idea of this," I murmured. 

"Not… not always. You don't have to," he said, shaking his head and looking down at me with glazed eyes.

"What if I want it?" I asked, tilting my head at him as I jerked him quickly, letting the head of his cock brush over my lips.

"Then you ain't gonna be waiting long, you keep talking like that," he shuddered, his eyes closing for a moment before opening again.

"I want to try," I whispered, flashing a sultry smile, "I always wondered what you tasted like."

"Oh fuck," he whined, breathing heavily. I wrapped my lips around him, chased my hand up and down his length with them, sucking on the draw back, using my other hand to play with his balls. "Ohh, I'm gonna cum," he sighed.

I moaned around him, spurred on. I was surprised at how much I was enjoying myself, how much gratification pleasuring him provided me with, my body throbbed and pulsed with pleasure and I felt so slick between my legs I must've soaked my drawers by then. 

"Oh baby, I love you, I love you so goddamn much," Arthur panted, his hand stroking back over my hair over and over, "I'm gonna– fuck, almost there. Almost– I'm cumming!" His voice was strangled as his cock started to throb and twitch inside my mouth. 

I felt a sudden flood of liquid, it hit the roof of my mouth and flowed down over my tongue, filling my mouth with a flavour far stronger than I'd tasted before, definitely salty, a little bitter. I swallowed it down as a knee-jerk reaction, mainly to get the foreign texture out of my mouth. My eyes closed in concentration as I drank him down with each throb and pump of his cock, until he was spent, just twitching rhythmically as his loud moans died down. I pumped my lips over him a few more times, wringing the last sparks and shudders from him before tonguing away any residual spend from his tip, opening my eyes to meet his.

"Jesus, fuck, princess," he sighed, sagging a little on his feet, swaying a bit.

I was breathless, staring up at him as my whole body buzzed with an indecent yet wonderful thrill. I was suddenly very shocked at myself, performing such an intimate and dirty act, and getting such a release from it that wasn't like an orgasm, but it was certainly something. I received a special kind of satisfaction and gratification when Arthur spilled into my mouth, riding waves of his own pleasure that I had brought him. 

Arthur recovered, panting as he bent down, tilting my head up and kissing me hard, his tongue probing enough for him to surely taste himself. He quickly dropped to his knees, dirtying himself up on the ground. As he kissed me his hands went to my skirt, lifting. I jolted and grabbed his hands to stop him. He must've forgotten about my current condition, I was bleeding, in no fit state to have such attention.

"No?" He questioned lightly, not needing to string together a whole question for us to communicate. I shook my head.

"I only wanted to do you," I whispered. 

He carefully placed his hands on my thighs and nuzzled his face into my neck, inhaling and kissing between words. "I'd like to do you," he returned, tone a low hum, "you don't want me to?"

"I'm satisfied," I whispered. "Besides, you know I can't," I added sheepishly. He seemed to remember, exhaling quietly.

"It's okay," he nodded, drawing back. "How was that?"

"What we just did?" I breathed, smiled. Arthur nodded. "I liked it."

"You did?"

"You seemed to enjoy it a lot, and that really does something for me," I admitted, wrapping my arms around his neck.

"I did enjoy it a whole lot, you're real good to me," he pecked my forehead.

"You're gonna need another bath, kneeling in the mud like that," I warned, and with a groan he pushed himself to his feet. He sighed as he dusted his hands over his knees, not at all shy about standing naked so close to me, especially in comparison to earlier on. 

I didn't think when I reached out and pressed my hand to his chest, stroking down and feeling his muscles, humming pleasantly to myself. 

"You sure you don't need taking care of?" He smirked, seeing my handsyness for exactly what it was. There was no denying I was aroused. Still, the impulsive cloud had passed and I wasn't going to lift my skirts for him, despite his apparent willingness.

"I'm sure," I grinned at him, letting him go and handing him his clothes an article at a time so he could get dressed. "We should be heading back anyway, that's a long bath you just had." 

Arthur hummed in agreement, flashing me a dirty smile. 

-

Arthur left to meet Sadie and Dutch after having a quick bite to eat; a lump of pork he cooked over the fire himself on the end of his knife. He kissed me goodbye by the horses and I wished him luck, telling him to give Colm a wave goodbye from me. I spent the remainder of my day doing chores and trying not to scratch at my leg where it had entered the itching phase of the healing process; at least it no longer hurt.

I was taking a break with a cup of water and a little bit of chocolate Pearson had snuck me from the back of his wagon, I was discreet in eating it. There was not enough to share and it'd been so long since I'd eaten chocolate, I decided to be a bit selfish. So when I saw Tilly approaching, I shoved the last tiny piece into my mouth, screwing up the wrapper and pocketing it. 

"Why's it look like I've caught you doing something you shouldn't?" She smiled playfully at me as she got closer.

"Cause I'm sitting down doing nothing, don't you feel bad whenever you take a break?"

"Not at all," she huffed a laugh. She stretched out her arm, handing a letter to me. "This came for Arthur. Would you give it to him?"

"Course," I said, looking at the handwriting on the front of the letter. I knew who it was from.

"I think it's from Mary," she said with a bit of an unimpressed tone. I nodded in agreement. "God knows what it is this time."

"I'm a little shocked. When we saw her last things seemed to get wrapped up, Arthur told her how it was," I hummed, and Tilly sighed.

"Feels like there's something inside it," she noted. There was a hard lump between the layers of paper, and a squeeze had me recognising the shape. My eyes widened a bit.

"I think she got the message," I murmured, "it's a ring."

"Oh," Tilly's brows raised, "ouch. She didn't have to send it back, that seems a little… why make a thing of it?"

"I don't know," I shook my head, "maybe she thinks Arthur could do with the money," I snorted.

"Mm, maybe," she said, her tone low. "With a stroke of luck, that'll be the last he hears from her," she patted my shoulder, and with a sigh I slipped the letter into the pocket of my jacket. Tilly went to leave but I called after her. 

"Hey, Tilly. You mind sitting for a second?" 

She hesitated, only out of surprise, then turned back and took the seat next to me. "Sure, what's up?"

"Nothing, really, I just– how're you feeling?"

"Me? Well, you know, I'm just trying to get through each day just like everyone else. This place is like purgatory, though. I'm not liking it one bit," she told me with a heavy sigh, shaking her head and looking out across the camp.

"What do you think's gonna happen?"

"I think Dutch will figure it out. He always does."

"You think he still can? My understanding is this is far worse than it's ever been for the gang," I tentatively suggested, trying to figure out how much confidence she had in him after all that happened.

"I think he'll do his best, and he's never let us down before. He came back to us after Guarma, didn't he? He and the boys could've not looked back, sailed on off to some other country where the law wouldn't know nothing about 'em," she pointed out and I bobbed my head in consideration. Dutch, Micah, Bill… possibly Javier, I could see doing that if things were dire enough. But Arthur? Even if I didn't exist, I doubted he would leave the gang so stranded.

"I suppose so," I said anyway. "You really believe in Dutch, don't you?"

"Right now, I have to," she said, almost sadly. I rubbed my hand up and down her arm briefly. "What about you; how're you feeling?"

"I'm alright," I nodded, "I reckon I'll be fine as long as Arthur keeps on coming back. This is all way over my head, way more than I expected when I joined. But I'm sticking with it, just thinking of what's important."

"And what about Dutch? Do you trust him?" She asked. I was quiet for a moment, my eyes locked with hers for a few long seconds. 

"Well, it's like you said. He'll do his best. The rest of us? We'll just… follow," I said quietly. Tilly's lips parted, but she closed them again and nodded slowly. 

"Anyway, I better get back to my chores," she told me, putting on a small smile. I nodded and watched as she got up and headed away, glancing over her shoulder at me once. 

I sighed and dropped my head into my palms. 

[butwhatifyouwrite]

Introducing Meria and Nova

Meet Meria and Nova for Whumptober day 3! 

Cw: field medicine, magical medicine, medical whump, stitching, application of a tourniquet, magical medicine gone wrong, no pain meds, youngish injured person (not explicit but definitely mentioned), mention of war and the horrors associated

As always please let me know if I missed any tags!

I currently do not have a tag list for this one, please let me know if you would like to be added!

Introducing Meria and Nova Whumptober prompt #15 Magical Healing Gone Wrong

She hadn’t slept in over 24 hours at this point, but it didn’t matter. These people needed her help. Nonetheless, exhaustion was beginning to drag at her very core. She would have to rest soon, or she wouldn’t be doing anyone any good.

The battle had started as most battles do. Two armies coming together, each fighting for what they hold most dear in this world. That’s what everyone thinks of when they think of a battle. Of war. Strong, sweaty soldiers wielding and clashing swords. Arrows arcing between armies, seeking a mark their sender will never see. They think about the honor and the glory. But no one ever thinks about what goes with that. The killing. The dying. The fear. The wounds that may never heal. The men that may never be the same. The pain inflicted. That is the only side of battle Meria has ever seen. 

She has to admit though, the battles were getting worse. The injuries were getting harder to treat. Jale was getting stronger, his forces were growing. They thought they had a few more days before the other army would be on top of them. They weren’t prepared this time, and the Kingdom’s men were paying the price.

Meria is jolted from her reverie as several fae carry a young wounded soldier into the tent on a stretcher. He has a severe stab wound to his upper right thigh that is bleeding heavily. One of the fae has a bandage on the wound and is leaning on it heavily. The young boy is barely conscious and he groans in pain from the pressure on his wound. Shit. That’s not good.

Meria moves over to him quickly, looking up at the two carrying the young man. “What happened?”

“They caught him as he was remounting. Main injury to the upper right thigh. We can’t get the damn thing to stop bleeding.”

“Lay him down and someone get me a tourniquet.” Meria says authoritatively. 

The assistant that was in the tent with her hurries over to the supplies, grabbing a strip of cloth and piece of wood from a bag.

Two of the fae men hurry to comply, setting the young man gently down on the cot in the center of the tent. They turn to leave. One looks like he wants to leave, but he hovers at the entrance before turning back into the tent. Meria looks at the young fae man who stayed. He looks about her age. But there is a troubled innocence to him that makes him seem younger and yet older at the same time.

“Can I help you with something?” She says, barley looking up at him from her place next to the injured boy. She takes the tourniquet and wraps it around the boys leg above the wound, twisting it tightly to secure it in place. The boy on the table stirs and groans as the tourniquet is placed. “You’re okay, honey. You’re okay.” Meria soothes. The bleeding in his leg lessens with each twist of the tourniquet. The young soldier’s groans turn to sharp whimpers, then screams. Another twist, another scream. Finally the bleeding lessens and stops as the tourniquet cuts off the blood flow. His screams stop and he quiets.

“Uh… No. I uh, can I watch? I, uh, I was in training before the war broke out. Uh. They say you are the best in the camp. I uh… Never mind. I should leave. I-”

“You want to stay, then stay. But you do as I say. Got it?”

“Yes ma’am. Thank you.”

“First rule. It’s Meria. Not ma’am.”

“Yes Ma- Meria.”

Meria looks down to the boy in front of her, grabbing her knife from her belt she begins cutting his clothes off so she can get a better view of what is going on. Doing a quick head to toe inspection as she does so. Don’t want to miss anything stupid. She doesn’t find any other major injuries besides the leg. Minor scratches, a small cut to the side of his arm. But nothing else.

Nova starts to turn away as she does so. She notices out of the corner of her eye and speaks, not looking up from her patient. “If you got a problem with naked bodies leave now boy. This scene isn’t getting any prettier.”

“No ma- Meria. Uh, sorry I-”

“No need to apologize to me. Now make yourself useful. Get over here and hold him. I’ve gotta find where this blood is coming from and fix it and he’s not gonna like that.”

“But-”

“Now! Just grab his shoulders and don’t let him move. I don’t have anything to give him for pain right now and I don’t want to leave that tourniquet on for too long.”

The young fae scrambles around to the head of the cot and places his hands bracingly on the young mans shoulders, holding him down. Meria moves back to his leg, positioning it so she can see the wound better, she moves a candle closer to give her more light. She grabs a bit of gauze from the table beside her then looks up at Nova. “Okay, hold him.”

Meria loosens the tourniquet very slightly allowing a small amount of blood flow to return to the limb. The young man stirs at the pain as blood begins to run into his wound again. Meria looks over at her assistant, standing just off to the side. Waiting, ready. “Hold that tourniquet right there. Don’t let it get any looser.” 

“Got it.” The assistant affirms as they take hold of the tourniquet.

Meria moves so she can see the wound clearly, she pushes the gauze into the wound for a moment, cleaning the blood away, then removes it, allowing a bit more blood to flow, looking for where the blood is coming from. The young man groans again, the pain making him more and more alert, becoming a stimulant in almost every way.

A distinct spurt of blood comes from deep in the wound. Meria reaches down and puts her finger directly on the source, feeling the light pulse underneath her finger. Fuck. It is the artery. “It’s an artery. I’m gonna have to sew it back. Tighten that tourniquet back for me.” 

Her assistant twists the tourniquet all they way back tight. The young man lets out the beginning of a scream, hold body going tense.

“But you don’t have any pain killer.” The young fae protests. He blanches at the sight of what is going on.

“In pain is better than dead.” Meria responds. “Unless you have a better idea.”

“No Meria.” He responds. Looking down at the young boy with pain etched on his own face.

“Okay then, hold him.” Meria turns, gathering tools from the table behind her. The young fae watches her intently, the gears in his head starting to turn. 

“Wait, uh. I uh, I might be able to fix it.”

“Oh? And how is that kid? We don’t have much time.”

“I uh, when I was in training, I learned a way to control some of my magic. I, I think I might be able to heal him that way. Less painful.”

“I don’t have time to deal in maybes. Can you do it or not?” Meria questions sharply.

“Yes. Yes I can do it.” The young fae moves from his place by the boys shoulders, down so that he is kneeling by the boy’s leg. He places his hands on the boys thigh on either side of the wound and closes his eyes. He starts speaking under his breath and a warm golden aura begins to glow around him, flowing into the young boy on the cot. He stays like this for a few minutes.

At first it seems like the fae’s magic is working. The golden aura seems to flow into the boy from the injury on his leg. Then, the young boy on the cot begins to shift, groaning. The wound on his leg begins to look like it’s spreading. The young fae’s eyes flash open, going wide. The boy on the cot begins to scream. His screams pierce through the tent. He pants trying to drag in ragged breaths between each agonized scream. The young fae goes white, closing his eyes once more and attempting to force himself to focus despite the boys screams. 

“Shit! Shit! Shit!” The young fae mutters. 

Meria watches for a moment more, then realizes how much worse the wound on the boys leg looks.  Then she steps forward and places a hand on the young fae’s shoulder. “Stop. It isn’t working.”

The young fae opens his eyes, now glistening with tears, and looks up and Meria. He removes his hands from the boy and moves back to stand. “I- I-“ He cuts himself off with a choked sob, turns, and runs from the tent as his tears begin to pour.

Meria turns back to the young boy, assessing the damage done by the spell. She can deal with the fae later. The wound is definitely wider now. He would need even more stitches. But she still needed to fix the artery first. A look passes between Meria and her assistant and they wordlessly get to work. The assistant moves to the young mans shoulders ready to hold him down. Meria grabs a stitching needle and thread from the equipment on the table behind her then turns back ready to get to work. She nods to her assistant then looks down at the young boy. “I’m sorry honey. This is gonna hurt. I’m sorry.” She clenches her jaw then kneels down and begins stitching the artery back together. The boy whimpers at first. His whimpers rise as sweat beads on his skin. His whimpers turn into screams that once again fill the tent with the sound of agony. Meria works quickly. She stitches the artery back then sets herself to stitching up the wound itself. After a while the boy goes quiet and pale too overcome by the pain to truly be present any longer. “You’re doing so well honey. I’m so sorry.” Meria soothes as she works, but she knows soothing words don’t do anything for the pain.

Meria finishes stitching the wound up then looks up at her assistant. “Do you mind finishing up here? I want to go check on the fae boy.”

“Of course.” Her assistant responds with a quick nod.

Meria stands and leaves the tent. The boy whimpers quietly on the cot as her assistant works to bandage the wound. An echo of pain stabs through Meria as she leaves the tent and tears hover just behind her own eyes. He looks so young and frail, so pale he almost blends in with the cot underneath him. This is the side of war no one wants to talk about or see. These are the memories Meria will live with forever. Her heart is heavy as she moves through the tent city that has been her home since she joined the fight, looking for the young fae boy. 

She finally finds him huddled beneath a tree on the outskirts of the encampment. His face is streaked with tears, his eyes red and swollen. He heaves out broken sobs, folding over on himself as each sob crashes over him, like a wave attempting to drag him under.

Meria makes her way over to the boy and quietly sits down beside him, a soft look of concern resting on her face.

He looks up at her for a moment, then his sobs overcome him once more. Meria simply opens her arms to him and holds him until the tears stop.

She looks at him quietly for a moment, then asks: “What’s your name?”

“Nova.” The fae replies.

[waynedunlaptheorgandonor]

caryl fic; oneshot, hurt/comfort, vague s10 spoilers

title: how you go

rating: teen

word count: ~2k

They stumble inside a rundown building. It’s somewhere between a shed and a barn; a single room, with remnants of hay on the floor and cobwebs in the rafters, but it’s small enough that one good look around is enough to tell Daryl there are no walkers around, at least not in here. Outside is a different story, and already he can hear the scritch-scratching of nails on wood; the tap-tapping of hands on glass. Daryl helps Carol to the ground, and then shoves a dusty, old shelf in front of the door and prays that it holds.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it—no walkers are breaking in this second, and he has other things to attend to. Like the fact that the love of his life is currently bleeding out on a filthy, hay-covered floor.

Daryl kneels beside her and scoops up some dirt and hay into a pile for her to lay her head on. He turns on his flashlight—the batteries are running low, but he’s lucky he has any at all—and gingerly lifts up her shirt to examine her wound.

“It’s bad,” Carol says. Her voice is strained from the pain, but she’s calm.

“You’ll be alright,” Daryl says, trying to keep a neutral expression even as he’s wracked with fear. She’s right. It’s bad.

“I think I’m dying,” Carol says matter-of-factly.

“Shut up,” Daryl says. “No you aren’t.”

The wound is really bad.

He’s not sure how deep the knife went in.

If she’s got internal bleeding and the others don’t find them soon, she might—

“I’m gonna put pressure on this; try an’ stop the bleedin’. Might hurt a lil’.” Daryl derails his own thought train, focusing instead on slipping off his vest and unbuttoning his shirt.

“Is this really the time to be coming onto me?” Carol asks. Daryl’s hands pause for a split second. He casts her an unamused glare before finishing up on the buttons and sliding his shirt off his shoulders.

“Stop,” he mutters. “Don’t got nothin’ else to use as a bandage.”

She laughs, and usually he’d be delighted to hear that particular sound—it’s been an age since she last teased him like this—but that’s precisely why it worries him. She’s been free-falling ever since the pikes, and he’s worried she’s feeling more playful now because she thinks it’s finally all gonna end. Well there’s no way in hell he’s standing for that. He bunches up his shirt and presses it against her wound. She takes a sharp intake of breath and he cringes.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry, I know it hurts.”

“Told you there were Whisperers on our side of the border,” she says, and even though she doesn’t sound mad—if anything, she’s teasing him again—he still feels like a gigantic, record-breaking, steaming pile of shit. If he had gotten his head out of his ass he would have seen that she knew what she was talking about. But she hadn’t been sleeping; had been popping pills and referencing conversations they’d never had. He had wanted to believe her—his gut protested every second that he didn't—but the evidence had been stacked up against her. In short, he had doubted her, and now it’ll be his fault if she—

“How are you feelin’? Cold? Dizzy? Anythin’ like that?”

“No, just feeling stabbed so far,” she says. Daryl sighs, and she adds, a little more seriously, “I’m kind of cold.”

Daryl shines the flashlight at her face. She’s pale. He presses the back of his hand against her cheek. Her skin is clammy.

“Keep talkin’ to me, alright? Even if you get tired. Especially if you get tired. I wanna make sure you’re not goin’ into shock.”

“Yes, Dr. Dixon,” she says with a cheeky grin he can’t bring himself to return. God, she sounds so weak .

“They’ll find us,” he tells her. “Michonne and the others. They’ll take care of the walkers outside and we’ll get you home and get you patched up and good as new, alright?”

“Alright,” she says, in the same tone he’d used when he’d told her he believed her about the Whisperers.

“Don’t,” he says.

“Don’t what?”

“Act like you’re already givin’ up.”

“Wound’s deep, Daryl,” she says. The shirt he has pressed against her is already bled through.

“You’ve had worse.”

“Lucky me.”

“You know what I mean. You’ve gotten through worse. This is just another thing.”

“What if I’m tired of getting through things?” she asks. Daryl squints at her.

“The hell’s that s’posed to mean?”

“It means, what if you took your hands off my stomach and just let whatever's gonna happen, happen?”

Daryl presses harder against her abdomen.

“You can fuck right off with that shit,” he says.

“I’m tired, Daryl.”

“Keep talkin’ to me.”

“That’s not the kind of tired I mean.”

He knows. He knows she’s talking about how her body’s been through so much trauma, even pre-apocalypse, that it’s a miracle it’s made it this far, and she’s tired of it still getting beat down even after all of that. She’s talking about how this is another goddamn wound she has to heal, and she doesn’t only mean like the scar on her arm where the glass impaled her a few weeks ago. She means the gaping wounds in her heart from all her dead children; the gashes in her conscience from every life she’s ever taken; the constant ache of forcing herself to survive every goddamn day in a world like this. She’s tired, Daryl knows this, but she’s not allowed to go to sleep. Not yet. He says,

“This ain’t the way you go.”

“Yeah?” she asks, and her voice is losing all its edge with every drop of blood that leaks out of her body and into Daryl’s makeshift bandage. “How do I go then?”

Daryl frowns at where the white of her stomach is stained crimson. She has a whole litany of battle wounds from times where it wasn’t her time to go.

He doesn’t think she’s expecting an answer, and truth be told, it’s not a question he’d usually reply to, but he decides she needs to know that today is not the day.

“It’ll be your heart,” he tells her. “Not an attack or somethin’, it won’t be nothin’ that hurts. There won’t be pain.”

She doesn’t say anything or a moment, and Daryl checks to make sure she’s still conscious. Her eyes are glassy and groggy, but they’re fixed on his.

“Will it be in a fight?” she asks quietly, and Daryl shakes his head.

“Nah. There won’t be no more fights to fight by the time you go. Uh-uh, you’ll be in bed, all warm and comfy and shit. Nice sheets. You know like them rich people ones with the billion thread count or whatever? That’s what you’ll be layin’ on.”

“What about a fluffy pillow? One of those big memory foam ones? Always loved those.”

“Oh, hell yeah, baby,” Daryl says, the term of endearment slipping out before his brain has a chance to catch up with his mouth. If she’s bothered by it she doesn’t show it on her face, but he wonders if it prompts her to ask her next question. She asks,

“Will you be with me?” For a second he wonders if she’s ribbing him again, but her expression is earnest and shy.

“‘Course,” he says softly. “‘Course I will. I’ll be right there. Hell, I’ll even hold your hand. If you want, I mean.”

“What if...will the bed be big enough for you to hold all of me and not just my hand?”

Daryl swallows, even though his mouth is dry.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’ll be next to you, and I’ll hold all’a you, and when you go I’ll still be there. Right ‘til the very end I’ll be there.”

“Will I be afraid?”

“Nah. Neither of us will, ‘cause we’ll know it’s time, you know? We both seen death so much already, it won’t scare us none. Might be a little sad, though. I’ll be sad. Won’t be able to say goodbye easily, warnin’ you now, but I gotta let you go first, ‘cause there ain’t no way you’re goin’ out without someone who loves the hell outta you seein’ you off.”

Carol’s eyes are glistening, and he doesn’t think it’s from the shock. He turns his attention back to her abdomen. It’s still bleeding, but it’s slowing. From outside, the walkers groan, and the old wooden building groans right along with them. It’s an oddly peaceful cadence.

“Daryl?”

“Yeah?”

“How do you go?”

“Always thought it’d be cool to go out in an explosion. You know, action movie style?” He grins at Carol’s laugh and then shrugs. “I dunno. They’ll pro’ly say it’s somethin’ like natural causes or some shit.”

“But it won’t be?”

“Nah. It’ll be more complicated than that.”

“How so?”

He ducks his head.

“Think eventually missin’ someone too much can be fatal. Not right away, and only when you don’t got no one else, you know? When you’re old and grey and seen enough of the world and you’re ready to go see ‘em again, hopin’ beyond hope that you will—that’s when it takes you.”

“Who will you miss so much that you’ll decide it’s your time to go?”

“That’s a stupid question.”

“Answer it anyway.”

Daryl forces himself to raise his head. She’s ashen, with hay in her hair. She’s watching him, uneasy, as if she really isn’t sure what his answer’s gonna be.

Careful to keep the pressure on her wound with one hand, Daryl sits up on his knees and hovers above her. He waits a beat to see if he’s met with any resistance, and when he’s not he leans down and presses his lips to hers. It’s chaste and polite—it’s to prove a point—but even still, his nerve endings spark, sending a shiver down his spine, and he realizes then that he’s been waiting for the better part of a decade for this.

“You,” he whispers, pulling a breath’s distance away. “I’ll miss you.”

Sitting back on his heels, he uses his free hand to brush tears off her cheeks. She leans into his touch, eyes fluttering closed.

“I’ll be there,” she says.

“What, sweetheart?”

“Beside you. When you go, I’ll be there. You won’t see me, but you’ll know. And when you do go, I’ll be waiting, and it’ll be so good to see you again. The best.”

From outside comes the unmistakable sound of a katana slicing into a walker. Muffled voices can be heard through the walls. Daryl smiles at Carol.

“The best,” he repeats in agreement. “But we ain’t there yet. This ain’t how you go. You hear me? It ain’t.”

“I hear you,” she says, like she believes him now. “I’m not going anywhere. Not today.”

Daryl cups her face, just as the barn door swings open. He nods, saying with conviction,

“Damn straight, baby. Not today.”