#because my head is pounding and my joints are burning and my spine is screaming bloody murder and a billion other things. Sigh

[boopboops22]

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Runaway - Chapter Seventeen.

Bloody hell, you guys got to those thirty notes quickly, didn’t you? Thank you so much for your engagement! I really love reading through all your comments, and I concur with you all, too. They’re bad, but I’m sorry, you will all be despairing of them for a while yet. But, that does mean to get smut, so I guess it evens out, doesn’t it? :D 

Previous chapters - Prologue  One  Two  Three  Four  Five  Six  Seven  Eight  Nine  Ten  Eleven  Twelve  Thirteen  Fourteen  Fifteen  Sixteen

Taglist - In the comments, please DM to be added/removed

Words - 1,734

Warnings - 18+ content throughout, minors DNI!

“All I’ve been able to think about all morning is coming up here and getting to watch this perfect fuckin’ ass bounce on me. Mmmmm, shit, darlin’.”

That deep grit of a groan, his voice gone to gravel entirely as he clutched her ass cheeks in a firm grip, releasing one to spank it hard, sent a bonfire of lust burning straight through Hannah, riding him reverse cowgirl on the couch during her work break. Some people chose a sandwich; she chose an outlaw with a nine-inch cock.  

An affair. To say it was anything less at that point, ten days after they’ve first had sex would be a complete lie. They had no idea where it was going, if anywhere at all, their mouths buttoned where actually communicating it with each other was concerned, focusing solely on the thrill of it.  

Because it was thrilling. Make no mistake.  

“How’d you want to finish?” she panted, looking back over her shoulder with a smouldering pout, winking at him. “Deep in my pussy, all over my tits, or in my mouth?”  

His eyes closed tightly for a second, his jaw twitching. God, she was such a temptress when she was getting fucked. He enjoyed it so much, the different parts that made up Hannah Gray. An elegant lady in business, a buddy on the couch with drinks and snacks while screaming at the football game on TV, and an absolute freak in the sheets.  

“In your mouth, so back that fine assed little pussy right on up here so I can make you cum in mine, too.” He grabbed her hips, towing her towards his face, his lips wrapping her soaking slit in a strong suck as he felt the tip of his cock hit the back of her throat, spanking her again hard, her lily-white ass red from the handprints he’d left behind.  

He ate her like a starving animal, groaning the entire time, hand pounding her so hard combined with his cock rooted so deep in her throat, her eyes streamed, her hand cupping his balls as she felt glimmers rushing up her spine, a bolt of pure, white-hot and fever rich pleasure consuming her, his cock flooding her mouth a second later.  

That was Wednesday. On Saturday, with Lola staying over with her granny Val, Hannah at a loose end and Carmen away with her sister, Manny saw a surprise walk into the clubhouse at just gone 8pm.  

“Dude, the fuckin’ blonde who just walked up in here. Premium hottie, man,” Gilly spoke, giving Manny several digs in the side with his elbow.  

Manny turned, his grin widening when he saw Hannah there, looking gorgeous, dressed in all black other than the pair of deep pink heels upon her pretty feet. “Y’all need to chill, mano. That’s my baby mama.” Sliding from the barstool as she approached, he felt his heart racing. God, she was so effortlessly beautiful, her eyes accentuated with a smudge of dark kohl, her cheeks soft pink and glossy, the scent of her fluttering under his nose. Peonies.  

“Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine.”  

Hannah tilted her head back, her throat flexing in a way that made him want to immediately take a tour of her swan-like neck with his mouth. “Casablanca, huh?”

“Hell yeah. Bogart was a straight up G.” He looked her up and down, dark eyes burning through the feathery concealment of the longest eyelashes she’d ever witnessed, her pulse flickering rapidly. “So, what can I do for you tonight, Hannah banana?”  

She stepped closer, her hands reaching for his flannel, pulling him close, her lips ghosting the outer edge of his ear, sending a pleasant chill right through him. “I need you to take me somewhere, bend me over, and give me every last inch of that perfect cock.”  

He always did appreciate it when a woman got right to the point. “I think that can be arranged.” He nodded to the doors, Hannah taking the lead, his attention attracted by a nearby Angel and Lily, the latter letting out a piercing wolf whistle.  

“Quit it,” he warned through a burst of laughter.

“Make me!” she chirped, waving. “Hey, Hannah!”

“Hiya.” she called, waving back, a little embarrassed as the rest of the guys caught on, jeering, slapping tables, adding a few more choruses of whistles. They knew the score. No one walked in looking as smoking as Hannah had if all she wanted from the father of her child was a casual chat. 

Some might think it deplorable, to encourage Manny’s blatant cheating on his fiancée, but much like Hannah’s loved ones with Michael, none of them could stand Carmen. Also, they didn’t consider it their business to chastise him. He’d gotten himself into this, it was up to him to get himself out. 

Walking across the yard, Manny felt the blood rushing to his cock just from watching the smooth glide of her gait and the sensual roll of her hips, watching as she turned, biting her lower lip.

“So, where are we going?”

He didn’t reply in words, ducking down and throwing her over his shoulder, Hannah squeaking as he carried her in the direction of the office, rooting in his kutte pocket for his bunch of keys. The ache of arousal had her flooding her underwear before he’d even set her down on the other side, Manny kicking the door shut, his mouth upon hers as soon as she’d slid from his shoulder, impatient hands unfastening her tight, black jeans.  

Stealing his mouth from hers, he turned her roughly, yanking her jeans and undies to her knees before he pushed her down over the counter, pulling his cock free and bending to reach her, rubbing the head of his hardness through the warm silk of her slit.  

“Yeah, is that what you want?”  

Her breath hitched tight in her throat, sparks skittering through her clit as hard, hot heat rubbed over it. “Please, don’t tease me. Just fuck me.” Her mouth dropped open at feeling him slide into her fully, Manny realising the vast height difference would work against them, his hands grasping her hips and lifting her, holding her little body with ease as he began to thrust into her with long, firm strokes.  

It was ebullience dipped in raw lust, her fingers curling around the counter as she was shunted across it with the power of his cock hitting her summit again and again, her walls clenching around him, bathing him in the warm wet of her cunt, Manny watching his cock become slicker with every thrust, the lights from the yard providing just enough illumination to see her dew sparkling on his shaft, his short nails leaving crescents upon her hips as they dug in, his pounding merciless, torrid, exactly what she needed.  

Each snap of his hips had her mumbling in incoherence, choked pleas tumbling from her lips as he dragged the velvet clasp of her, hitting a spot deep within that lit her up, igniting her pleasure, his groans all smoke and rasp. His thighs tensed, his abs quaking as he felt her flutter around him, his hips stuttering as he spilled into her, hot ropes of cum flooding her quivering walls as her voice broke upon a shrill cry. Colours bloomed behind her closed eyelids, her light gleaming over the dark horizon of her lover, leaving her fighting for breath.

“Holy fuck,” he panted, resting his head between her shoulders.  

“Right?” she exclaimed, still dizzy from the burst of her orgasm. “We’re the best at sex.”

“Damned straight.” He put her down, sliding from within her with a slippery pop, fastening himself back into his jeans, Hannah noticing the restroom and going to make use. Once straightened out, she walked back to him, his arms encircling her waist as he pulled her close, leaning to kiss her. “For making me cum so fucking hard, I feel like I’m about to pass out, let me get you a drink.”

“Alright, that’s fair,” she agreed. “Only one, though. I’m driving.” He nodded, walking back out and locking the office behind them, heading back into the clubhouse and a scene of complete hilarity, at the expense of one Coco Cruz.

“I swear to god, Jodie. If you get any of your baby soup on me, imma go ape shit!” he protested, Hannah witnessing the sight of Jodie walking up and down, stopping every so often with a pained face. She then moved to sit on his lap, bearing down with a grimace, Coco aghast as she laughed at his disgust. “EZ! Control your wife, homes!”

His friend shrugged, sipping his soda. “She’s gone four days overdue, she’s past the point of control now.”  

Hannah took her drink from Manny, reaching to touch a hand to Jodie’s shoulder as she heaved herself up again. “It’s Jodie, right?”

“Yes, hi!” she confirmed, giving her a little hug. “You’re Hannah, aren’t you?”

“I am, and I have advice. If you want your waters to break, get your man to take you home and straight to bed. I went overdue with Lola, and while I didn’t have anyone to do that for me, the other mothers who were in the maternity unit at the same time as I assured me that sex was a great way to speed things up. You having Braxton Hicks or anything?”

“I’ve been having contractions all afternoon, but they aren’t speeding up, or going away, so I think I am I labour opposed to them being false, but they told me to only come in if my waters break or they begin to become more regular. I’m tired, I’m uncomfortable and I just want him out now!”

Hannah nodded in understanding. “I hear you, girl. You feel like someone fed you three gallons of laxatives and sewed your butt up, right?”  

“Oh, yeah. That’s exactly it!” She then winced, her hands flapping. “Contraction.”

Grabbing her hand, Hannah reached to rub her lower back. “Breathe deep, in for six, out for eight, repeat. There you go.”  

Manny couldn’t help but notice it, how swiftly and seamlessly Hannah had blended into his world. The difference between her and Carmen was like night and day, and it wasn’t lost on him at all. Not even for a second.

[simpscripts]

Sex in the Club Part 1 (Jean-Ralphio Saperstein x Reader)

Warnings: Smut, 18+, Drug use, Alcohol, drunk/high sex, smoking, anal sex, vaginal sex, semi-public, and slight dubcon cause drugs.

Summary: You get horny while pregaming with your boyfriend, Jean-Ralphio, while at the club. Naughty sex in the bathroom ensues.

Authors note: Honestly there is not really a plot besides me being horny. As always be responsible when actually drinking or smoking and I implore you to pull up a 90’s, 2000’s club playlist while reading this. Pony is a must, obviously. This has to be broken up because I can’t control myself from writing long ass smut. If you want to read it unbroken it will be on ao3 too but I will try as much as possible to make the break minimally jarring.

Your fingers twirled the colorful glowstick band around your wrist as you bump your head and shoulders along with the pounding music. You mouth along the words to the dj’s mixes happily as you look up from your seat to see if you can spot your boy among of the sea of bodies dancing in neon spotlights. Eventually his long form can be seen dancing back to you through a split in the crowd with his arms stretched inwards towards his chest to protect the drinks he held, head bopping with the beats, and hips waving back in forth as he moved.

An airy laugh bubbles from you as his face brightens with a wide smile when he catches your gaze then does a little dance just for you while staring suggestively. When his body gets close enough you move quickly to reach out and grab your drink that is threatening to spill over with his bounces. He climbs in the other side of the booth, taking an awkward amount of time to round the whole booth to be by your side when he could have simply just asked you to move to let him in. He never did anything the easy way though.

“Alright, did you miss me baby? Cause I certainly missed you sweet thang. Now here is one scrumdiddlyumptious ‘screaming orgasm’ for my beautiful lady, and one ‘pussy quencher’ for this guy.” He shouts to you over the music and you laugh as you hear the names of the drinks he picked out for you two.

“I think I’ll need another ‘screaming orgasm’ by the end of tonight.” You laugh, lifting the straw you know he made sure to get just for you and sip down the sweet syrupy cocktail that was almost too pretty too drink.

As always he raises his glass and chugs it down in one big go before slamming the glass back down on the table and screaming out a ‘woo��� as he shakes his head. The music thrums against your skin and you start dancing in your seat with the music, stomach and chest moving in body rolls, and take small sips of your drink with happy hums. You can feel his fingers walk over your back to curl around your waist and you peer over to see him staring at you.

You flush at his burning look and hide behind your fruity drink, a bit shy under his gaze. “What?”

“You are so ridonkulously sexy.” He makes a show of letting his eyes draw up and down your body before biting his lip.

“Uh, huh. Says mr. pretty boy himself.” You hum back but go back to dancing, continuing your show for him.

His fingers snap at his side to light his zippo and you watch him lean forward to pop a joint from his gold case on the table into his mouth before lighting it and leaning back to stretch out against the back of the booth.

You quickly curl your legs up on the booth and lean your body into the crook of his arm letting your head rest on his chest while you trail your fingers across his pecs. It was a small ritual you both indulged in whenever you got to the club, taking a small moment to partake in substances to fuel your long night of partying while taking in the vibe of the environment before diving in.

His arm stretched out behind you moves forward to trail his fingers along your hair. A fluttering tingle rolls down your spine with each pull of his fingers through your strands and a particularly deep rumble vibrates in your chest every time his nails scrap past your scalp. You sit together in this calm relaxation as you both let the bass of the music pound against your bodies and he takes small hits from the joint.

You tilt your head to watch him blow little o rings out of his puckered lips, poking his finger into his cheek to further push the circular wisps out in front of you before they crash into the glasses on the table and dissipate. Your nose tickles as you second hand inhale the fragrant clouds he occasionally blows in your direction.

With the seamless transition to the next song you feel his chest move as he shifts and his fingers pulls your head up to look at him better. “Come here baby.”

His face angles away as his other hand holding the joint raises to his lips for a long draw. Your hand resting on his chest feels it rising with the big inhale and you smile happily, letting your lips part while you wait with closed eyes.

The hand cradling you further cranes your jaw up and he presses his open lips against yours. When he exhales you automatically start inhaling to pull every bit of smoke from him. It’s a bit of an odd feeling that you’ve gotten used to by now, learning long ago that alcohol is a great help to relax your muscles from tensing as you accept the suctioning pull.

The warm moist air fills you headily, drawing in a seemingly never ending stream of air from his lungs. He’s always did have the lung capacity of a scuba diver on steroids. As he finishes up his teeth sink into your lip before drawing back to nuzzle his nose against yours. You stare up at him dizzily with heavy eyelids and blow back a controlled stream at his face. His nostrils flare as he inhales the diluted thinning smoke and his lips curl in a growing smile as he watches you with his own dazed look.

“Damn baby, you take it like a champ.” He exhales shakily, eyes so blown with lust and intoxication that you can see the dancing neon lights twinkle in their blackness. “I need you so bad right now.”

You giggle as his hand trails down your neck to squeeze your breast through your tight dress.

“Nooooo,” You whine, trying to move your cloudy body to wiggle away. “We just got here! I haven’t gotten to dance yet and I’m still only on my second drink.”

“Mmm, we can fix that.” He hums, leaning forward to snatch a large bottle of clear alcohol from the table.

He brings the rim to your lips and starts slowly tipping the bottle. Immediately your mouth starts flooding with the sharp burn of tequila that you swallow back before it can linger on your tongue for too long. You can feel the tickle of a small stream leak out the corners of your mouth that fall down over your jaw and neck.

You hear the sound of the glass bottle clinking back against the table as his head leans down to lick across your lips and lap the trail of liquid off your skin. Your moans thankfully can’t be heard through the loud music and you let them out freely as his open mouthed kisses move down your neck.

“I still haven’t gotten a chance to dance.” You huff out, your mind loosing its battle as you feel his tongue against your skin and your gut warms from all the liquid you chugged down.

“If I check my impeccable memory, lets see here. Mmhm, yep, it was your dancing that caused this in the first place, so technically its your fault for being too damn sexy. And frankly, I deserve a reward for heroically getting you a drink without spilling it.” He rambles against your skin, arm stretching out blindly to snub out the rest of the remaining burning joint into the ash tray.

“Everyone can see us.” You weakly protest, his hands now roaming freely across your tight dress that is quickly feeling more suffocating.

“Nobody is paying attention, c’mon baby please, let daddy do his thang.” He always did start begging and using the word daddy more whenever he got high. God, you really were down bad for this train wreck of a man.

You start to squeal as you feel his fingers try to curl under the top lining of your dress right above your breast. He fully intends to pull your dress down in front of everybody, and you hate how much the idea makes you throb. You aren’t nearly inebriated enough yet to let it happen outside of fantasy and you manage to pull away from his grip as you slip out of the booth and pull on your small dress to cover all the areas he managed to expose.

“Nope” You make a show of popping the p and lean down to kiss him sweetly. “I’m going to dance.”

He shakes his head in acknowledgment of his attention as he squints his eyes and grins up at you while licking his lips. You knew that look could only mean trouble. “Oh ok. I see how it is girl. You like a chase and I respect that.”

He leans back in his seat and spreads open his thighs as he relaxes back into place, even taking time to pour himself a shot . Seeing the outline of his hard length through his incredibly tight pants stretching with his open position makes you almost regret leaving his side.

“Well then, get on with it. Give daddy a good show and then I’ll chase you down.” He quickly downs the shot and pours another while waving you off. “Go on now, git!”

Feeling a bit silly as your bloodstream finally sucks in everything you gave it, you dance backwards towards the crowd while watching him. Your attention span was shortening with every pump of blood circulating through your organs. By the time you made it to the edge of the crowd nearest to your booth you completely forgot he was watching you.

All you could feel was the floating bubbles in your veins that welcomed in the beats of the music easily, the rhythm controlling your body more than you could. A small bit of paranoia tries seeping through to your few functionally remaining brain cells but with experience you took a moment to take a deep breath. The first few minutes after partaking were always the most intense for you but you knew the intensity would blissfully mellow out in just a few moments.

Your attention span distracts you again as the next song in rotation made you jump up in excitement. The whole club felt like electric and your high only heightened that feeling tenfold. You knew you were singing loudly with the crowd that was jumping around you but you could only pay attention to the sway of your limbs that felt like they were floating through water. Your hands circle up into the sky to feel them swim before you make a show of dragging them down your body as you shimmy side to side.

You rub your hands across your limbs and neck to take a moment to center yourself but more realistically you were just very drunkenly amused at how your skin felt. Your fingers glided up and down along your neck to curve around your shoulders in a sort of self hug. You absolutely loved the feeling of your hands as they round down your curves and hips. You felt fucking beautiful and the realization only made you dance more sensually with a new vigor. You were burning with passion that giggled out your mouth, the weed making it hard not to smile brightly.

Your own hands almost felt foreign to you by factor of the numbness and your gut flutters as you close your eyes and picture Jean with you. You could picture him right behind you like he usually positioned himself, moving your hips along to the music as you lose yourself. You miss the feeling of his hands gripping into your waist as you dance, crossing your arms around your waist at the thought to dig in like he would while you sway.

You jump like your being shocked when you feel fingers lace into each of your hands from behind. Your head leans back quickly and you flash a big lopsided smile when you see its Jean. You giggle and throw your head back to rest against his shoulder as you push your ass back against him.

“So did daddy like the show?” You laugh out cheekily, resisting the urge to drop to your knees when you feel his hard dick thrust up against your ass in tandem with the music.

“Mmhm daddy loved it. So fucking sexy.” He growled at you and you hear the sharp clink of his teeth near your ear with the snap of his jaws. “Now bring the ass back and bounce on me.”

He didn’t even give you the option to obey him as his hands greedily grabbed onto your hips to pull you back against him. Both of you lost in each other’s bodies as you shamelessly grind against each other. His mouth littered kisses along your exposed neckline that have your knees wobbling under you. You were only getting hornier with every touch, each one sending pings directly to your clit. It was one thing to be horny and desperate when you were sober but it felt excruciating while you were intoxicated.

“I thought you were going to chase me?” You breathe out as you can make out the throb of his dick even through the layers of cloth.

“Mmm how about, and this is just me spitballing so hear me out, but you and I just go ahead and bang this one out in the bathroom.”

“Fuck ok yes, yes please.” You moan out wantonly, not wanting to waste another second.

“Yea?!” He sounds so excited and your knees buckle as he bites against your ear. You can just feebly nod your head in affirmation against him.

He quickly starts leading you through the crowd, hand never leaving yours but taking the lead to push people out of the way if necessary. Apparently what is necessary for him right now is getting to the bathroom as quickly as possible because nearly every person even slightly in his path become collateral damage and get shoved to make room for you. You’re surprised you manage to escape through the set of doors that lead to the hallway for the bathrooms miraculously without him getting into a fight from his drunken aggression.

The back hallways looked to be completely empty, not surprising seeing as it was still early in the night and no one wanted to break their seal this early. Give it an hour or two and the bathrooms lines will be wrapped all the way out the front door. You don’t think about it for long as you approach the dead end hallway with doors on either side separating the women’s and men’s rooms. You think he will turn one way or the other but he tugs on your wrist and moves to push your body against the wall.

[detroitbecomeyandere]

Hey There Little Red Riding Hood.

Werewolf Gavin x Little Red Reader.

You wrap the fresh bread in soft cloth and place it gently in your basket along with a bottle of mead, herbs and vegetables from your garden and some dried and fresh meat. The weather was starting to turn chilly and as the only other member of your family it was your responsibility to look after your aging grandmother in times like these, she was still the same fiery woman who has raised you after your parents died. But just because she thinks she's a woman in her fifties doesn't mean her body agrees, the seventy year old had pain in her joints and hands whenever the weather turned cold and could hardly cook for herself. Glancing out your window you see the sun was starting to set but there should be more than enough time to get to grandmother's before dark. Slinging your red cloak around your shoulders and locking your home you set off into the woods.

You know this path so well you could walk it blindfolded, the scenery is so familiar it almost felt more like home than your actual house. The leaves have begun their change and the whole forest just feels warmer despite the nip in the air, perhaps you'd stay with grandmother this winter to enjoy the snow covered woods. You pull your hood to keep the cold from making your ears chapped and start to hum to yourself completely unaware of the hungry eyes following you.

Gavin follows you closely never losing sight of you, everything about you is devine and he had thought so from the moment he saw you. He was a recluse and lives deep in the woods by himself never wanting contact with the village closest to him but every now and again he needed to trade pelts for other goods to keep him going. That's when he saw you, your big soft eyes that reminded him of a doe, your soft laughter when your friend made a joke, your scent almost made his heart leap from his chest. He knew then that you were his but he didn't approach you to worried he'd lose control so close to the full moon and harm you, he'd go to you when the time was right and until then he'd have to be content.

That was three years ago now, he always told himself that tomorrow would be the day, tomorrow would come and he'd find himself on the outskirts of the village watching you from the trees unable to approach you. So here he was again, following you to your grandmother's. Tonight was harder than ever before with the full moon tomorrow, every instinct in him screaming to throw you down and claim you as his. Gavin was about to give up the walk with you and head back home to deal with his urges there when a sudden wind blew by and he caught you on the wind, you were fertile right now. And like that every rational thought flew from his mind as his inner beast started to take over, the last bit of his humanity hanging on wouldn't let him take you on the forest floor, your first time needed to be special. So he gave your unsuspecting figure a final glance before dashing head.

Unaware of the danger you walk to the door of the home and knock, the walk had taken longer than expected due to some trees down in the path and it was dark by now. You'd have to ask some men in the village if they could clear it for you when you get back. Knocking again you hear a soft "come in" come from the back of the house, stepping inside you notice that the fire was nearly out so after latching the door you set you basket down and work to build the fire.

"Sorry I'm late grandmother, some trees were down and it was kind of a hassle climbing over them." You hear a small hum in acknowledgement and continue, "I'm going to see if Luther can clear it when I get back, I'll ask if he can bring some to you too. Grandmother have you eaten yet? I can make you something to eat, I've brought bread and meat."

In your rambling you don't notice the figure approaching you and your hood blinds your peripheral, a large hand lands on your shoulder and you are pulled from the hearth and spun around.

Gavin hears your heart speed up as you come to the realization that this was not your grandmother, you start to scream and push his arm away but he wraps his other arm around your waist pulling you into him and forces his tongue down your throat. With strength that impresses you the stranger lifts you with the one arm and sits you down on the nearby table. When you start to run out of air he pulls away and sweeps everything off the table and onto the floor. In the warm light of the fire you see the man and vaguely recognize him, he takes advantage of your shock and forces another kiss on you this one a little more tender than before. The man forces your back onto the wood beneath you and starts to bunch your skirts up to your knees and just like that your fight is reignited and you pound against his chest.

When he pulls away a string of saliva connects the two of you, one of his hands catches your's when you try to scratch his face. His other hand holds your face as his thumb sweeps across your bottom lip and mumbles to himself "What soft lips you have, the better to kiss."

"Stop please.. where is my grandmother. You didn't hurt her did you!"

He buries his nose into your neck and inhales "How kind you are, here you are pinned underneath a beast and all you can think about is your sweet old granny." His teeth graze your skin as he grinds his manhood onto your clothed cunt, "Don't worry sweet one, she's safe." He pulls away from your neck and pins your hips down to the table, taking your skirt between his teeth he pulls it to your waist and glances up at you. "I really wanted to wait, but you are just so tempting. You should really stay out of the woods so close to a full moon sweetling. But I know you'll forgive me for being selfish just this once."

And with that he disappears between your legs and presses his tongue flat against your slit groaning as your taste fills his senses. You tasted sweeter than any berries in this forest. You grasp his hair and try to yank him off you but he ignores your pulling and instead wraps his lips around your clit and starts to swirl his tongue around it. Your spine arches as a jolt of pleasure shocks you, you've never felt anything like this and your body welcomed it relaxing into his grip. Gavin hears your heart go steady and he knows he has you, he prods your entrance with the tip of his tongue before pushing it into you. He growls into you when he feels your walls clamp down onto him and he goes feral on you, sloppy eating you out while his thumb makes tight circles on your clit. Switching again he sucks on your bud and replaces his tongue with two of his fingers, he scissors them inside you trying to prepare you his knot.

You pull him closer to you as the pleasure starts to build to an almost unbearable tightness in your stomach. Every gasp and moan pushes Gavin into a more animalistic state. Just as the knot is about to snap he pulls away from you, you don't get the time to mourn the loss before he is pushing his swollen cock into you. The small amount of prep before did nothing to ease the burn as his cock pushed into you, your eyes water and hiss in pain when he gives you no time to adjust to him. Gavin shuts his eyes as he finally fucks you, none of his fantasies came even close to the way you feel around him.

A whimper brings him back to reality and he opens his now yellow eyes and sees tears streaming down your cheeks and your brow drawn together in pain. He stops his thrusting to cup your face in his callused hand and forces you to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry sweetling, I can't help myself. You're just everything a big bad wolf could want." He presses soft kisses to your lips and gives you a moment to calm down. Once he feels you relax around him he looks back at you, "What big eyes you have, the kind that drive me mad. Keep them on mine." His thumb swipes another tear away as he pulls out until only his tip is inside you, Gavin rolls his hips and sheathes himself fully again. His eyes stay locked onto your own as he repeats the motion several time slowly working you open and once you roll your hips back into his he picks up the pace, letting the animal inside him take over again.

The man above you terrified and excited you at the same time, your mind knew this wasn't something you wanted and yet your body succumbed so quickly, you didn't know which was the right feeling to have and all you did know was that you wanted more of him in the moment. You wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer to you, the trapper growled again as the angle let him in deeper and through his parted lips you saw his teeth were becoming pointed before your eyes. The surge of fear only heightens your pleasure as you feel the knot start to build again rapidly.

Gavin smells you fear and it pushes him more into animal than human as he starts to pound into you, trying to force his knot into you before it swells completely. The only thing running through his mind is "breed", the werewolf in him completely taking over as his nails grew into claws and his fangs fully formed.

At the feeling of something bumping against your opening you raise your head a little and see a knot on his cock, transfixed you watch as it grows and as it starts to work it's way inside you. The added stretch burns a little but it's soon forgotten when you see it fully disappear inside you and suddenly you feel so full that you are pushed off the edge and your vision goes white. You grasp his forearms to try and ground yourself as you cum and your eyes flutter closed as you let the sensation wash over you.

He growls as you cum around him, your walls squeeze in a vice like grip. His claws dig into the cape beneath you and he rips holes into it when he feels his knot catch on your walls locking the two of you together. He continues to rut into you trying to forced himself as deep inside as possible, once his cock head kisses your womb he cums. Gavin shoots thick ropes of cum directly into your womb and he howls as he finally becomes one with you. After painting your insides white Gavin looks back to you, your eyes are glazed as you look up at him, your skin flushed and covered in sweat. Leaning down he captures your lips again, this time you return the kiss and drop your legs from his hips as your body goes limp. Soon enough all the pleasure leaves you and your mind starts to clear and the fear from before returns.

You try to pull away from the kiss but Gavin follows your lips so you try to wiggle your hips out from under him hoping to pull yourself off of him and get out from under the man. But when you do you feel him locked inside you and he growls into your lips before pulling away slightly with a dark chuckle, "I know you must be eager for more sweetling, but you need to stay still. I can't guarantee that I won't try to fuck my knot deeper into you, let's just enjoy the moment." He wraps your legs back around his waist and lifts you off the table, the both of you groan at the position change and you have to bite back another moan as he starts walking to the back of the cottage. He lays the two of you onto the bed and nuzzles into the crook of your neck, humming back to you the song you sang on your way here.

[thefanbasewhore]

To Forget.

Summary: Buck has a nightmare and just wants to forget about it, of course with the help of his girlfriend.

Warning/content: (18+), suggestive content ahead. Biting, slight degration, rough sex, mentions of PTSD but Bucky is a soft little angel towards the end. P in V, oral (female receiving)

Paring: Bucky Barnes x reader

A/N: I don't ever write smut, so this kinda sucks but also took me 2 weeks to write 😡

He's curled on the floor, chest heaving as he takes a deep gulp. Eyes ablaze but wide with sadness, fear of the demons who drown him every night he closes his eyes.

The smallest step has his head snapping in your direction, hand reaching out as if he was looking for something to protect himself with but with a few clicks and gears turning the vibranium hand unclenches a sigh of relief leaving his lips.

"Hi baby." His heart is still pounding, mind still racing as he remembers the reason he's in this predicament. Faces of those he's wrong, guilty he's the reason families mourn and children go without father's. Bucky opens his arms, wanting you close, wants the feeling of anxiety and guilt to go away.

Without hesitation you sink down next to him, finding a home between his arms, chest warm and comforting.

"It's alright Buck, I'm here." Lifting your head to face him, petting his hair as you press a soft kiss to his lips. His eyes are sad, glossy with unshed tears, chest irratic against your own. "I'm here."

A hand against his chest reminds him to breath, taking deep breaths out his nose to ease the burning chest. "You have to start waking me up when you move off the bed, don't like you sleeping out here by yourself."

"You look so peaceful, it would be a crime too."

A warm, soft hand glides up the bare skin of your inner thigh, skillful and unforgiving as it pushes deeper and deeper underneath the hem of the shirt. Bucky's eyes flicker to your own, sad and wild but also, filled with an aching hunger felt deep inside the pit of his stomach. The blues mixed with a sense of panic but layered with cloudy lust. "Wanna forget sweetheart."

The words mean nothing as a finger presses against the bundle of nerves covered by your panties, which momentarily surprises and makes your jump, warm lips press against the junction of where your neck and collar bone joint. "Help me forget?"

It's hard denying such a request especially feeling the cushioning of his bottom lip follow the line of your collar bone with wet, sloppy kisses. He's sucking at the skin, nibbling and paining it purple in his wake, fingers now running over the hem of the black, lace panties. His other hand reaches over, vibranium knotting into your hair, cupping the back of your head to angle your face towards his, it's not soft - rough and meaningful but just enough to make your heart pound and between your legs wet.

Longing eyes as he bites his swollen lips, staring at each other for an eternity - or that's what it feels like. The tension is high, his hardness heavy on your inner thigh as he moves closer, coolness of dog tags felt through the thin shirt, the contact hardening your nipples. Eyes dark are feral and when you dare look away - down at where he throbs against you, he harshly yanks at your hair. "Eyes on me, sweet girl. I still haven't gotten my answer yet."

"Yes, yes, yes." That's all he needs as a tongue wets the skin of your neck, a smooth trail of saliva making your neck his. Flesh hand reaches between, squeezing your tit softly, rubbing it through the shirt and feeling it harden.

Clearly frustrated, his fingers pull at the hem of the shirt with a growl, soon enough it's up and over thrown across the room with little regard. Hands squeeze every round piece of flesh, gentle but meaningful as lips bruise your skin.

His chest flushes against your own, now with heavy breaths for an entirely different reason. Frustrated hands find the barrier between his hand and your aching arousal, face mirroring the irritation because of it as two hands push into hem before shredding them with little regards.

You barely have time to gasp as his fingers fill you, smooth kisses presses against the line of your stomach as fingers slide out before curling up into the spot that makes you cry.

He's relentless, at first it's too much, trying to move up the bed from the source but he holds you still, grounds you underneath him until you're soaking his hand, whining out for him.

"More, more, please." At this point you don't know what you're begging for, something snaps inside you. Warm and filled with a tingle that numbs both legs but between his fingers which move in and out at an unforgiving pace you can't feel a thing.

It's impossible to form words as he hits a spot so deep you cry out.

"Look at you.." He teases but hard eyes are anything but playful, they're cruel and condescending and never leave your own. The way he talks is so filthy, degrading but love every word that falls from his mouth. "All dumb, can't even speak. Am I making you dumb, sweet girl?"

The words get stuck in your throat again, the feeling on his finger hit deeper and deeper as your mouth falls open in a silent scream. Eyes feel heavy, half way closing as walls flutter around his scissoring digits. "Gonna come for me, honey?"

"Mmmm!" Is all you can manage as a pair of teeth sink into your inner thigh, it doesn't break the skin but will leave a mark that will last days.

"Yes you are, look at you. I want it, give it to me." A tongue runs out to roll over the burning skin, soothing it with wet saliva and a few kisses as his fingers milk you through. "There it is, you're gorgeous, baby."

It happens so fast, white, hot pleasure that temporarily blinds you. A dark bliss with shaky thighs, they only thing that pulls you back is the feeling of lips against your inner thighs and clicking of plates and shifting of gears as cool vibranium pets your hair, skimming over your hair line. "You with me, bunny?"

A weak nod but that's all he needs before a long stride of his tongue catches a taste of your cum, squealing at the surprise and sensativity of post orgasm. "Bu- Buck -."

You can't form words once again and he can care less. He's ruthless, nibbling at the over-sensative bundle of nerves, licking and moaning with the slightest shift of his own hips

Hands fall to feel the smooth hair, stands a little longer on top fill into the gasps of your fingers, pulling harder- harder then you usually would but Bucky doesn't seem to mind.

"Buck - ugh!" The sounds are filthy, wet and sloppy as one particularly hard pull of hair muffles a moan that vibrates your whole lower half, legs start to shake as thighs tighten and cup his ears.

He's putting his all and everything into you, drunk on the feeling and taste as everything else in his broken mind disappears - he's tense, angry but only filled with thoughts of you, you, you.

For the second time within only minutes of each other you cum, Bucky doesn't dare move, taste every single drop he could manage before pulling away. Arousal smeared across his face as he sits on his knees between open legs using the back of his hand to wipe whatever he could manage.

The loud announcers of the soccer match on the television is the only sound next to the heavy breathing, breasts moving with every breath and Bucky can't look away. Metal fingers cool your nipple, squeezing and pinching as you let out a gasp and cower from the touch. The hand fingers your chin, clicking as it curls against the chin and pulling eyes to his open.

He doesn't bother with words, instead closes the gap between both of you. Taste of yourself tangy on lips, a strong tongue parting lips as the shift of hips has his cock kissing your opening. He tests the waters, pushing forward for the bulbous head runs up and down and up again to touch the bundle of nerves that makes you moan under his mercy.

Tears of frustration prickle eyes but his tongue continues to messily run over every part of your mouth - the roof, the tongue, sucking lips purple and swollen - he can't get enough. It's torturous but soft, lips are kind and caring and considerating on the distraction for the moment.

"You're so beautiful, how'd I get so lucky?." He sounds drunk whispering against your lips, slurring and slow as flesh fingers knot the back of your hair to bring you deeper into his lips. "Can't get enough of you."

"Buck, need you." Wether he hears the words or completely ignores them, his tongue rolls over your own, sharp teeth catching the fat of your lip as his hips tut into yours. He's throbbing against your inner thigh, pre-cum mixed with your own arousal soaking the skin.

The small hand goes unnoticed as it slips down his hard stomach, following the trail of hair that leads to him. His lips are too busy, messy and wet as they move against your own. A hand wraps around his hardness, momentarily separating where you two meet, a small gasp parting lips.

His eyes flutter close as you pump him, pressing soft, gentle kisses against his shoulder. The skin is hot, and still tastes salty from his dream but the whisper of your name under his breath has you reaching forward, fingers at the base of his neck to bring him to your own lips.

You take this time to squeeze and he groans, unaware of your true intensions to push him off, hands against his chest to apply a force that's enough to knock him into his back.

Pretty blue eyes with soft alabaster skin, which flushes compared to the disholved light pink blanket that's fabric tightens under his body weight but never leaves your face, well maybe a second to watch you straddle his thighs, rub your aching pussy against this heavy length.

He doesn't fight as you lift yourself up, rubbing the throbbing head against your folds before slipping into the warm, wet hole with a hiss.

"Jesus, sweetheart." He groans, every inch sending a shock of pleasure up his spine but also stretching you so good it's intoxicating. Drunk on him, the way blue eyes beg you for more, bites his lip and smirks seeing just how ruined you already look.

Finally he's snug, not an inch left to move but you're so warm he doesn't know if he wants to, so you decide to for him. Pressing a hand against his chest for support, giving him an experimental roll that receives a deep breath, "That's it."

"Look good like this." Cool metal squeezes your left breast with his admittance as your hips finally find their rhythm.

Bucky flesh hand follow the lines of your stomach, over the roundness of your breast grab ahold of the posterior aspect of your deltoid, the other cool one is digging dents into the skin of your hip as another skillful roll of your hips has his head rolling back onto the ground.

His mouth hangs open, soft praises filling the air.

You're so good to me.

That's it honey, feel so good.

Eyes squeezed shut as small, sloppy kisses are felt against his neck. A set of teeth digging into the skin and something snaps. A snarl with teeth, fangs on full display as he uses his hand placement as an advantage to turn the pair of you. He pulls out with a hiss, angry and red but the hand against your back guides you to lay on your stomach. With a gentle but meaningful push pressing your cheek to the floor and keeps it there, his other hand curling around your hips to pull them towards him.

Without a word he splits you open again, easing himself until you're a withering mess, under the mercy of his hand which keeps your head grounded, the surface of the floor cool on contrast with the skin of your cheek. He doesn't waste any time, pulling out before trusting so deep you feel him in your stomach.

It doesn't stop, over and over again. Every ounce of frustration is felt as he sheths every inch of himself inside you. Brutal, almost painful but clouds your mind, barely can speak as his hips snap against your own.

He's taking it out on you, so lost in his pleasure he's temperily blind from why this even started in the first place, all he can concentrate on his how good and right you feel, the sound of your arousal every time he trusts into you, the way his name falls from your lips.

A small ache starts to form from the repeated force on your ischial but it's burns so good as he continues to split you open.

"Fuck..." He moans, "So good, sweetheart."

His hips are faultering and slowly loosing rhythm as he hears his end, the vibranium fingers squeeze your ass before pulling away and coming down to hard you see black and feel the rush of blood to that area makes you dizzy.

It's a sharp, searing heat that fills your stomach. Under his mercy as he claims you his, teeth scrape but his lips follow behind to soothe. A hand cups the back of your neck, pulling you towards him but his hips never stop, he's filling you with a brutal pace as your back makes contact with his swollen chest.

The hand wraps around the front now, squeezing the tender area of your neck and you're a mess, feeling his other hand press down on the bundle of nerves that makes you squeal, begging for more.

Arousal coats your legs, thank God he's holding you up because they're shaking, unsteady as he bottoms out inside you again. The bulbous head stretching you to no return, he changed the angle by flexing an knee for more force and you're done for.

Teeth nipping your ear, down the sensative skin of your neck that's already covered with all his love bites, soothing them with the warm surface of his tongue. Heavy breathing in your ear all you could hear as all your other sense dull out, falling limp in his arms.

It's numbing the way the orgasm hits you, blinding and all you can feel is a red hot release that bubbles your chest, makes you cry out for him. All you can hear is a moan in your ear, the "Good girl," as Bucky nears his end.

Almost seconds later, hips still against your ass, pressing harshly as white spurts coat your walls and follow with a small kiss against your shoulder.

He's breathing heavy, slowly lowering both of you on the floor but doesn't dare pull out, instead pulls you close to his chest, sensative and twitching.

He's breathless, but looking over your shoulder to see the closed mouth smile with an appearance of a dimple. "Thank you, baby doll. Feel better already."

His tongue clicks at the imprint of his hand on your cheek, red and on fire but due to the post organism haze you barely felt it. The outline of his fingers starting to rise off the skin, it would be there for a while. "I'm sorry." An apologetic kiss touches your arm, follows a trail up and to your back, soft breath fans your neck, "I was too rough, took it out on you."

Sleepily shaking your head with a goofy grin, "Was good, like it."

A hand cups your head, lifting it front the hard floor to place a pillow there and gently placing it there. The other rubs soothing circular motions over your ass check, with a small frown.

"Bucky, it's okay. I'm fine."

"Don't like hurting you, was too rough." He argues, guilt creeping at his shoulders, weighing then down aa avoids eye contact.

"I liked it." Despite your sore extremities you turn to face him, one hand comes up to cup his cheek, rub the high globes of his face and vibranium soon follows to cover yours. "You were not too rough, in fact, wanna give me a matching one on the other side?"

[secondhand-trash]

If I Only Knew Your Name

A/N: so this was an idea I got while mindlessly picking songs to listen to on Spotify’s Indie rock playlist and came across this one song that just made me want to write something about it hehe accidentally put this aside for a whole month but I’m so glad that it’s here now lmao I had a lot of fun writing this

Pairing: Miya Atsumu x reader

Description: After a drunken night of passion, Atsumu had nothing he could find you with, not even your name. So he took the matter into his own hands and tried to search for you using the power of the internet.

Warning: drunken one night stand, suggestive descriptions, Atsumu is an embarrassment and I sure hope you cringe while you read it as much as I did when I was writing it

Word count: 9453

The song:

Young Love (feat. Laura Marling)//Mystery Jets, Laura Merling

-

One night of love

Nothing more nothing less

One night of love

Had left my heart in a mess

-

You woke up with a sharp pain spiking down your back, in a room you were sure you had never been to, on a bed that wasn’t yours.

Your head was heavy and every cell in your body screaming that you just wanted to fall asleep again when you stirred awake. You would have, had it not been the fact that you were not in your own room slowly started to settle in. There was a brief moment of blankness in your mind as you took in your surroundings. The room was still dim, the sun barely shining through the windows that were half covered by the shades. The domestic messiness crossed out the possibility that you were in a hotel room or some odd space behind the club you clearly remembered being at last night. 

You did not move as your eyes glanced around the space. Trophies and picture frames were lining up on the shelf at the corner, all of names and faces you couldn’t match up with any of the ones that you remembered. The linen covers you were sitting under was sturdy on your skin, a dark red on top of brown sheets that you would have never bought for your mattress. The scent of the fabric was foreign to you, making your morning state of mind more and more alarmed at the amount of information you were trying to take in. You had to admit that it was very soft on the skin, not the slightest bit uncomfortable as it rubbed against your bare arm when the duvet fell off of your body as you sat up.

You felt a moment of frantic terror at the registration of your own bareness, with your legs feeling terribly cramped, waking up on a bed that you did not remember getting into.

Everything clicked when you stiffly turned to your side, and found someone laying next to you.

The broad back facing your side had you clutching the sheets up to cover your torso that now felt chilly with the lack of layers. The man, whose name you did not think you know and what you had done with him last night you could not remember but was certainly able to guess, was still soundly in his sleep. Now that you were painstakingly unable to ignore his presence, you picked up on the soft snores that lingered in the air, making your legs that were rubbing against each other under what you could only assume to be his spreads tense up as the picture of what happened to get you right where you were slowly got clear. 

You would prefer not to think about it in detail, albeit the fact that it getting vivid in your mind sent a trail of heat from your core right onto your face and burning out the fuse in your head.

There was a slither of shame and guilt as you found yourself staring hazily at the man, his sculpted back spasming with each breath. Your hand gripping at the sheets in front of your chest only served to pull it further down his torso, revealing the dip at his waist and his arms that curled tighter against his body with a shiver. Blonde hair sprawled out messily on the pillow, and you felt chills creeping up your spine at the recoil of your fingers fisting those locks and brushing against the fuzzy patch of his undercut as he hovered above you.

Panting, grunting, moaning.

Your skin burnt up at the lingering feeling of a firm grip on your legs, the warm trail of his lips down your neck, and the unmistakable dullness between your thighs.

The heat settled into the pit of your stomach as a weight, twisting your guts until it resembled what felt like a bitter mix of shame and guilt.

Fuck, you slept with an absolute stranger last night.

You bite back a groan, slamming your hands against your face before letting them run down in a weak attempt to clear your head.

This was why you never go to clubs anymore.

The jolt of your body as you sat up straight pushed the sheets off of you and you winced at the soft whimper from the person next to you at the sudden movement. Your naked state was simply uncomfortable, not feeling like you were in your own skin at all as ironic as this was. You couldn’t help but hug your arms around your frame as you frantically looked around to see where your clothes and belongings were, letting out a relieved sigh when you saw the clothes you wore last night littering across the floor in all its messy glory. 

Your clothes were all wrinkled up from the careless placement, a clear display of the passion and impulse when they were being taken off. Your hands were the same kind of frantic as you rushed to put everything back on, not caring about tugging them in properly or the fact that you did not even look into a mirror at all to see if you were at least presentable. 

You did not hear the groan from the man that tossed over to his side on the bed as you slipped out of the bedroom, careful in softening your steps as you let the door clicked and darting your eyes around to see where the rest of your things were.

If you remembered correctly from the weak reconstruction of what happened last night, then your clutch should be somewhere near the door.

The giggle that slipped past your lips as he swung the door shut turned into a laugh when he latched onto you immediately. You could taste the hint of vodka lingering on his lips, bundling up your senses together with the warm breaths against your neck when he trailed down. It was like floating on a cloud, the way you latched yourself on this handsome man and he seemed to be unable to get enough of you. You barely heard the thump of what you were holding in your hand landing on the floor as your limbs went weak, swinging your arms around his broad shoulders when your mouth fell agape as he sucked down on the soft spot right on your neck.

It was right where you left it last night, the one and only clutch that you felt was suitable for you to bring to a club. There was a hint of hesitation as you rushed to pick it up, holding it in your hand when you thought of the person who you had left on the bed by himself.

What do people do after a one night stand? Talk? Have breakfast together? Or in your case, ask them for their name because you did not remember one thing that happened before you stepped into these doors?

Dear god, no.

So you did the only logical thing you could think of, and rushed out of the door without even looking back.

It wasn’t until you were far away from the apartment building you ran out of, the weight of your body shifting from leg to leg as you waited for the train to slowly drive into the station that something did not feel right to you. Your fingers fidgeted in reflex as you shoved yourself past the small gap between each person stuffed into the cart, a bad habit you had formed as a kid when you were nervous.

Your heart fell into the pit of your stomach when the lack of metal brushing against the tip of your finger finally clicked in your head.

You cussed under your breath, knowing exactly where the thin, gold band must be.

-

Miya Atsumu woke up with a pounding headache, in his own apartment that he forgot how he got back to, on his bed that somehow felt emptier than usual.

At first, all he could focus on was the clear hungover that he was suffering from. His tongue felt dry and he scrunched his face up at the bitterness as he tried to gulp. The half-drawn curtains were not doing it in shielding the sun that already came out, making him squeeze his eyes tight and blinked a few times before finally adjusting to the brightness. Stretching out on the bed, Atsumu whined at the soreness pulling at his muscles, feeling his joints pop as he arched his back and sprawled over to the other side of the bed.

He froze in place, arms still spread over his head and legs bundling up the sheets, before jolting up in one rapid movement only to wince at the horrible spinning in his head at the rush of blood up to his already heavy head.

Yet, dizziness and all that, Atsumu was sure that the feeling of someone being here with him last night definitely wasn’t just a drunkness induced illusion.

He groaned at the untimely pang of pain that pulsed at his temple, ruffling his hands through the locks of his hair that was tangled up from him tossing around the bed. The slight pull at his scalp at his impatient detangling method made him hiss, but it also served to get his wires just a little more sorted out than before. 

First things first, he was very naked and combining that with the certainty that he must have had someone over, it wasn’t very hard for him to connect the dots. He ran his palm over the ruffled sheets, smoothing out the wrinkles and searched if there was still any hint of warmth left on the fabric. He cursed under his breath when nothing else but coolness met his skin, scolding himself for acting like a fool over some one night stand that did not even wait until he woke up to leave.

There was a lump at the back of his throat as he stayed there, holding onto the hovering position he took on the bed without a single thought.

He snapped out of it when he realised that he was in his own space, just staying still and letting time passed without doing anything. Atsumu had a strong feeling that if he stayed in bed any longer then he would just be miserable for the rest of the day and he really couldn’t afford it if he couldn’t manage to get over himself soon enough. 

For all that it was, there was no bigger asset to his career than this very body that he felt like trash in right now, and god knows how much trouble he would get if people learnt that he let his performance slip because he couldn’t bounce back after a drunken hookup.

His steps were floaty as he climbed off his bed, stumbling into the bathroom and harshly gripping at the faucet. The water streamed out as a strong current and he splashed it against his face in a sadistic force. The coldness was stinging his skin, with no help from the way he rubbed his hands down his face and back up his chin.

He looked terrible, Atsumu thought to himself when he stared at the reflection in front of him. His eyelids were pulled taut with his hand, cheeks squished under his palm before he pulled away meanly. Bloodshot eyes made him wince and his face was so dropsy it looked like he had cried himself to sleep.

A loud slap echoed in the empty bathroom when he clasped his face a bit too hard in a desperate attempt to clear his head. He whined, rubbing the area that went numb and then heated up. There was a slight flush around the area he had slapped down, but he was feeling more in touch with reality afterwards.

Alright, so what happened last night?

It would be a lie if Miya Atsumu said he had never had one night stands. He would argue that he never go out with the intention for one, but sometimes one thing leads to another and it just happens. Some were good, some not really, some he hadn’t really think of until now when he was desperately thinking of what it was that led him to now. 

He hadn’t wakened up with a hungover this bad in a long while. Being in a profession that demands that much of your physiques meant that there was not much room for the more self-destructive type of letting loose. It was strange, Atsumu pinched the center of his brows as one hand on the kitchen counter held his body still, he didn’t quite remember the deeds of what was happened once the door to his room was closed last night.

Wow, he looked up with eyes widened and huffed at no one, that was such a douchebag thing to say.

He, however, remembered the person that stumbled through the door with him in shocking vividness to even his surprise.

He would have to pretend that the lack of follow up did not send a blow to his ego, reassuring himself that there was no way it was because he behaved terribly that the person had to run off before he even woke up. He was bitter about the fact that they had left without leaving even a note, something he had no idea he cared about at all until this very moment when the silence of his home became just short of irritating in his pounding head. 

Could have at least said ‘I had fun last night but I gotta go’.

Atsumu rubbed his temple, slowly rotating his arms backwards to get rid of that dull cramp.

Or maybe leave their number somewhere too.

He paused in his track, standing awkwardly in the middle of his tiny living room.

Did he want their number?

He shook his head violently to rid of the meaningless thought, an act he would immediately regret when he remembered that he was having a hungover as the dizziness made him stumble on his feet. 

A crisp clang after he took a fumbled step to steady himself quieted all of the voices in his head. That was not a sound that aligned with what his brain expected from his worn-out room slippers kicking against the wooden floor. Atsumu held his head as the rang of what sounded like something metallic registered itself in his mind, blinking at the empty space right in front of his feet.

His eyes darted around the floor, searching for whatever it was he must have stepped on to make that sound. Atsumu was ready to settle for the possibility that he was starting to hear things when a quick flash of light from the corner caught his attention. He walked towards where it was, and slowly crouched down.

It was a ring, a very tiny one. It looked rather ridiculous being held between his calloused fingers, the thin golden band arching off the afternoon light that had shined on it. A very simple design with no gems or carvings along the surface, something very much so the opposite to his taste. He knew it was not his, from the size to the tone to the lack of anything all over its rim.

And then he remembered the first time he saw the ring, on someone else’s finger, just last night.

-

Atsumu would not classify himself as a party animal, despite the common speculation shared by people who knew him but not well enough. He could deal with house parties just fine, but clubbing had never been much of his thing ever since he woke up outside the back of a night club once with the worst ring in his ear he had ever experienced. 

If it wasn’t part of his job, he would much rather be anywhere else than this overly opulent club that his team’s sponsor had booked up for their event. But business was business, and if he wanted to keep having his own room in away games then this was the price he had to pay.

Was it a nice club? He couldn’t say, but it sure was an expensive one if he was to make a guess based on the decor. So expensive that it was a bit tacky, if he dares to say. It was like the owner wanted to remind you that this was high-end and decadent. Imagine what you would see in a basic mansion on a real estate agent’s website, then dim it up and add many hi-fis, what you would result with was likely close if not identical to the space he was in. It was loud and hard to escape from, his ear pounding together with the baseline every time it blasted through He would never quite understand rich people, he thought to himself as he took a sip of his drink and scrunched his eyebrows together. He forced down the urge to poke his tongue out at the obvious taste of syrup, trying to pass it off with a cough into his fist as he plopped down on the barstool. 

“How’s your drink?”

The smooth voice reaching into his ear was mismatched to the booming club he was in. Atsumu turned his stool to the side with a push with the heel of his uncomfortable leather shoes and was met with an entertained gaze. You sat with both feet on the footrest of the stool, a posture that seemed rather childish for the night club bar you sat in front of. With your bare forearms lazily placed at the edge of the bar table, your finger tapped casually against the rim of your cocktail glass, the pink liquid inside looking like it was glowing under the neon lights. He could not map out your features too clearly but your head tilted as you looked at him through narrowed eyes, a glimmer behind your lashes from the many lights that hung above your head. 

Miya Atsumu was an adult now and in his adult mind, he knew that the proper answer he should give to a stranger asking about the sugary mixture he just poured down his throat was that it tasted decent, expensive even, like the club he was sitting in now.

“It’s kinda shit,” he felt a strange swell in his chest when you let out an unfiltered snort at his answer, leaning back with his arms folded in front of his chest as he licked his lips, “yours?”

You lifted up the glass and necked down the rest of the coloured water, smacking your lips as the sweetness spread in your mouth. “Like the type of stuff they mark up and sell to high schoolers who couldn’t buy real alcohol.”

The bartender at the side threw you two a sharp look and you two sat up straighter, before bursting into a fit of laughter. He supposed you had to be tipsy at the very least and probably so was he, what sober person giggled like a child over trash talking overpriced liquor at a bar? “Why are you here at this trashy place?” you asked, now resting your chin on your palm with your elbow propping you up.

You did not know him, Atsumu was almost delighted by the fact that you likely just struck a conversation with him because he was another bored person trying to escape to the sidelines of dancing bodies just like you with no other intentions. “Got an invite and couldn’t say no because of work reasons,” he wasn’t exactly lying, he just didn’t say that he was supposed to be one of the main guests of this function.

“Ooo...” you let out a soft whistle, tilting your upper body forward him, “are you a big shot?”

He smirked.

Yes. “Not entirely.”

“Hm...” you sat back, your smile pursed as you tapped your finger on the table, “not denying it, huh?”

The vibration of your hum sent shivers to his spine and he blamed it on the very spiked drink he just gulped down. Atsumu ran his hand through his hair, a move he discovered in his teenage years that could let him smoothly fixed his hair while also flexing his arm. “I try to stay humble,” he replied, earning him a playful eye roll from you.

The melting ice clinked in the glass when he held it up against his lips, still looking at you from the corner of his eyes as he tilted it and let the pungent liquid run down his throat. 

You nodded, returning to the laid back posture you kept before he sat down next to you at the dim corner of the bar table when you realised he wasn’t going to say more. “Fair enough,” you pretended to sound disappointed, holding your hand out in front of you to swiftly turn your attention away.

“You?”

“Got dragged here by a friend who works for the organiser,” you huffed, “don’t even know anyone here besides from them.”

Atsumu felt the warm buzz of the liquor spreading from his stomach to the rest of his body, settling onto his face as a tipsy fever. He did not look away from you and he was sure it was exactly what you wanted, mindlessly toying with your hand as you faced away from him. Your shoulders pulled back as you slid the thin ring off your index finger smoothly with your thumb, twisting it with the tips of your fingers before letting it fell down another one, all while pushing your hips back against the stool as you crossed your legs.

“Nice ring,” he tipped his chin slightly.

“Oh, this one,” you held your hand out to him, spreading your fingers apart to show him. You pulled back just slightly when he reached out, grinning teasingly at him when he quirked his brow up.

“my grandma gave it to me before she passed away,” you sighed, caressing the band that sat on your finger dreamily, “shoved it into my hand on her death bed and made me swore to never lose it, said it was given to her by her first love when she was a girl.”

“Oh,” Atsumu let out a soft gasp, “oh wow, I-”

He rolled his eyes when you broke out into laughter, the longing expression all gone from your face as you let out a hiccup through your giggling. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

He clicked his tongue, letting out a huff, “Lying isn’t good.”

“Neither is talking to a stranger at a club but I’m still here,” you wet your lips as you flashed a childish smirk, showing him your hand again. He was certain that he was drunk now, because there was no other way he could excuse the pounding in his chest when you didn’t pull away this time as he reached out to hold your hand for a better look.

“I got this as a pack of 5 for 800 yen online,” you said proudly, “quite the deal, if you ask me.”

He hummed in approval, letting out a shaky breath when you slowly pulled your hand out of his grip, the tip of your finger ticking the center of his palm before you lifted it away. It sent electricity trickling down his spine, the feeling of your touch lingering on his skin even as you were steps away from him again, once again staring at him with a smile tugging on your face like you were waiting for his move.

Was it a challenge or was it an invite? Either way, he was ready to take on whatever you were offering.

“You still owe me some sort of compensation for toying with my poor heart like that,” he mused, mimicking the way you leaned towards him from before.

You sniggered, “And what do you want from a poor stranger like me?”

The music playing through the speakers stopped temporarily and for a moment, the projected light illuminated his figure briefly before moving to another spot. You had not taken a good look at him until now, knowing full well that the attractiveness of anyone under the pink, dim glow of the bar was not to be trusted.

But he was really, really good-looking, even when you could actually see his face properly. 

The next song started playing and the party people on the dance floor cheered. The loudness that returned made your head ache and you scrunched your nose in annoyance as the dj yelled into the mic. Atsumu threw his head back as the music returned, tapping his finger against his jaw.

“How about,” he said, knowing that you and he were likely to be on the same page, “you make it up to me by letting me buy you a drink somewhere where the drinks aren’t shit?”

You chuckled at his unfiltered suggestion, your laughter slurring into a hum as you grabbed your clutch by the side of the bar. “I can make up to you,” you asked as you stood up, tilting your head to your side, “by letting you pay for me?” 

He nodded, smoothing out his shirt as he got up from his stool too. 

You shrugged, pressing your palm to your face to let the coldness of your hand calm down the heat on your face as you grinned.

“Take me somewhere nice then, big shot.”

Even through his tipsy haze, Atsumu was sure that this was the most irrational thing he had done in a while but as you took his arm while he pulled you through the crowd and out in the open after being stuck in the same space with many drunk and sweaty bodies afterwards, he was quite certain that he couldn’t care less whether this was stupid or not.

If he had any regrets about it, he would just blame it on the alcohol.

-

Now that he was staring at a fake gold ring you got as a pack of 5 for not even a thousand yen, Atsumu could only tear at his own hair in regret when he realised that he didn’t ask for your name or contact at any point during which you went from the first bar to one he actually liked, then to many other because there was no way he would get this drunk after just two drinks, and finally stumbled through the door of his own house, before you disappeared as if you had never been there at all.

It was all the alcohol’s fault, fuck alcohol.

It was not his first time taking a near-stranger home and even though he wouldn’t want to say it out loud to people, he also couldn’t guarantee that this was the last time either. He should just forget about it and move on with his day, maybe make some tea, maybe get some soup to cure this heaviness in his head so he wouldn’t make it too obvious that he hadn’t been taking care of himself the way he really should. After all, there was really nothing he could do about it since he didn’t know anything about you other than what you looked like and that you wore cheap jewelry. But it left a strange tightness in his chest when he toyed with the gold ring in his hand, knowing full well that drunk or not he did enjoy his time with you even before it really got to the fun fun part.

He really should have just asked for your name like a normal person instead of trying to look cool and mysterious the moment you talked to him at the bar.

Miya Atsumu let out a sigh no one was there to hear as he slowly accepted the fact that not only was he hungover, he was also hung up, and put the only evidence he had of you ever being there with him into the key tray by his door.

He would figure out what to do with it later but for now, he was starving. 

So Atsumu set off for the only one place he could think of that couldn’t kick him out no matter how annoying of a customer he was.

“Say, Samu...” 

Miya Osamu sighed, putting the plate he was drying at the side and let the damped towel fell from his hand onto the side of the sink. His twin had finished his food a long while ago yet he was refusing to leave, planting his face down at his counter like a pile of mush as he took up the precious space of Onigiri Miya’s bar seat. Osamu liked to think that he was a supportive brother , by all means. He fed Atsumu, listened to his childish whines and didn’t kick him out when he started getting so loud that the other patrons sent him a worried glance. Maybe he should have pretended that he was about to head out for errands when he saw his twin marching in, slumping down on the stool like he owned the place (Miya Atsumu claimed that he had unlimited access by relation, Miya Osamu denied it with his life and told all his employees to just kick his twin out if he said that bullshit to them).

He was so nice, Osamu thought to himself, he was far too nice.

“What is it?” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest when he heard Atsumu’s muffled voice.

“Do you think it’s possible to fall in love with someone without knowing their name?”

Oh god, what was he up to again?

“Depends,” Osamu snorted, picking his towel again when he realised that it was nothing too serious that he should stop his work to listen to, “if it happens to someone else, then sure, maybe, everything is possible. But if you're telling me that you think you’re in love with someone you don’t know,” he paused, before breaking into a wide grin, “I think I might laugh.”

“Hey!” Atsumu yelled, his fist slamming on the counter as he snapped his head up. The bang caught the attention of several other customers at the shop and Osamu sent them an apologetic bow before glaring at Atsumu who was rubbing his aching hand for slapping it against the wooden surface. “I’m being serious,” he muttered.

“Alright then,” Osamu nodded absent-mindedly, "so what are you going to do about it?”

Atsumu’s raised hand froze in the air before he slowly, robotically put it down, down, down until it was back on the counter together with the rest of his upper body.

Osamu’s nodding got firmer now, letting out yet another snigger, “Thought so.”

Atsumu let out a groan, deflating onto the counter more and more with each whine. He looked sad and pathetic, even more so than he usually was and even Osamu who was born immune to whatever teary rent he put on was starting to get concerned.

“Was the sex really that good?”

“it is not about the sex,” Atsumu mumbled, leaning his chin on top of his folded arms as he sighed, “I just... think we had a connection.”

Osamu laughed, the ugly kind, and earned himself a sharp glare. “A connection, huh?” he giggled, “you’re down bad.”

“It’s not funny...”

Hiccuping as he tried to calm himself down, Osamu placed a hand onto the kitchen counter to steady himself as his body vibrated. 

“I still think you’re overreacting,” Osamu took in a deep breath, catching up after finally regaining his posture, “besides, you’re technically a public figure, right? If you can’t find them, why don’t you just try and get them to find you instead?”

Atsumu’s hiss about how he wasn’t overreacting stuck at the back of his throat when paused and thought of what Osamu had suggested.

“Huh,” he sat up a little straighter, eyes rolling inside of their sockets as he pondered, “that’s actually not a bad idea.”

"Of course it’s not,” Osamu huffed, “I’m the smart twin.”

“What did you just-”

Osamu ignored Atsumu’s glare, turning around to resume his work now that he seemed to have fulfilled his responsibility as a brilliant, amazing brother. He gave it a month, no, two weeks max before his brother forgot all about this person and moved on as if Atsumu had never shown up in front of his door with puffy eyes and a love-sick expression. 

Oh, he just couldn’t wait to hear all the excuses and denial when he brought it up again the next time they get into a petty argument.

-

It was a terrible idea.

The Inarizaki volleyball alumni group chat exploded when the first post of what would be many to come was published for the world to see. Suna Rintarou, always so quick with capturing his old teammates embarrassing moments, kicked Atsumu out before he sent out links, screenshots, and pinged every single member of the group who did not read his message immediately. Miya Osamu refused to speak up about it, keep denying that he knew anything about it.

“I do not know this person,” his fingers hurt from how fast he was typing, not even bothering to correct the typos in his message before hitting send to clear his name, “I have no idea what has gotten into him but I’m not responsible for it.”

He was, in fact, telling the truth. Osamu was just as shocked and wide-eyed as everyone else was when he came across his twin’s post on Instagram as he scrolled through his feed mindlessly after work. Let us just say that all his sleepiness was gone when he saw his twin’s pretentious selfie of him standing in front of a window (shirtless), his hand holding onto the frame as he looked out into the grey sky. The posture was optimal for him to flex his back, letting the light seeping out around his frame do the trick of accentuating his muscles. Atsumu’s face was not entirely in the frame but Osamu did not need to see to know that he had his eyebrows furrowed, his gaze lowered into a look that was supposed to convey the message of “wow look at me, I’m so sad, and I’m also hot”.

Miya Osamu felt a metallic ting in his mouth when he imagined Atsumu’s face, so heart-wrenchingly similar to his own, making that look.

He got spammed by the group chat as soon as he clicked out of the app in horror, refusing to look at that monstrosity any longer. Ginjima was losing his mind, Akagi sent out strings of just him keyboard smashing, Oomimi replied with a very concerned sticker and proceed to not show up again, Kita who was not actually on Instagram at all said it wasn’t very nice of them to make fun of their friend like that but also didn’t quit the group chat himself. Ojiro was the last one to reply, seeming to be rather irritated after Suna kept tagging him and tagging him until he finally went online. Unlike the others who were still comprehending what had possibly got into their friend, he sent out a screenshot but this time with the caption of the post highlighted.

“Is he ok? Did he got dumped or something?”

Osamu did not look at the caption before it was brought to his attention, already feeling the impact sufficiently enough from the visual itself. He felt chills running through his arms and spreading to his entire body when he glanced at the string of words, his face scrunching up in disgust at how any sane person could type it out with their own hands.

“My world had not seen light since the day you left it without saying goodbye.”

He silently switched his status to “do not disturb” when the group chat exploded once again, knowing exactly what this was and that he was fully responsible for the pain he was experiencing right now.

Osamu tried to convince Atsumu that if anyone saw these, the only thing it would persuade them to do was run away instead of reaching out to him but it was to no avail. He was convinced that this was romantic and if he kept it up, it would create enough buzz that would possibly lead the stranger he was hoping to stumble across one of these painfully awful posts and recognise him. The posts kept coming and every day, Osamu felt more and more of an impulse to just block him for good so he wouldn’t have to open his feed each day with the fear of seeing things he did not want to see. 

One day, on a beautiful weekend morning, when he finally had time to sit down and have a nice breakfast without rushing, Osamu opened his feed to see a glorious picture of his twin chest down (shirtless) on the bed, with the camera panning up to close up on his face from below. The blanket covered Atsumu’s torso loosely, showing just enough of his waist but not too much that he would get flagged. He had the lower half of his face behind his forearm, staring into the camera with such a sultry stare it made Osamu’s skin crawl.

“If I can start over, I’ll give up all I have just for another night with you.”

Osamu nearly didn’t manage to hold himself back from spitting out the water in his mouth.

The word slowly spread among the community. Suna, ever the enthusiastic teammate he was, shared his recently discovered source of joy with fellow EJP Raijin member Komori Motoya, who in turn spammed the latter’s cousin who had no choice but to acknowledge his teammate’s questionable online presence. Sakusa didn’t think he could ever have such a reaction to something that was not physically there to bother him and proceed to show it to the nearest person he could grab in the locker room, but not without reporting the post for containing unsettling images. 

If he had to suffer, then he must make sure that there was someone else suffering with him too. Sakusa had no intention of being the only person who had to see Miya’s pretentious bathroom selfie where he stared into the camera all while running his fingers through dampened hair along with a caption Sakusa did not even want to read in his head. The “someone”, captain Meian Shugo who was really not paid enough for this, sighed as he wondered if this was worth reporting to management as a potential pr crisis. Tomas, somewhat curious by the look on his captain’s face, asked if this was the current social media trend in Japan to which all the players present fought to clear that misconception from his head in order to defend their nation’s honour. 

Bokuto looked it up after hearing about the whispers and chats between breaks. “Why, this isn’t that bad!” he said cheerfully, “There are people complimenting him in the comments too! Look!” 

The rest of the team spent a good chunk of time convincing him that he should think more cautiously about it when he suggested that perhaps he should try to take on this dynamic posing style for his social media accounts too.

It sure did stir up quite the storm among his fellow athletes and the many fans that were wondering what exactly, or who exactly, it was that caused this sudden shift in his behaviour online. The few people who knew the reason for Atsumu’s melancholy, namely Osamu and some others who could not escape from a venting Atsumu, were almost certain that you would have to at least see his face somehow. If he was still hearing nothing, then it was probably about time he gives up and accepts that you just didn’t want anything to do with him.

One thing that these men who put their entire lives into volleyball failed to take into account, however, was that not every person in the world was particularly interested in the sport that lived and breathed. For people who only heard about the sport if the Olympics were coming up, whatever the players were up to in their private lives was probably not something they would care too much about.

Sadly, for Miya Atsumu, the exact person he was looking for was one of those people.

“The fans are starting to go crazy, no one has any idea what is going on with him,” you pulled your phone slightly further away from your poor ears as your friend let out an exasperated yell from the other end of the call. 

They lost you when they started talking about this athlete they had a celeb crush on and how they had been acting very strange in their posts lately, realising that this would become one of their ramblings about people with names you barely remember. They bombed your phone in the middle of the day when they found out that their company would be sponsoring a sports team they were obsessed with and did not stop until you threatened to block them until they had calmed down. You still hadn’t forgiven them completely for disappearing out of nowhere after begging you to attend a company function with them all with the reasoning that if they came across one of the players that would also be invited, you could be there to stop them from embarrassing themselves. That was not entirely useful, given that they were whisked away by their colleagues not even an hour into the event and leaving you all on your own.

If it wasn’t for them, then none of the events following that night would have ever happened.

But the past was past and as they called you again to talk about how they were heartbroken because their fav might be seeing someone, you did not stop them, obviously, since you were a great friend.

A sigh called your attention back and you silently closed your dash of animal videos to focus on what they were saying. “Are you even listening?”

“Uhm...” you hummed, “emo thirst traps, you were saying?”

“We tried to dig down all the accounts he was following but no one was posting anything that might match up to his posts,” they let out a whine.

“So,” you said, “are you still going to see him this weekend even if you are heartbroken or?”

They gasped before you suggested that if they didn’t want to go anymore, then you would do something else rather than sitting through a game you were not interested in. “Of course we’re still going!” they emphasised on the ‘we’, “who knows when I’ll get front row tickets again once the sponsorship ends and they aren’t giving the company tickets anymore!”

They paused. “You’re still going with me,” it sounded more like a threat and a statement than a question, and they asked again when you didn’t reply, “you’re going with me, aren’t you?”

You sighed. They were usually pretty laid back, except when it has something to do with volleyball. What was it with volleyball? It was like... football but with hands, tennis without a rack, basketball but with no basket. Ball sports, they were all the same in your eyes. But despite your lack of interest, the truth was that you wouldn’t have anything else to do if you didn’t go with them anyways and you did promise you would go as long as you didn’t have to pay a single dollar.

So you sighed again, earning you a displeased click of the tongue from the other end of the call.

-

Your lack of interest maintained when the day came. You didn’t think you had ever been to a stadium when there was a game going on before and the arena was already filling up with people waiting to get it by the time you were there. You were delightedly surprised when you learnt that there would be vendors selling food, silently deciding that the very nice yakionigiri you got from one of the stalls might just be the highlight of your day. 

The staff at the store looked vaguely familiar, but you had no idea where you would have possibly seen him before.

When the lights of the venue switched off out of nowhere and the crowd cheered, perhaps you could finally start to understand why your friend was such a fanatic for sports. There was something exciting and grand about the bright spotlights and the announcer’s voice pounding through your ears from the speakers. You peeked at your side to see your friend’s eyes glimmering in a way you had never seen before and chuckled to yourself, leaning back with your legs crossed to watch the game in a better position as the players’ names were called one by one.

You froze in place when you saw a very familiar face on every screen around the stadium. 

“Number 13, Miya Atsumu!”

What happened to not being a big shot?

Screams filled up the stadium, especially ear grating when the loudest person seemed to be the one right next to you but your mind was an utter state of blank. You were not expecting to see him again, ever again but here you were, with the next several hours of your life stuck watching the man you ditched after a drunken one night stand in the very front row. He looked more put together than your last image of him, the tussled hair replaced by a careful side swoop and the fitted jersey giving him a fresher look compared to the suit he met you in. He seemed to enjoy the attention, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he marched out and waved languidly around the stadium. 

You thanked the genius who separated the court and the seats into two floors, hiding you away with the distance even though you were sitting at the very front.

“Oh my god, he’s looking at this direction, he’s looking at this direction!” your friend’s vigorous tug at your sleeve brought your void gaze back to the court.

You were convinced that there was no way he could spot you from that far away. Hell, it was still up to question whether he could see any of the audience with all the lights shining onto his face. But for a moment, just a brief moment, you had a gut feeling that your eyes met in that split second when you looked down and his gaze stopped at right where you were.

“What are you looking at?” Hinata asked, turning his head to the direction Atsumu kept stealing glances at as they lined up in front of the net but saw nothing.

Atsumu shook his head, giving a laugh to pass off the moment when he lost his composure when he thought he saw the face he kept thinking of since that night in the crowd. It has got to be an illusion, he must have been blinded by the lights. Stupid lights, he cursed under his breath before turning to his teammate. “It was nothing,” he smiled, his gaze shifting to the corner he thought he saw you at before quickly snapping back to the court, “just... thought I saw someone I know.”

He did not look at you again throughout the game much to your relief. But this time, you found it hard to stop your eyes from following him around. You would like to argue that it was because you didn’t know any of the other players and the way your friend kept gushing whenever he did something made it hard for you to ignore him but the way he seemed to flourish on court. Something inside of you jumped whenever he scored a point and the live cameras panned up at his face again, showing the satisfied grin and slanted eyes plastered on him. He did what he does so well and with so much confidence and for some reason, that explained to you just why you decided to leave with him that night at the club in the strangest way possible. 

He was, still, very good-looking even under the lights and under your sober judgement, perhaps even more so than your blurry memory of how he looked like with a flushed face. But the true hit to your chest was when the entire stadium was watching him as he got to the serving position, taking strides forward before raising his hand to the air.

The world stopped when the entire ground fell to silence at his command, and you took a deep, shaky inhale when you thought of how this person had kissed you again and again on a drunken night until you were both out of breath.

-

Atsumu was almost 99.9% sure he truly did see you when the match ended.

That last 0.1% was deducted because it was a really good match ending with a win for the Black Jackals and as hot-headed as he could be, he knew better than to believe everything that his adrenaline-filled brain was trying to tell him. But with the spotlights of the stadium dimmed and his full attention no longer required on the court, Atsumu looked straight at where he was sure you had sat the moment the stadium doors opened and people started leaving. It was a blurry glance, just a quick in and out of his vision but he was sure he saw you slipping out of the front row before disappearing into the stairs. 

He knew he could still be wrong, but the sudden realisation that he might be the closest to you now than he would ever be again left him frozen in the middle of the court as he stared blankly at the exit. Reporters were starting to gather around the players and his presence was expected, but his legs started moving before the call of his name by the rest of his team could land on his ear. 

Pushing through the crowd, the gasps and shocked chatters of the guests who saw the player they just watched dashing out the stadium were none of his concern. All he cared about was to run faster, faster, past the hall and past the people of the stalls that were packing up. He might have just mistaken someone else for you and if it really was you, you might have already left before he could get to the front entrance of the stadium but that did not matter. The only thing that mattered to him right now was that you had been there and if he ran fast enough, there was still a chance that his search all along would not be in vain.

Miya Atsumu was not exactly a believer of fate or a divine destiny but as he stumbled with tired legs down the steps of the grand glass door, he silently made a bet with the beings he wasn’t sure were truly there that if he missed you this time, he would take the defeat that your paths were not meant to cross again and give up.

And the beings, who Atsumu believed was actually there for the first time ever, answered his calls.

“Wait!”

Your feet planted into the concrete when you heard a yell behind you. Your jaw dropped when you hesitantly turned around to see him, whose name you now know thanks to the match, stopping just a few steps away from you with his hands on his knees, seemingly out of breath with his arm reached out. His eyes widened when he looked up and saw that you had stopped there, and you were exactly who he thought you might be. He was heaving, sweat drenching his face but he still took a few stumbled steps towards you until he was right in front of you. 

A few words fell out of his mouth but were cut short by his panting. Your head was still not reacting when he finally managed to stand back up, looking right at you even as his breathing stayed erratic.

What does one say to a one night stand that they ditched right when the morning comes?

“So,” you blurted, trying to ignore the heat on your face and the anxiousness in your chest, “not a big shot, huh?”

He let out a snort, his voice cracking as he ran his hand down his face to wipe away the sweat that was starting to get into his eyes. He could finally take the time to look at you now, after confirming that you would not disappear if he did so little as blink.

You were gorgeous, and suddenly all the things he had wanted to say to you sounded ridiculously stupid.

I tried to look for you.

“You left your ring at my place,” he said, his voice still shaking from the sprint he took, growing softer and softer with each word that came out.

“Oh,” you replied, nodding stiffly to try and brush away your nerves.

“Yeah,” he nodded too, and opened his mouth again after taking a gulp to swallow down the knot at the back of his throat, “we should arrange a time to meet so you can take it back from me.”

“Oh,” you stood just a little straighter, “but-” 

But it was just one of the five I got in a pack so it really, really didn’t matter that much.

“You said,” he looked down, holding back a smile as he thought of what you had said to him, “you said your grandma made you swore to never lose it.”

He remembered.

“Yes,” you pressed your lips together to stop the chuckle from coming out, “yes I was.”

“So you should come and get it back from me,” he suggested, the last note of his sentence going up as if he wasn’t sure of himself either.

“Yeah,” he beamed when you smiled sheepishly, “I should.”

“Ok good, good,” he murmured in joyful disbelief, grinning ear to ear. The grin faded suddenly when he thought of one very important thing he had forgotten to do last time and must not forget this time.

“Can I have your name?”

You burst out into laughter. “You can have my number too, if that’s what you want,” you mused, “Miya.”

 A rush of heat washed through his face at the sound of his name out of your mouth. He would die if you call him by his first name later on, he was sure of it.

“Yes,” he said almost embarrassingly fast, “yes I would love that. I-” he groaned when he realised that he still had his phone in his jacket that was left in the locker room.

“Wait for me here,” he had already started walking backwards, snapping towards you with his hand out as he added in panic, “don’t go anywhere!”

You still hadn’t stopped laughing when he sprinted back into the stadium again like his life depended on it.

-

Bonus

Miya Atsumu deleted all of the posts he made during his search for you the moment he added your contacts into his phone, but what he did not count was that there were other people who would preserve those precious memories for him.

It was a few weeks after he caught up to you in front of the stadium and several days after your relationship went public. Your friend had nearly torn your eardrums apart when they learnt that you were the mysterious person they had been hunting after but overall, dating Atsumu had been great, even to the point where you thought it was so stupid of you to run away from him in the first place.

You got a notification that someone direct messaged you on instagram as you were getting ready for a date night.

It was not someone you know but there was a verification mark next to his username. Clicking into his profile, you assumed that it must be one of Atsumu’s friends in the volleyball circle when you saw the line saying “EJP Raijin middle blocker”.

“Hi, I’m Suna, I was on the same high school team as your boyfriend was. I don’t think we have met but I’m sure we will be very good friends.”

Before you could manage to type out a reply, he sent you multiple pictures and you paused as they loaded, wondering what Atsumu’s old high school teammate might send you.

You blinked when the pictures finally finished loading, and silently dialed your boyfriend’s number.

“Do you have something you forgot to tell me about what you have done in order to try and find me online?”

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Tick Tick Tick

Jason ‘J.D.’ Dean x Reader

Words: 2552

Part One of Two

Summary: After killing your perverted ex boyfriend, you finally learn to accept the dark feelings inside you. J.D. copes with real feelings as you pull him out of the numbnesses of his life. 

Notes: This imagine is not for the faint of heart guys. It’s gonna be dark and the reader is not going to be a good person. Murder is going to be depicted as an accepted part of her life and she is going to like it. Both parts of this imagine will be dark and bloody. I mean, it’s J.D. from Heathers. That’s the point. So please please please, if you are uncomfortable, just skip this. It won’t be for everybody.

Warnings: Murder (duh), sex (not smut, but definitly more than I’ve ever done before), language, the whole shabang. 

-

He was dead. Holy shit, he was actually dead. As far as the rest of the town was concerned, Tommy killed himself with a handgun. He’d rather die than spend a single day in prison for molestation and child porn- all of course he ‘admitted’ in his suicide note. Half of his brain was splatter against the concrete outside the football stadium. The other half covered your face. 

You could honestly say that you hadn’t expected to kill your ex boyfriend. But you couldn’t exactly say that you regretted it. Hell, you couldn’t get the grin off your face. You looked at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. Ew. You looked like shit. Not only were you covered in blood, sweat matted your hair down from running through the parking lot. You’d also have a bruise from where Tommy slapped you, but you didn’t care. He’d never touch you again. He’d never touch anybody again. You had to bite your lip to keep your smile from growing even more, tasting just a tiny bit of blood on your tongue. 

You stripped out of your clothes that you would probably be burning later and stepped into the shower. You turned the heat up until it was scalding. You listened to the water thunder against your skull, massaging the brain matter out of your hair. You didn’t hear the creaking bathroom door open or the click of it closing again. With your eyes closed, you didn’t see the shadow of the figure lurking on the other side of the curtain. You didn’t open them until you heard the curtain being pushed to the side. 

You felt your heart start to pound. His green eyes scanned you hungrily as he stepped into the shower, his t-shirt quickly adhering to his chest. Your breathing hitched, his finger tracing your jawline while his other hand snaked behind your back. You pushed down the nervous feelings stirring in your stomach and lifted your chin to confidently meet his gaze. J.D. smirked. 

“Hi.” He greeted, his hand slowly making its way up your spine. You didn’t waste a second before pulling his bottom lip between your teeth. J.D., spurred by your enthusiasm, pulled you closer, one hand on the small of your back and the other cupping the back of your head. You pulled apart just enough to peel his soaked t-shirt off his chest, raking your fingers down his torso. Before long, his clothes were discarded beside yours on the floor. 

With your bodies pressed together, you could forget about everything. Tommy, your piece-of-shit house occupied by your piece-of-shit mother, and that fucking school that Tommy and his band of rapists disguised as the football team used to rule. With J.D. kissing you, you held the world in your hands. With J.D. fucking you, you threw the world into oblivion. 

A couple rounds in the shower lead to a couple rounds in his bed before you finally settled with a post-sex cigarette. With his arms wrapped around you, you took the cigarette from his lips and brought it to yours. He watched you blow out a puff of smoke, watching the grey haze linger in the air for just a moment before vanishing. 

That was his life. Briefly existing in a dark cloud of smoke before scattering into nothing. Smoke didn’t feel. It blinded and it choked and it only came when something was burned. Everything he touched went up in flames and he was all that was left behind. He knew that whatever the hell this was would end the same way. And that gave him a weird, stirring feeling in his chest. Shit. 

“Do you think they’ve found him yet?” You asked, flipping onto your stomach so you didn’t have to strain your neck to look at him. He shrugged, plucking the cigarette from your mouth and taking a drag. 

“It’ll be the talk of the town tomorrow, that’s for sure.” He clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes at you, trying to read your expression. If there is one thing the six high schools he’d gone to taught him, it was how to read people. “Do you regret it?” You almost laughed. 

“Are you kidding?” He raised a brow to tell you he wasn’t. You kept your eyes on his and kissed a freckled on his shoulder. “No. I don’t regret ridding the world of that sad excuse for a human. Besides,” You traced circles around the spot you kissed. “It was, like, self-defense anyway, right? Who knows what that asshole would have done if you didn’t blow his brains out?” 

The original plan was to knock him out and drive his car off a cliff. You lured him out by telling him you wanted to get back together with a little blowjob under the bleachers. When Tommy figured out he would be getting off, he got pissed and slapped you. That's when J.D. jumped out from his hiding spot and Tommy turned around to get a bullet between the eyes. 

“The only thing I regret is not pulling the trigger myself.” After everything that pig put you through, you would have loved to be the one to send him to hell. J.D. ran a hand from your thigh to the nape of your neck, the motion sending chills across your skin in its wake. You closed your eyes and laid your head against his shoulder. 

There it was again. That feeling in his chest that almost made it hard to breathe. What the fuck? Something was tearing through the numbness, making him feel shit that he hasn’t felt since, well, ever. He didn’t feel things. Feeling shit meant he was tied down to something or someone and that was never part of the plan. 

He sat up suddenly, letting your head fall onto the pillows. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked over to his dresser for a t-shirt and some flannel. After he got dressed, he clapped his hands together and faced you with his usual smug smile. 

“Who knew the combination of murder and fucking could work up such an apetite, but I, for one, am starving.” He grabbed a pair of jeans and a shirt, tossing them at you. 

“What are these for?” He rolled his eyes. 

“Well, darling, we can’t have you wondering town in my bed sheets.” His little term of endearment was said with sarcasm, it still made you smile. You stood, letting the sheet fall around your feet. J.D. bit his lip, starting to regret his hurry to leave. You smirked and pulled his shirt over your head. It was a little big so you tucked it into the jeans and found a belt. J.D. tried to ignore how fucking good you looked in his clothes, but he couldn’t help it. He pulled you to him by the belt loops and caught your lips in his. 

“Slushies on me?” You offered, walking your fingers up his chest. He chuckled and nodded.

“Our love is god.” 

-

You didn’t know it was possible to feel like this. If what you felt for Tommy was a spark then this was a wildfire. After grabbing a bite to eat, you went back to his place to burn your clothes, watching the blood stained fabric shrivel into ash. J.D. dropped you off at your house on his motorcycle. It was almost midnight but you knew you wouldn’t be getting any sleep. You stopped at the fridge to grab a bottle of cola among the endless cases of beers. 

“What the fuck are you wearing?” Your mother stood in the doorway with a joint dangling from her lips and a half-empty bottle in her hand. You rolled your eyes. 

“Why the hell do you care?” She laughed, tossing the butt in your direction. You had to jerk away to keep from being burned. 

“You and I are the same, kid.” She took her lighter out of her pocket and flipped it open and shut. 

“Fuck you.” You scoffed, moving towards the stairs. Her hand latched onto your arm. 

“He’s gonna leave you just like your daddy left me, sweetheart and do you know why?” She shoved you against the wall, keeping an arm on your neck while her other hand brought the lighter up to your face. “Because you are a pathetic whore.”  

“Get the hell off of me!” You shrieked, trying to break away. Her arm started to press against your windpipe, making it harder to breathe. 

“Say it.” She spat, flicking the lighter on. The flame danced menacingly, inching closer and closer to your left eye. You stared at her with as much malice as you could. “Fucking say it!” 

“Go to hell.” She clicked the fire off and pressed the burning metal against the skin of your shoulder. You tried to hold back your scream, but you couldn’t help it. Your mother brought the flame back up to your eye, slamming your head against the wall again. 

“Say it!” The heat made your eyes sting, already watering from the searing pain in your shoulder. You leaned towards it. 

“I’m a pathetic whore.” You submitted, gritting your teeth. 

And just like that, she dropped her arm and walked into the living room like nothing had happened. You broke into a sprint, running up to the upstairs bathroom and hurling up the french fries and coke slushie you had less than an hour ago. Your shoulder was screaming at you, the smell of burned flesh stinging your nose. You felt empty and stupid and worthless. Most of all, you felt weak. You felt the tears stream down your cheeks before you could even think to stop them. You collapsed onto your bed, screaming as your shoulder hit the mattress. 

J.D. carefully climbed in your window, silently moving in front of your bed. The gun felt heavier in his hand than it did before. He had to do this. You were breaking through the ice that kept him numb and he couldn’t let that happen. But as he raised his weapon to fire, he heard your sob, muffled by a pillow, but still loud enough to send his mind reeling. There was that damn feeling in his chest again. The feeling that wanted to hold you and never let go, taking down anybody who stood in his way. This couldn’t be what love was. Another cry filled the room and he turned the safety of the pistol back on and tucked it in his waistband. You heard a strange click and looked up. 

“J.D.?” You wondered, seeing his figure looming over you.  Please, not now. He couldn’t see you like this. Pathetic. Just like she said you were. “What are you doing here?”

“I, uh, I wanted my clothes back.” He lied. He didn’t give a shit whether or not you kept them. In fact, he thought it would be fitting. Watching your blood stain his shirt. Come on, just kill her. 

“Oh, right.” You felt your body shrink a little as you slid off of the bed, walking towards your dresser. “Just let me grab something to change into.” You hoped that in the dark room, he couldn’t see the tears on your face. As you brushed passed him, J.D. grabbed your arm, making you cry out as your shoulder jerked back. He roughly pulled you back to him and examined the hole singed into his shirt and the bloody and blackened skin underneath. “I’m sorry about the shirt, I-”

“Did that bitch do this?” He snapped. Seeing your eyes filled with tears set something off inside him. A feeling that was familiar to him. Rage. 

“J.D. it’s fine, I can handle her.” You couldn’t let him think you were weak. His jaw clenched and he stormed out of your room, his booming footsteps thundering down the stairs. You quickly followed, figuring he was just running out after seeing how fragile and pitiful you were. 

Luckily, your mother was fully passed out on the couch so J.D. wouldn’t have to deal with her intoxicated criticism. Instead of running for the door, he stopped in front of her, pacing back and forth. He had hoped she would be awake. He wanted to see her face as she paid for what she did to you. But he would just have to settle for this. 

He rummaged through the drawers until her found her stash of heroin and a syringe. He filled it as much as he could.

“J.D., what are you doing?” You asked, watching him hold out her arm.

“It’ll look like an accident, right? An overdose.” The needle punctured her skin and he injected the drugs into your mother’s bloodstream. She stirred slightly so you had to act fast. You grabbed a pillow from the couch and put it over her face, holding it there firmly until she stopped moving. And just like that, your mother was dead. Similar to the feeling you had when J.D. shot Tommy, any weakness you felt was gone, replaced by pure power. 

“She’s dead.” You gasped. J.D. couldn’t read your expression. Were you upset? 

“Look, I know that there’s that whole mother/daughter bond thing, but-”

“She’s finally dead.” You laughed, throwing your arms around him. You’d been waiting your whole life to be free of her and now you finally were. “We can get out of here. Run away. Together.” You ran back upstairs to your room to grab a bag. J.D. followed hesitantly. Hearing you say you wanted to run away with him brought back that stupid grip around his chest, squeezing and suffocating until he faced what he feared. 

“Y/N, I need to tell you something.” He said softly. You paused. You’d never heard him talk like that before. Almost like he was… nervous. You wrapped your arms around his waist and gave him a smile. 

“What’s gotten into-” You froze, your hands brushing against the cold metal tucked into his jeans. You lifted the gun into your hand and backed away. “Why did you bring this?” The look in his eyes told you before any words left his mouth. Then you remembered. The click right before you saw him. It was a fucking gun. You scoffed. “You came here to kill me, didn’t you?” 

“Y/N-”

“No, no. Don’t let me stop you.” You put the pistol in his hand and wrapped his finger around the trigger. You sat on the edge of the bed and aimed his arm up at your face. “Do it. You’re afraid that you feel something for me. I saw it when we were in your room. So go ahead, J.D.” You leaned forward so that your forehead was touching the barrel. “Do it.” 

There it was. The aching in his chest. The reason he came here to shoot you. Your eyes stared into his and he decided that he wasn’t going to be afraid of this anymore. He controlled it. He tossed the gun aside and crashed his lips into yours, climbing on top of you and lifted his t-shirt over your head. Is this what love was? 

Who the fuck knows?

-

Christian Slater Tag list: @staxryskxes; @adeliness​

[keelywolfe]

FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 3 (Mafia AU)

Summary:  For Rus, things seem to be going from bad to worse,

Notes: Well, I can’t stop now.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

Warnings: Some violence. A wee bit of unwanted touching and some innuendo.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Since they came to the surface, most of Rus's days were pretty much the same old, same old. He got up, yanked the blankets over his mussed sheets in a semblance of making the bed, and got dressed: uniform on workdays, and his grubs on days off. He’d go to the kitchen and make a pot of coffee in the wheezy old Bunn that Rus found in someone’s trash, tinkering with it in the evenings until he got it working. He’d drink a cup of coffee that always had a faint burnt note to it no matter how fresh it was, leaving the rest for Blue when he got up, and he’d head into the shop to make the floral arrangements for the afternoon deliveries. When his shift was over, currently doubles until they managed to hire someone who wouldn’t either steal from them or quit three days in, Rus would head home and shower away the stink of soil and plant food before flopping on the sofa to fall asleep in front of the tv until Blue came home and made dinner.

He couldn’t say it was better than the Underground, but then, he couldn’t say it was worse either and once the newness of the Surface wore off it was, well, it just was. Such was life and all it meant was Rus tended to cling a bit to anything fresh and different; like a stranger wandering in on his mornings for a single red rose.

He soaked those moments up like fuel for his what-ifs, his little daydreams as he worked with his clippers and floral wire, writing out small cards that declared ‘happy birthdays’ or ‘with love’ or ‘my condolences’.

Same old, same old, sure, with a few bright spots in between.

This week, though, ah, this was a week of first. First time he'd been shot at, for sure, first time a mysteriously gorgeous stranger ever gave him a kiss, even if it was hardly more than a brush of teeth. First time the police ever put up even the pretense of being on his side without an unspoken warning to stay in his place.

Also, his first time at being kidnapped and Rus couldn't say that he was very happy that his second chance came so soon after.

Point of fact, he was fucking terrified.

He'd woken up with a dismally aching skull and his magic still lingering out of reach, unable to see as he struggled against bonds that held him immobile no matter how hard he fought, until the throb in his skill matched his freshly strained joints. From the way it felt, he was tied to a chair and he couldn't see because of a blindfold that didn't budge no matter how hard he shook his pained head. The throbbing pain was worsening, threatening to make him black out again and Rus finally subsided, trying to keep panic at bay as he took a mental assessment.

His arms were uncomfortably bent and bound on either side of him at the wrists and he could feel the smoothness of wood against his bared forearms. His knees were tethered together, the joints straining as his feet were spread apart, each ankle tied to a separate chair leg. More ropes were wound around his upper body and across his femurs so when he tried to move, he couldn’t so much as rock the chair. He couldn't budge an inch in any direction without hurting himself which was probably the point.

Worse, they hadn't gagged him and somehow that seemed more frightening, not less, that they didn't care if anyone heard him scream.

Rus licked his teeth, drying flecks of marrow clinging disgustingly to his tongue. Tentatively, he called, "hello?"

He thought he heard someone move, cocked his head in that direction.

"hello?" he persisted. "is anyone there?” His voice seemed to echo around him, reverberating, “please, this is all a mistake! i run a florist shop i��i'm nobody…"

"Yes, we know."

Rus jerked instinctively towards that voice, stupid, he couldn't see anything around the blindfold. Not even the glow that voice suggested he should, that was the language of the Fire Monsters, a strange combination of crackling and sibilant consonants. Almost impossible for anyone who wasn't flame to speak and the only reason Rus could understand it was because of a childhood friend.

This Monster didn't sound anywhere near as cheery as his old pal. Those brief, smoldering words were the cold burn of near frostbite and there was no echo, only silence followed them.

Rus swallowed hard against the sudden dryness in his mouth, rasping out, “what do you want?”

There was a scrabbling shuffle of unknown feet and a new voice, “He said—"

“i know what he said!” Rus snapped. He choked off more desperately angry words, grimacing. His bro always said his mouth was gonna get him into trouble and yeah, this problem wasn’t one he’d started but better not to make it worse.

“Do you now.” A single step, the scrape of a shoe against concrete. “Well, that is interesting. A flower shop clerk who can understand flame-speak, how…unusual.”

What did that mean? Rus wasn’t sure and he didn’t know if he should explain his quirk with languages. His head ached painfully and so did his nasal aperture where he'd taken that hard punch. Licking at his teeth found one that was a little loose in its socket. He really hoped Blue could heal it. He really hoped Blue had a chance.

From close by came a soft murmur of indecipherable words and the sound of clawed footsteps walking away, a closing door.

An unexpectedly touch between his shoulder blades made Rus stifle a cry and he tried not to cringe as the heat blazed a path down his spine down before drawing away at the back of the chair. “I admit, I was disappointed when I first saw you. His taste has certainly gone downhill.”

There was an unspoken question there that Rus didn’t know how to answer. “please. what do you want?”

His question was ignored. “But perhaps you have,” that crackling voice lowered, scalding hot breath gusting uncomfortably against the side of his skull, “hidden depths. He’s quite enamored of you, isn’t he.”

“who is?” Although Rus was very much afraid he already knew.

The snap/pop of that scoff meant his captor knew as well. “You’d best be careful, if you’re dealing with the Fells.” A swath of searing heat fell across his skull as a large, flaming hand settled on top of it, burning fingers lightly digging in, “When they’re done with their toys, they break them.”

Rus tried to nod, desperate to get away from that paining touch. That blazing grip only tightened, the temperature rising until Rus whined, cooling tears seeping from the corners of his sockets to wet the blindfold.

“You should be thanking me for the warning." The flame monster chided. There was an impression of a large body, moving closer, blanketing Rus entirely in heat as his voice whispered in lowered luminescence, "Well? Thank me."

"thank you," Rus gasped out. The grip on his skull released and Rus sagged against his bonds, breathing heavily. All his clothes were clinging sweatily to his bones, his wrists aching anew from chafing against the ropes. He hadn’t even been consciously trying to struggle, only desperate to get away from that painful heat…wait. Was that shouting he could hear? Some calamity was going on not far away, muffled through the walls and doors that Rus knew must be around him.

It was impossible for hope not to swell in his soul, shriveling back when that aching heat shifted to stand in front of him.

“You do have a pretty mouth.” Thoughtfully, as Rus’s chin was gripped painfully in a simmering grip, a hot thumb smoothed over his teeth. A new, unthinkable fear rose in Rus, one he hadn’t considered; he’d been afraid for his life, not his body, but the implication was unmistakable. “I’d give it a try but from the sound of things, that’s all the time we have together, lovely. We’ll have to play again sometime.” Then louder, he called, “You’re slipping. I expected you much sooner, old friend.”

The grip on Rus’s chin abruptly released and instead an arm slipped around his neck and tightened, his cervical vertebrae squalled in uncomfortable protest at a threatening upward tug. “Ah ah. Not too close, darling.”

“Stop this.” There was no halting the wave of shameful relief at Edge’s rich voice, oceanic and deep. Only to be choked away by the arm around his throat and Rus couldn’t move, but he couldn’t stop trying to thrash away from the pull that threatened to separate his skull from his neck, straining against the unyielding ropes as he tried to rise even a bare inch for some relief.

“What? And spoil the game? See you soon, and do tell your brother I miss him, won’t you? Ta.”

Then that agonizing grip released and the burning presence was abruptly gone, leaving Rus to sag against the ropes, gasping in sweet, cool air.

Rus’s blindfold was soaked with tears and sweat, clinging uncomfortably against his face. More tears felt like they were strangling in his bruised throat, desperate to be shed. It was difficult to hear anything over the aching pounding in his skull and the rattle of his bones as he trembled, but he couldn’t feel anyone close by, had they left him here, bound and helpless to anyone who might wander in?

“is anyone there?” Rus asked pathetically. All his panic seemed to have caved in, collapsed in on itself to numbness that left him empty and spent. Feebly, he tried to twist his hands free again, if he could only get one loose—

“Hold still, you’ll hurt yourself.” Unexpected and gently said, it set a candle flame of hope flickering in Rus’s soul and…no. No more flame metaphors, not today.

The blindfold was suddenly gone and Rus blinked at the flood of light, trying to see anything past a blur. When his vision cleared, he could see he was in a sort of warehouse, one that didn’t look like it’d been used in a long time. There were crates and broken pallets stacked all around them on a dusty floor and the overhead lights were sodium-yellow and dim.

Edge was already moving to kneel at his feet, inspecting the ropes binding him. Somehow, the way he moved, the powerful grace in his long legs as he bent to crouch before Rus was desperately appealing and fuck, Rus really was as stupid as their pop always said. All of this could be laid right back at Edge’s doorstep, he knew that, only his stupid libido didn’t seem to have gotten the message. Rus stifled it, stuffed it down back into the back of his mind with all the rest of the bullshit that usually crept out to taunt him in the middle of the night.

Whatever Edge saw, he didn’t seem to like it; his brow bone pulled down into a frown and he made a low, rude sound before pulling something out of his pocket. Rus couldn’t help flinching from the mellow gleam of metal as a knife flicked out, but there was nowhere for him to go. He could only sit mutely as Edge got to work, the ropes parting easily beneath the sharpened blade until thy lay on the floor around them like thin, unmoving snakes.

A moment or an eternity later and he was loose. His shoulder joints felt sprung and achy, his hands flopping loosely into his lap as Rus tried to work feeling back into his fingers. The bones at his wrists were painfully chafed and bruises were already darkening the bone. He wondered absently where there might be other bruises, his ankles certainly, maybe at his knees, on his upper arms where the ropes dug in so terribly.

Edge stood next to him, waiting, his long coat pulled open by his hands in his trouser pockets. He seemed in no undue hurry, allowing Rus to assess the damages and he only spoke again when Rus finally looked up at him, pouring out all his desperate fears and confusion in one look. There were no answers forthcoming, Edge only held out a single gloved hand in offering.

"Come on," Edge said quietly. His clothing was unruffled, the same sort of obscenely expensive suit he’d always worn to the shop. Even his tie was perfectly straight, not a single snag in the rich crimson silk. He practically exuded calm competence and the only sign he might be feeling anything else was in his eye lights, the dimmed shadow of regret. "I'll take you to your brother.”

That sounded…that sounded like a slice of heaven right about now, to be wrapped up in the blanket of his brother’s love and concern. Rus ignored that extended hand and tried to stand on his own. His legs disagreed vehemently, knees achingly wobbly and he would have fallen to the ground if Edge didn't catch hold of him.

“don’t!” Rus tried, but he couldn’t stop Edge from lifting him into his arms, his weak struggles useless against that strength. All the questions bleating around in his skull –who was that, what was going on, why is this happening— twittered away into a single painful realization, one that Rus’s daydreams never even considered. “you—” His breathing was a ragged sob, “you’re some kind of criminal, aren’t you!”

Edge didn’t deny it. He only walked towards the far side of the room where a large cargo door was hanging open, leading out into a hallway.

He should have known. That scarred face he’d thought was so sexy was as much a warning as a damn sign, only it looked like Rus wasn’t very good at reading what was right in front of his sockets, too busy getting his panties wet to worry about the flashing neon ‘danger’ blinking in his face.

Rus let his head fall against Edge’s shoulder, burying his face against his wool coat and uncaring that he was smearing it with tears and other fluids as he moaned out, “what have you gotten me into? what did you do?”

There was no answer and as they stepped out into the hallway, Rus could barely stifle a shriek as he caught sight of what lay within. There were bodies lying everywhere, splashed with a rainbow’s worth of various bloods, ungainly limbs twisted into impossible configuration and pinned by jagged bone constructs that were slowly dissolving away.

“Easy. They aren’t dead or they’d be dust,” Edge reminded him patiently. Like that was so much better. His footsteps were even, heels clicking lightly on the concrete as he walked towards another doorway with daylight pouring through a broken pane.

Outside was a car with windows tinted almost as dark as the glossy black exterior. Edge didn’t set Rus down even to open the door, holding him close until he set Rus into the passenger seat. For a humiliating moment, Rus’s fingers refused to loosen their grip on Edge’s coat, the heavy material nearly tearing under his blunt fingertips as Edge tried and failed to draw away. Strong hands circled his bruised wrists with care, thumbs working their way coaxingly into Rus’s palms until he finally let go. Edge buckled his seat belt on for him like he was a child and then rounded the front to settle into the driver’s side.

The car pulled away with a near silent purr, smoothly guiding them through narrow alleyways between the warehouses, out into the main street.

There were other cars on the road, driving along without a single clue that there were terrible people out in the world right now, driving right next to them. Reality was slowly settling back in, brutal and implacable, stealing away his blessed numbness. Rus kept his gaze on his hands, tracing the bruises he could see purpling on the bones, unable to keep from prodding at them even as it blossomed hurt.

“i want to go home,” Rus said, pettishly.

Edge’s focus was on the road, both hands on the wheel at a proper ten and two. “I told you I’d take you to your brother.”

Implying that wasn’t the same place and Rus turned his head to stare at Edge mutely, then slumped back into the seat. More fine leather, great, hatefully comfortable as it cradled his aching bones. He wondered how well it would muffle the sound if he buried his face into it and started screaming.

He didn’t bother. Rus didn’t feel much like talking anymore.

~~*~~

tbc

Read Next Chapter

[detectivesebcas]

Whumptober 2020 #1 Hanging/Waking up Restrained

Warnings: violence between Sebastian and Stefano

Universe: AU, canon divergence in STEM

“Time to wake up, Sebastian.”

The voice is soft, almost musical.  It drifts through Sebastian’s foggy mind without really settling anywhere, but he has the vague impression he’s heard it before.  It causes a little prickle of unease in his chest, but his limbs are loose and his tongue is so heavy in his mouth that he can’t bring himself to respond.

“This will not do,” the voice says.  This time its tone is sickly-sweet.  Alarm bells are going off in Sebastian’s head, but they are as far away and muted as everything else right now.  He can’t force his eyes to open, can’t force his muscles to work.

Then there is a slap of leather on flesh and a stinging pain on his left cheek, and it still takes him another few moments to realize he’s been struck.  He finally manages to wrench his eyes open, and he grunts in surprise at the blinding light.  It surrounds him from every angle, except one.  There is a figure in front of him.

“Ah, that’s better,” the man standing before him says.  It’s that Italian bastard again- the psycho artist, the man who has Lily.  Sebastian’s brain still feels like it’s working overtime just to process basic information, but even in this state, he can remember that much.

Unfortunately now that he’s more aware of his surroundings, he can feel the pain in his knees where they are pressed to the hard stone floor, the pounding in his head, the dull throbbing in his shoulders.  He tries to bring his arms forward, but they refuse to move, and the more he tries, the more the rough rope bindings cut into his wrists and arms.

“What the hell?” he slurs.  “What’re you doing?”

Stefano continues as though Sebastian hadn’t spoken at all.  “I would hate for you to miss my next masterpiece.”

Sebastian doesn’t give a shit about Stefano’s next masterpiece or any of his artistic nonsense.  He concentrates, tries to make his voice steady and strong even if it’s still a little hoarse.  “Where’s Lily?”

“She is no longer your concern,” Stefano says, turning to stroll away from Sebastian at a leisurely pace.  “And I promise you will have much more pressing matters on your mind.”  He chuckles, and the sound sends a shiver up Sebastian’s spine.  “My newest piece will require your...participation.”

“Fuck off!” Sebastian snarls.  “I’ll never help you!”  Anger is burning hot inside him, and it’s almost a relief because at least it’s helping to cut through the fog in his head.

Stefano steps beyond the bright circle of light that surrounds Sebastian and disappears into the darkness, but his voice drifts back to Sebastian.  “We will see about that.”

His voice is so calm, so confident that it infuriates Sebastian, and he makes a valiant effort to rise from his knees, but his weak legs and bound hands get the better of him, and he only manages to lay himself out on the floor.

“God damn it,” he growls, trying to roll onto his side so he has some hope of getting up.

It’s then that he hears a new noise, the squeaking and clacking of some kind of machinery.  He’s about to ask Stefano what the hell is going on, when he is suddenly and painfully lifted up by his bound arms.

He lets out a very undignified yelp of surprise, but even if his shoulders are aching, at least the tension on his arms gives him something to brace against, and he manages to scramble to his feet, which takes the pressure off of his arms.  The mechanical sounds continue, and Sebastian looks up to confirm that the rope attached to his arms stretches all the way up to the ceiling, disappearing beyond the range of the studio lights.

“Stefano,” he says.  What was intended to be a note of warning in his voice comes out more like fear, because even as he speaks, the last of the slack is taken out of the rope and he is being lifted.

His feet are off the ground, and his shoulders are on fire.  It’s all he can do to tense the muscles in his shoulders and back, but he can already feel his shoulder joints starting to pull apart, tendons and ligaments stretched beyond their limits.  He has the horrible thought that even if he somehow survives this, he’s going to end up mutilated beyond recognition, like Stefano’s other ‘art projects.’

As if on cue, Stefano walks back into his field of vision, camera in hand.

“Lovely,” he says, raising the camera to snap a photo.

Sebastian can’t reply.  He is too focused on taking hard, fast breaths through his nose, because he is sure that if he opens his mouth he is going to scream.  His shoulders are throbbing, his muscles are begging for relief, and a groan escapes him, because he can’t keep this up.  His shoulders are being pulled farther and farther out of their sockets, and it’s only going to be a matter of seconds before they are dislocated completely.

He closes his eyes and concentrates all of his energy on staying as rigid as possible, but his whole body is shaking with the effort, and each movement strains his joints more and more.  He tries to draw his legs up, but that only makes him tip forward, and his shoulders scream in renewed agony.  He sees the camera flash go off even behind his tightly closed eyelids.

“You see, Sebastian,” Stefano is saying.  “True art requires suffering, and you suffer so beautifully.”

Even if those words held any meaning for him, Sebastian is beyond caring, beyond anything except getting this pain to stop.  He has the crazy thought that he’s not above begging for mercy right now, but it hurts too much for him to even think about speaking.

There is a popping noise somewhere behind his head, and after that he doesn’t even try to keep from screaming anymore.

[aesop1]

clumsy [1]

pirate!chanyeol x reader

a/n: hello, im new. i like exo. i decided to write to my heart’s content at 1 am. i wrote this in about an hour. on my phone. with no beta readers. so let’s do this!

word count: 3.1 k

warnings: none so far, just a few swear words; no semblance of a plot; may not continue this, depends on how i feel.

(i do not own gif)

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6

———————-

“yn, would you help me with this load?” your father called out from the front of the saloon. glancing over, you spotted him stumbling whilst balancing two large crates atop one another. he sighed in relief as you claimed the top crate. “thank you.”

“of course,” you carefully traversed the cobblestone incline leading to said saloon, ignoring the murmurs from the customers within.

in your small village on a small island, everyone knew everyone. meaning everyone knew you: the klutz who co-runs this place with her widowed father. by klutz, you’re not the cute, clumsy, trip-over-her-feet-into-a-dashing-gentleman’s-arms klutz; you’re zone-out-for-a-second-and-not-notice-the-wooden-bench-you-just-successfully-flipped-over klutz. after your third grand mishap, everyone labelled you as variations of clumsy, one of the most famous ones being:

“bungler, do you need help?” one of the men clung to the bar called out, earning some dramatic guffaws from his colleagues.

the first moment you heard the term bungler, you laughed. your father quickly explained to you the negative connotation revolving that word, basically calling you clumsy and awkward in a rather mocking sense. ever since, it has stuck to your character and become your alias around town.

successfully dropping the crate in the kitchen, you leaned back in your stance, hands on your hips as you caught your breathe. the rough melodies of traditional sea shanties meandered through the kitchen, taunting and reminding you that outside awaits a whole audience of creatures who are just waiting for your next spectacle. you were brought back to reality by the sound of the other crate being placed on yours.

“yn, dear,” your father gently pinched your chin as he took in your conflicted form. “head upstairs, I’ll finish up here and close. you’ve worked hard today, as you always do. thank you.” with a smile and the familiar burning sensation in your eyes, you held back your tears and thanked your father, hugging him and sliding out of the kitchen to evacuate to your room.

upon entering, you untied your apron and tossed it to your bed, cracking your joints everywhere as you finally allowed relaxation to overtake your being. collapsing onto your bed, you closed your eyes for a well deserved moment. you knew it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing to be so clumsy, but having a whole town mock you really takes a toll on you, as it would anyone else.

they treated you as if you were a jester, as if you were meant to appease to their humor, their entertainment. you were a show pony with a twisted ankle and they merely laughed. finally allowing a tear to slip to your pillow, you clutched the linen blankets beneath you, seeking some sort of comfort. some escape. you sat upright and stared out the bay window overlooking the vast sea.

before her death, your mother spent her days filling your mind with wonders and promises of a better life out beyond the horizon. stories of princes saving princesses and knights conquering territories. however, your father kept you grounded with his forewarnings of sea storms and pirates. oh how pirates petrified you. filthy criminals gone rogue, pillaging villages just like yours for some excitement and wealth, murdering those in sight for any reason they can think of. if they didn’t like your face, they’d carve it out cleanly just for fun. the memories of the horrific tales your father would whisper to you as scary stories always turned your blood cold, all before your mother would hit him for scaring you and then comfort you with her own stories.

a sudden chill ran up your spine as you continued to admire the ripples of the ocean, a foreboding aura emitting off the once tranquil site. shuffling to lay down, you pulled the blankets over your head, trying to shake off the fear that coursed through your veins.

—–

a deafening screech outside jolted you awake, sitting up and hyperventilating as you took in your surroundings. you were in your room still, wearing the same clothes you wore to work. everything would’ve been normal if it weren’t for the glow of red flooding your room from the fires just outside. peering out the window, you choked on your breathe when you saw your childhood town in flames, bodies littering the floor like a war scene. screams continued to fill the atmosphere, clashing metal sending a numbing sensation through your body.

ignoring your fears, you willed yourself out of bed and bounded down the halls to find your father, grateful you had decided to wear pants the day prior. however, lady luck decided to turn a blind eye to you, sending you skidding down the hall and falling directly on your back. while you attempted to catch your breath, you rolled over and peered down the staircase before you. if you were struggling to inhale before, the scene before greatly helped your misfortune when a sharp gasp hit you.

your father lied dead right at the open doorway, a shadowed figure towering over him. due to your rather raucous scene, the silhouette was staring directly at you. frozen for a moment, you stared at one another, a prey subject to it’s predator’s deathly gaze. with a pivot your way, the pirate took one step towards you which sprung you to action, clambering to your feet and dashing down the hall again, ignoring the ache in your muscle. realizing you’re trapped, you took a sharp left into your father’s room, scanning for a weapon you could use. of course he had nothing, spending his days in his kitchen every chance he had.

a deep chuckle resonated through your house, overcoming the chaos outside. the blood rushing to your ears blurred the sounds outside, leaving you hypersensitive to the thudding of his boots stamping on the weak wood of the stairs. your heart leapt, running entirely on adrenaline rather than reason.

with that in mind, you already found yourself clawing out the window and grasping the dense vines lining the walls. rather than traipsing down like any same person would’ve, you instead climbed up onto the roof. your father wasn’t really one for house maintenance, the many missing shingles proving that statement. scaling the treacherous terrain beneath you was a harder feat than you could ever imagine, a shingle skidding off the roof right past your father’s window most likely giving away your location.

with no other option in mind, you stood there, overlooking the ashes of your now ruined community. a pang of sadness hit you as you spotted the bloodied face of your taunter from earlier and you shut your eyes. probably not the best idea, especially when the thump behind you startled you to death, another shingle sliding out from beneath your feet. for the second time that night, you fell, the impact causing a snowball effect of loose shingles giving out. you rolled off the roof entirely, plummeting directly to the ground and blacking out.

——–

faint voices enticed you from your slumber, pulling you into consciousness. you weren’t aware of the first few minutes of the conversation, but as you came to more, it became clearer and clearer.

“it was a pretty good load, I’ll give you that,” a voice chuckled out, followed by the familiar sound of coins clinking together into a pile.

“I told you so,” a vaguely familiar voice chimed in. the depth of the voice almost lulled you right back to sleep, your brain now concentrating on how smooth and alluring it was.

“why hadn’t we attacked before?” the first voice asked, steps getting louder and louder. or maybe it was just the pounding in the back of your head.

“it’s such a tiny speck on the map, I didn’t even think about going there before. who knew it was such a hotspot for trading.” the steps were indeed getting louder, as well as the voices. especially that buttery rich voice that could fill a theatre with ease. “they didn’t even have a militia.”

“they deserved to be hit by us, they were too comfortable with their safety.” you rolled your head side to side, hoping to coax your eyes open before the two reached you. “what’s this?” your eyes shot open when you realized the voice was less than a meter away. you forced yourself to take in your surroundings, drowsiness still a very apparent factor in your muddled mind. wooden crates surrounded your being, a white tunic covering everything. you held your breathe as the cloth was lifted slightly, but not enough to reveal your concealed form.

“ah baekhyun took it after my incident.”

“what incident?” a snicker from the previous man resounded, then a long exhale.

“I went towards this saloon because I saw the owner dead at the front. I wanted to see if any of the guys were in there looting. by the time I reached the front door, I just saw a girl run, slip, and fall right on her ass at the top of the stairs. when she looked at me, she recovered and took off.” the other voice sniggered at the story of my misfortune. “I decided to follow her, I thought she was amusing. she disappeared for a minute, but then I saw a shingle fall. by the time I reached the roof, she was gone. not really sure how she got away so quickly. when I climbed down and out the front door, I saw baekhyun struggling to pull this supply barrow. so I helped him. I doubt anything useful is in this.”

“should we check?”

“I’m not really in the mood to sort out garbage, let’s just send jongdae and sehun down.”

“sounds good.” their voices began fading away before a door closed, completely muting them. you sat up, wincing at the throbbing sensation in your skull. pushing the tunic off, you discovered you were in a supply room of sorts. your bones ached, specifically your entire backside. you guess you fell directly into the barrow when you fell off the roof. you stretched your limbs forward, awakening the heavy weight of sleep from your body. turning your head, you noticed a porthole right beside you.

you crawled over, peering outwards to the endless blue. no signs of land anywhere and an eery stillness settling over the waters. your stomach sunk once your predicament clicked in your fuzzy mind; you were a stowaway on the ship of pirates who destroyed your village. even if you managed to find an escape from here, where would you go? your home was your father, the man who lie dead on your front door. a body of chilled air began suffocating you, your throat swelling up with the familiar forewarning of tears. you pulled your legs close to you and hugged yourself, the last person you had in this life.

the door creaked open, introducing two new voices. instinctively, you leapt out of the barrow, ignoring the pain shooting up your person and dived behind some other crates.

“so chanyeol said we had to clear out the barrow with the tunic,” one voice stated.

“I’m not seeing it,” the other voice answered. you decided to cautiously peek out to witness who you’re dealing with. a man, tall and thin yet by no means lanky. the other being on the shorter side, yet still significantly taller and stronger than you. you’re going to die. “there’s a tunic underneath this barrow, not on top.”

“well yeah that’s the only barrow in here, even if it didn’t have the white sheet over it, we still could’ve figured it out, idiot– wait.” silence fell over the two. you peeked out again to see the shorter man with his arms up in a halting position, most likely the man to cut himself off. “why would chanyeol describe it as having a tunic if it didn’t.”

“I don’t know, maybe it had the tunic when he came down and he just took it off.”

“why would he still describe it as that if he took it off himself?” more silence. the taller one stared down at the other, emotionless as he processed his words. without warning, he pulled out a sword from his side, backing away and scanning the room. the shorter one followed suit, revealing a sword of his own as he walked the opposite way of the taller one. he was walking right towards you.

holding your breath, you recoiled into the wall, praying that the boxes around you would shield yourself. it seems the tables were turning in your favor, because the man stepped by you, continuing to search for his trespasser. when he and the other man met at the other side of the long room, they shrugged to one another and turned towards the door.

“well that was weird,” the taller one mumbled in an agitated tone.

“let’s tell chanyeol. even if there’s no one on board, he should be aware of the possibility.” with that, the door opened and shut. for precautionary measures, you waited a minute or two, at least until your heart stabilized and your breathing evened out. you leaned back against the wooden walls and clawed at your olive toned pants. you were shaking, whether it be from fear or the dread which began appearing the minute you awoke, you were near your breaking point.

the spare drops of adrenaline motivating your weak heart caused you to finally stand. you crawled over the boxes carefully, making sure to not make a sound and alert anyone who may be nearby. although you knew the coast was clear since the two men left. all you had to do was find an escape and–

“how could we forget we were sent down here to check the garbage,” a voice from before blurted out as the doors slammed open, the other one laughing at the clear aggression evident in his comrades actions. without even thinking, you leapt back into your spot from before. of course you just had to stumble over the empty crate which had hidden you from the assailants, causing it to topple over with an unnecessarily loud crash.

there you sat, in the open, curled into yourself and staring at the two men who stared right back in shock. it felt like an eternity went by as you all refused to break the trance set by the three. your eyes darted between the taller one and the shorter one, taking in their young and… un-pirate like appearance.

you were expecting large, bulking men with wiry beards tinged with silver, scars over their blinded white eye with an eye patch resting comfortably on their forehead. layers upon layers of coats and ragged clothes to keep warm during cold ocean nights. maybe a hook or a peg-leg, but at that point you were stretching it.

at the end, it was the tall one who just so happened to cough and break the silent pact. you scrambled to your feet, the two men already grappling you before you could even stand erect. they both lugged you away, dragging your flailing and screaming body away.

splinters dug into your ankles, the only protectant you had being your stockings beneath your pants. the grip the men had on your arms were sure to leave bruises on your delicate skin. your screaming reduced to a series of pleads by the time you reached the deck of the ship. your eyes began blurring with the tears that you held back this entire time, the gravity of your situation hitting you.

they brought you to a hallway which lead you to a large room laced with treasures beyond your imagination. never have you seen so much gold in one landscape. jewels scattered across a rococo desk, necklaces lining any edge they could dangle freely on. a bed that could hold five yous and still have room for comfort sat against the edge of a wall, a scarlet duvet stretched across the planes of the bed like a coat of snow. candles were the only source of light here, no portholes in sight.

“where’s chanyeol?” the tall one asked aloud.

“I’m not sure. he went in here before we went downstairs.”

“we still have to clean out the barrow.”

“I know, sehun. fuck, why do you have to keep reminding me.”

“you seem tense, dae.” sehun reached his free arm to dae’s shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. dae immediately reacted by slapping his hand away.

“leave me the fu–” a door opening interrupted the two bickering, all attention directed towards the man leaving what you believe was his private restroom. “chanyeol.”

your eyes expanded when you met the face of the pirate who has been plaguing your life since last night. the roof pirate. he looked at the two men, then down at you. when his eyes landed on your helpless being, the twitch in his eyebrows revealed he remembered exactly who you were. with a clap of his hands, he took two long strides to stand before the three of you.

“well look at this,” he slurred out in a lazy manner, as if he had all the time in the world to deal with you. “you found my stray kitten. good work, boys.”

“your what?” sehun spluttered out, earning a smack in the back of his head from dae.

“jongdae, sehun, you are free to leave.” he never took his eyes off you, a smile slowly stretching upon his connivingly handsome face.

“do we still need to clean the–” another slap and a whine and they were gone, leaving you stranded on the floor with this man standing above you. the situation reminded you too much of the last scene you saw of your father lying dead beneath this man. you cowered away from his gaze, your cheek pressed against your shoulder. the man crouched to your level, grabbing your chin and turning you towards him. his hands were calloused, yet some warmth seeped through the rough exterior. rather than it being the comforting warmth of a fireplace or a home cooked meal, it felt more like the flames of hell themselves, tickling your skin with their embers. you were forced to stare at him, a demon trapped in the body of a boyishly attractive being. black hair tousled haphazardly like a nest, obsidian eyes darting around to each and every feature on your face, narrow cheeks cascading downwards into a sharp jawline.

“looks like I did manage to claim you after all,” he finally spoke, tapping his finger against your jaw. tonguing the side of his mouth, he leaned forward to your ear, fiery breathe sending shivers through you. “I’m going to make your life a living hell for trying to run away from me.”

[banashee]

Part 25 of my @badthingshappenbingo​

Prompt: “Manhandling”

It’s finished! My Bingo Card is all crossed out and 25 Bad Things Happen Stories are done and I am beyond excited! Thanks to every single one of you who went along with me on the journey <3 

As always, please mind the tags and warnings in the notes.

 Picking up the Pieces

 He doesn’t get to wake up slowly. Instead, a bucket of ice cold water is emptied over him, and he splutters awake, startling and coughing in disoriented panic.

 Clint is trying to bolt up, but he is pulled back by buckles around his arms, legs and torso. Breathing is hard, and he’s still choking on water.

 The sudden movement pulls on his arm, and the pain of dislocated joints and possibly broken bones shoots through him hot and sudden.

 Even in this state, he’s trying to take in all the information he can, letting this particular part of his brain take over for a moment.

 There are at least three other people in the room, clad in disposable overalls, faces hidden behind masks. All of them watch him cough and choke with utter disinterest, but the part that worries Clint the most is that neither Tony or Bruce are anywhere to be seen.

 Having no idea how much time passed in between their attempt to escape and him waking up also means he doesn’t know if he’s even in the same place anymore. He doesn’t know how far the three of them have been separated, if the other two are even still alive.

 That thought alone is enough to send boiling hot fury through his entire body, as well as a deep set determination to stay alive and find out, no matter what. If one single hair is out of place on either of his friends, he will murder their captors. If they’re hurt or dead, he’ll make it messy and painful, that much he is sure of.

 Either no one is talking to him, or they took away his hearing aids - his mind is fuzzy, but Clint is pretty sure that it is a mixture of both - which means they don’t want information from him. That, in turn, tells him that this is either revenge or they have another, unknown goal.

 They hadn’t even known what their captors even wanted, back when they’d woken up in a small, wet cell. No one has asked anything, no one had even visited them the entire time. But they want something, that much is clear.

 Suddenly, the prick of a needle pushes into his neck, and shortly after that, Clint can’t move anything, even with the already limited range of motion he currently has. But his muscles refuse to work, and then, all he is able to geel is seething, all-consuming pain.

 *+~

 Tony startles awake, perplexed and violently choking on the sudden flush of icy water that hits him in the face. There is a cloth bound around his head, covering his nose and mouth and he is scrambling to try and get a clear breath of air. He’s panicking, which makes breathing even harder. His heart is pounding in his chest, and it takes all of his willpower to calm down even just a little bit.

 While he is still choking and coughing under the wet cloth, someone is ripping it away, but there is no time for relief.

 Instead, he is being pulled up by his arms and roughly shoved through the room. The figure behind him is quite a bit taller, clad in a white overall like one would wear to renovate houses. It’s like they want to prevent a mess getting onto them which, Tony finds, is definitely something to worry about in his position.

 He also can’t make out anyone familiar in this room. Neither Clint or Bruce seem to be near him, which is unsettling for more than one reason. For one, he’d have very much liked to keep his friends close. It’s unnerving, having no idea where they are or what is happening to either of them. It’s not just that though.

 However messed up or scary a situation is, it’s easier to live through it when he’s not alone. He knows this now.

 It is not something he would have willingly admitted a few years back, but Tony has certainly grown enough to recognize and admit that by now. It is an everlasting conflict with him wanting the people around him as safe and secure as humanly possible.

 “Move it.” the voice of the figure shoving him growls and the next push sends Tony stumbling forwards. He twists his neck to glare back at the guy and give him a piece of his mind, but before he can finish the sentence, he catches a hard backhand right into his face. He can both feel and hear his nose breaking under the impact,

 “Ow. Fucking asshole!” he spits out, which earns him another rough shove and a steel toed boot to the back of his knee. Something pops, and a small, warm trickle of blood is running out of his nose. It splatters down his chin and onto his shirt. It’s a mess anyway, he thinks, and part of him is wondering if he is already losing it, because out of all things he could be thinking about, it’s this.

 Fighting back might be useless, but that doesn’t stop him from trying still. This, however, results in even more pain. Bruises are forming and broken bones are throbbing, but he clenches his jaw, moving on and walking as he is told, even though it hurts with every step.

 Only a little while later, the door to some sort of laboratory opens automatically as they come closer. Tony is shoved along the way just as roughly as before, then another person is manhandling him into a chair that looks like a contraption straight out of a horror movie.

 Nausea rises up in his throat, but he can’t get away from the two people forcing him into it and securing him by the arms and legs.

 “You’re not getting away from us, Mr. Stark.” somebody says. The voice is male, cold and disinterested. Merely stating facts. It sends a shiver down his spine, but he is trying his best to keep a straight face.

 ‘      Don’t show them how scared you are. Keep a clear head, do what you have to do. You can fall apart about it when it’s over. Just stay alive in the meantime.    ’ a calm voice in his head reminds Tony. It is no coincidence that the voice sounds very much like Natasha. The words are hers, shared in a quiet moment a few years back. It had been the night after a rough mission, and it kept all of them awake.

 Tony thinks about this advice every time things go to hell - it might be a small comfort, but in the end, it really does help.

 Staying alive is exactly what he needs to do now.

 Part of him hopes that the three of them are already missed back home - facing a pissed off Black Widow is very much what he wishes upon those bastards.

 *+~

 Clint comes back to himself with sharp pain shooting through his entire body. It takes his breath away and he’s starting to panic for a split second. Then he forces himself to breathe as calmly as possible. Every single part of him feels like it’s on fire, his skull pounding hard enough as if about to explode. He is still unable to move, apart from his eyes.

 This is what worries him the most, at least it is until they move him upright, still strapped to the table. Then, the metaphorical ground is ripped away from under his feet once again.

 The room around him looks different now, although it is still too bright, cold, and sterile.

 He is no longer alone though. If he were able to move or scream or do anything really, he would. But as it is, all he can do is watch as the captors pull aside a white plastic curtain that, until now, had separated the room. It reveals his friends, and as much as he wants to move, fight, do anything - he can’t. He can’t do anything to fight or help, and that knowledge alone is physically painful.

 Both Bruce and Tony are in a sorry state, and the desire to kill every single person responsible for this is the most powerful thing he’s felt in a while, even while he is in excruciating pain himself, as well as drugged up to hell.

 Clint is still unable to move, no matter how much he wishes for it to be different, no matter how much he tries to force his body to obey his brain. It doesn’t work.

 Him being unable to move now is the punishment for him being able to break the three of them out of their cell - he just knows it.

 Clint never finds out what they wanted originally - all he knows is that this, the fucked up shitshow of an aftermath, is the revenge for their nearly successful escape.

 They torture Bruce with drugs and knives, just to prove that the Hulk truly is suppressed - at least for now, while they are in control and not him.

 They break his own bones and shoot him up with more and more drugs.

 They force Tony to watch it all.

 Clint is out of it and his brain is getting foggy. But a small part of him is always aware of what is happening, and as he is watching his friends suffer, he does just the same.

 Clint can’t hear anything, doesn’t know what Tony is yelling, doesn’t know if Bruce is awake or drifting away. But there are hot and angry tears burning in his eyes and then they drip down his chin.  

 He can’t do anything about that, either. In fact, it’s all he can do at the moment besides forcing himself to keep breathing.  

 *+~

 Tony is raging - if he was physically able to at this very moment, he would probably kill the men in this room.

 Bruce is unconscious, strapped to a table and covered in little ports with needles. An unknown drug is running through his system, a drug which seems to suppress the Hulk. His skin changes every once in a while, veins bulging in an acidic green. But then he rears up, still unconscious but obviously in agony as his body is overwhelmed and unsure of what to do with all the overlapping sensations. He is bleeding from the ports and there is foam forming in front of his mouth. But there are also cuts all over his body, all of them bleeding freely.

 Bruce looks even worse than before and after a while his lips are slowly turning blue.

 Oppressed or not, Tony is quite certain that if it wasn’t for the other guy, Bruce would be dead by now. The thought sends cold dread, agony and seething anger through him.

 Clint, however, remains completely still. Not a single sound leaves his lips, and the only sign that he is still alive is the slow, shallow rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. They must have drugged him up to no end, because he doesn’t even flinch as they break bone after bone - first his right arm that is already damaged, then the left. The arm he uses to shoot more often than not. Then they move on to Clint’s legs.

 He can’t do anything about it.

 Tony is nauseous from watching, but he forces himself to keep his eyes open. As he knows now, they’ll only hurt his friends worse whenever he tries to look away - he doesn’t want to be responsible for that. But whenever and however he’ll get out of this, he will make them pay. He swears it, over and over again as they force him to watch them torture his teammates for hours.

 By the time the doors are kicked in and gentle hands free Tony from his restraints, he is too out of it to react in any meaningful way. But the arms that carry him are warm, strong and familiar. In his field of vision, there is the familiar blur of blue, red, white and stars and he just knows that they are safe now.

 Exhaustion takes over, and the last thing he sees as he peaks over Steve’s shoulder, is Thor carrying both Bruce and Clint over his shoulders.

 Thor is gentle with them, carefully picking them up and trying not to jostle them too much, out of fear of hurting them any further. The Thundergod’s usually friendly blue eyes are darkened by many emotions, and there are flashes of lightning crackling around him, although never touching any of his friends.

 Natasha is out of his field of vision, but Tony can hear the terrified screams of their tormentors echo in the room. He doesn’t even feel bad for being gleeful about that.

 Tony finally passes out with the knowledge that at least this wish came true. No surprise there though - no one hurts the people Natasha calls family and survives the aftermath.

 *+~

 How do you even survive something like this?

 It is a question that every single one of them keeps asking themselves, and yet they’re still there to tell the tale. An extended stay in the hospital is mandatory for Clint, Bruce and Tony. The three of them are sore, hurting and plagued with night terrors about being tortured or worse, losing each other even weeks and months after the incident, but being back home and being safe helps. So does being surrounded by the rest of the team. Their disappearance had worried them all, especially since there had been no planned missions. To have them home and safe now eases something in their minds - almost losing one another on a semi-regular basis is really getting old, so they stay even closer than usual.

 No one objects to group cuddling in two hospital beds shoved together, even though they have to be mindful of various injuries.

 It doesn’t take long for Bruce (“Im      fine    , the drugs are wearing off. Leave me alone!”) to move into a chair in the room that contains his two friends. The doctors had kept them separated at first, but it doesn’t last long because Bruce heals fast once he isn’t shot up with lord knows what anymore. His healing powers finally return, and as soon as he is well enough to get out of bed, he keeps traveling in between Clint and Tony’s rooms.

 This only lasts as long as it takes for Tony to wake up and demand he’d be moved into the room with Clint. Let it never be said that Tony Stark can’t be effective if he wants to. He has the incredibly useful capacity to be truly annoying, even more so than usual and he takes full advantage of it. He keeps it up until the nurses put a second bed into the room where Clint is wrapped up in too many casts and hooked up to too many machines that beep.

 Being close together to heal is helpful to all of them, even more so because the rest of the team is always nearby, refusing to leave them alone.

 Neither of them is ever truly alone, and while usually, all of them like to have their own space, now they are practically attached by the hip. Just being able to see the others is a tremendous help in easing the fear that one of them might disappear again.

 Natasha spends the first few nights curled up on the edge of Clint’s bed. She remains there until he slowly wakes up and asks why she doesn’t come closer. Her fear of hurting him further than he already is is everlasting, but he claims to be on the good kind of drugs, and besides, there is no point in snuggling if there is any air left in between the participants.

 How on earth he manages to string that sentence together first thing after waking up, Nat isn’t sure. But it makes her laugh, and that is good enough for Clint. It lasts until her laughter is replaced by tears - it takes him a little off guard, but he keeps his face pressed into Natasha’s hair, whispering reassurances until his already wrecked voice gives out entirely. She keeps crying for a while, pressing as close to him as she dares with the amount of injuries that need to heal.

 He wishes he’d be able to hug his best friend, but there are too many injuries for him to manage it. So this needs to be enough. The two of them cling for a while, but then they decide to keep moving forward, just as they always do.

 As it turns out, it doesn’t take long for everyone else to move into the room as well. There is always someone there, and it makes her sleep a little easier at night, knowing that her whole family is safe.

 They look out for each other, and they always will.

*+~

Square 25: "Manhandling"

                             Warnings: - Hostage situation - Graphic blood and violence - Torture - Psychological damage / PTSD - Non-Con Drug use - deals with the fear for friends life and safety - mention of needles and knives - violent thoughts, thoughts about revenge

[ma-sulevin]

Mattie’s made it to the Henbane! You know what that means?

Pairing: Sharky Boshaw/Female Deputy Rating: E, but mostly for swearing Warnings: Canon-typical violence, but nothing particularly explicit I don’t think Word Count: 5939, chapter three of twelve

Read it on AO3 instead and say nice things.

It wasn’t so bad at the marina, but the deeper into the Henbane they get, the more Mattie feels like she’s been smacked right in the sinuses with like a bat or a metal pipe or something. The pollen from the fucking fields of fucking bliss is so pervasive that she sneezes once every ten minutes on the dot, more than once alerting a nearby peggie to her hiding spot.

She just wants to pop three Benadryl and take an eighteen-hour nap. Maybe that would help.

Hurk and Boomer stay with her, neither of them particularly bothered by the clouds of icky greenish pollen floating in the wind, sticking with her through all the snot and the sneezing. Hurk is a constant source of chatter, which could be annoying but is actually pretty nice when the alternative is sitting in her own head worrying about everything that’s going on.

Joey. Staci. Earl. Burke. She hasn’t died again, and now she’s not sure those times weren’t bliss hallucinations. If they were -- could they happen again? Is she going to wake up in a hospital in Missoula strapped to the bed as a 10-96, her reputation in Hope County ruined?

Listening to Hurk’s (made up, she assumes) tales of the Monkey God and Kyrat is a much nicer way to spend her time. It’s good for a laugh, at least. The man is a little scattered, but he’s a natural storyteller under all that.

Mattie keeps an eye out for rogue peggie helicopters, but getting Tulip back for Adelaide isn’t her top priority by any stretch of the imagination. If she’s meant to find it, she’ll find it, and she’s not going to waste time and energy driving around until she stumbles across the right vehicle. There are real lives on the line she needs to take care of first.

A couple days after they leave the marina, Mattie’s radio comes to life once more with a request for help that has Hurk cheering before she can really parse out the message.

“Hell yeah, Sharky here--” (excited whooping) “--brain-dead cultists at the trailer park.”

“That’s my baby cousin!” Hurk says, somehow fucking bouncing even with that RPG cradled in his arms like a thirty-pound infant. “He’s at the Moonflower, let’s go get him!” He pins her in place with a hopeful look that she assumes he perfected on his mother -- and then sighs because it works.

She knows Sharky by reputation, even if she’s never personally arrested him before. She’s heard Staci and Joey talk about him, and she’s seen his wanted poster still up by the Spread Eagle even though he’s not actually wanted and is out on probation, probably.

“Okay, fine.” She makes a shooing motion at him and he sets off at a jog, heading up the mountain at a pace she knows he’ll be tired of in just a few minutes. She follows anyway, more sedately, along with Boomer, and they catch up with Hurk soon enough.

About halfway up, they find a car abandoned on the side of the dirt road. There’s blood smeared on the front passenger seat and on the door, and Hurk happily climbs in the back with Boomer, leaving Mattie to climb in the relatively clean driver’s seat.

The rest of the way to the trailer park is peaceful, no cultists or bliss fields, and Hurk barely snickers when she sneezes hard and accidentally jerks the wheel to the right and runs them through the grass for a bit.

Okay, next time they come across a gas station or a truck stop or a corner store or just a regular old house that hasn’t been ransacked: she’s dosing up on Claritin. This shit is getting old.

“This used to be a real nice trailer park,” Hurk comments, leaning forward in his seat to speak almost directly into her ear. She parks the borrowed vehicle a safe distance away from another one that’s already on fire, and they both watch as something inside the fence explodes. “Not so much anymore.”

She snorts, then coughs into her elbow. “Apparently not. Let’s go.”

They climb out and Boomer runs ahead, nose to the ground and tail wagging. There don’t seem to be any cultists hanging around right now, so she keeps her weapons safely holstered even though Hurk doesn’t bother with the same courtesy, just waves with one hand when he sees a man standing on top of one of the trailers.

Mattie casts a critical eye around the place as they climb up one of the ladders to walk across the makeshift platforms. Obviously this used to be a pretty standard trailer park, small but with a cute little playground in the middle for the kids. There are no cars sitting around other than hers and the one that was on fire, and the only bodies she can see are wearing Eden’s Gate clothes. Most of the residents must have joined up with the cult or turned tail before Sharky took over.

When they get close enough, they can see Sharky is holding a flame thrower which, okay, it’s technically legal, but it still makes Mattie frown to see him with one, and apparently that frown makes her look too much like a law enforcement officer, because Sharky takes a whole step back and yells, “You’ll never take me alive!”

Mattie just stares at him. Sharky stares right back.

Hurk laughs. “Man, we ain’t here to arrest you. You think I’d bring the cops to a barbeque like this? The dep’s cool, man.”

Sharky looks her up and down and then cocks his head to the side. “ ...oh, you’re not here to arrest me?” When she shakes her head, still frowning a bit, he shrugs and seems to accept her at her word. “Cool, sorry. I am Victor Charlemagne Boshaw, but--”

She listens as he launches into his speech about who he is and what they’re going to be doing over the next few minutes, and she knows it’s a terrible idea, and it must just be whatever genetics Hurk and Sharky share beyond frankly ridiculous names, but his enthusiasm is infectious and she finds herself agreeing to help him even though she shouldn’t.

The people he’s luring in need help. They need to be taken away from the Seeds’ influence and given to someone who can de-condition them, whatever that looks like. She doesn’t know how this stuff works -- it wasn’t covered in school or in the training she got from the Sheriff’s Department.

Her mind changes when she finally sees an Angel up close. Its eyes are completely white, unseeing but not in the way someone who’s simply lost vision would look. There’s a green shimmer to them, and standing too close makes her head spin around like she’s wandered too close to a bliss field again. They fight with inhuman strength, giving more of themselves over to the trouble than any human in their right mind would, and they shake off injuries that would bring down a normal person.

They’re fucking zombies. She nearly gets bit by one, saved only by the stained white mask covering its face, and it grunts and growls and then screams when she puts a bullet between its eyes. The sound makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, a shiver go down her spine.

What the fuck has Faith been doing to them?

What the fuck.

After the last Angel is put down and the last cognizant cultist is also put down, and Sharky’s speakers are all disconnected from his stereo, and Mattie is done celebrating the fact that she managed to not fucking die this time , Hurk and Sharky jog up to where she’s sitting on the playground steps reloading her rifle. They’re both keyed up, excited after the battle and running on adrenaline, but she’s just tired now.

She keeps saying it, but she’s so goddamn tired.

The first thing out of Sharky’s mouth is, “That was fuckin’ hot and uhhh not just cause of the fire.” She freezes, her rifle across her knees, the magazine in one hand and a few loose bullets in the other. Hurk is grinning at him, the beginnings of a laugh starting to bubble up, and Sharky immediately turns red and starts talking faster. “I mean, that didn’t help, but. I mean. Anyway. You did good, shorty, and if you want me to join up with you and Hurky, just say the word.”

Mattie clears her throat and goes back to putting the bullets back in the magazine. The smoke and gasoline fumes are mixing with her already irritated sinuses to give her a headache, and she has to pause to sneeze into her elbow again before she comes up with an answer.

“Sharky? If you burn down every field of bliss we come across, you can follow me anywhere.”

He absolutely lights up at her promise, face breaking into a wide grin as he does a little jig like he just can’t contain his joy.

It’s cute.

She ignores it.

---

“I don’t wanna argue with your plan or nothin,” Sharky says, tone conversational and voice loud over the roar of his flamethrower, “but do you think this is like… lightin’ up a giant joint?” 

Mattie laughs behind the bandana she has tied over her face. “I wouldn’t be upset about it if it wasn’t a hallucinogen,” she says. “It’s one thing to be high and another to think you can fly when you’re on the edge of a cliff.”

Sharky glances at her over his shoulder, eyeing her up and down. “You’re kind of unusual, for the fuzz.”

She shrugs, glances away before he does, catching movement out of the corner of her eye that’s probably just Boomer or Hurk. “These are unusual times, dude.” The movement isn’t either of her other companions, so she wanders a little closer while Sharky continues burning the plants. 

“Be careful!” She can barely hear his voice now, but it doesn’t occur to her to turn back to him, back to safety. “You can’t trust your senses out here!”

There are lights flashing in her vision, and she pauses to rub at her eyes with her knuckles. The lights are still there when she opens them again, her chest tight, and she pulls her bandana down so she can breathe freely.

It’s a mistake.

The bliss hits her full force, knocking her off balance, the vertigo from the marina back as Faith steps in front of her.

“Welcome to the bliss.”

Faith’s hands are on her shoulders, slipping down her arms to her hands, then she’s slipping away, and Mattie is following her without question, without even trying to grab a weapon , just… blindly following this woman through bliss pollen so thick it might as well be fog.

Faith stays just a step away the whole time, no matter how fast Mattie moves or how she lunges, giggling and twirling and speaking about who she really is in a sing-song voice.

Mattie barely even notices she’s on top of Joseph’s statue because Burke is there too, and when she tries to tackle him, he just… steps off the statue as Faith urges Mattie to do the same.

And, still surrounded by the bliss… she does.

---

“Oh, she’s waking up. Come on, Dep, you okay, man?”

She opens her eyes slowly, forcing herself to move even though every fiber of her being is screaming for her to keep her eyes closed and surrender to the white black white she’s gotten used to, that she’s started to miss just plowing through Hope County like it’s her own personal sandbox to destroy however she wants.

“I knew we shouldn’t have stuck around after the bliss started burning,” Sharky says, his voice coming from her other side. She can’t see either man, just the blue sky above her. There’s a single cloud that’s almost a perfect circle. “And you know I love fire, man, it’s just the best.”

She squeezes her eyes closed again, tight enough that she can see white lights that don’t have anything to do with bliss, then she opens them and sits up. She’s wobbly, but two sets of hands are there to help her, overlapping chatter from the two men drowning out her spiraling thoughts.

One of them hands her a water bottle and she drinks from it, unconcerned with the dampness from the grass cooling on her shirt and sinking deeper into her worn jeans. The water is warm and unpleasant, but she forces herself to swallow three mouthfuls before passing it back.

“Mayor’s on the radio,” Hurk says, talking a little louder to cut Sharky off. “Says they got supplies over in the jail, maybe they can help. Here, cuz, where’s the radio?”

Sharky produces the little hand-held with a flair, and Mattie wonders if they took it to call for help but doesn’t have time to ask because it’s switched on and she can hear Minkler’s voice coming through all tinny. “ Anyone looking for refuge, come to the Hope County Jail. We have beds and food here. ”

The radio goes silent and Hurk clicks it off. Mattie stares off in the direction she thinks the jail is instead of looking at either of the guys, and then she takes a deep breath. She doesn’t really want to go back to the jail, doesn’t want to see what happened to it once Joseph’s people took over, doesn’t want to face anyone she might know.

“It would be nice to have some real food,” she says, voice hoarse and throat raw. “Like, some vegetables.”

Both the boys are nodding, but Sharky’s the one who opens his mouth first. “I am not going to lie to you,” he says. “I have not pooped in six days.”

Mattie’s attention snaps from the crest of the hill to Hurk’s eyes, then they’re both turning to look at Sharky, whose face is a little screwed up like he’s not totally sure he actually said that out loud , and then... 

They’re all laughing, the tension broken, worry she hadn’t realized was on their faces melting away. She starts to stand and they both haul themselves to their feet and pull her up with them, propping her up between them, and she lets them because it’s been weeks since she felt the warmth of another human’s touch.

She lets Hurk drive, lets Sharky sit up front next to him, stretches herself across the back seat with Boomer on the floor, listens to them chatting about how weird it is that Hurk and his dad have the same name, smiles at the absurdity of it all, then frowns when guilt at feeling happy when her friends are being tortured sneaks in.

It takes a few minutes to get to the jail, driving slowly down the mountain and along switchbacks that Hurk is taking much more carefully than she really thought he would, and she’s able to stare at the trees passing upside down over her head. 

“Oh, shit, man.” The car comes to an abrupt stop and Mattie almost slides off the seat and onto Boomer. “Looks like peggies got the jail.”

Mattie’s stomach clenches; a cold sweat stands out on her skin. She sits up, leaning forward with her hands on the front seats. Sharky looks over at her, but she just stares through the windshield, squinting to see the details. There are peggies absolutely swarming in the front parking lot, up the hill from where Hurk pulled the car to a stop. 

“Shit.” Mattie digs her fingernails into the front seats, letting the little pricks of pain ground her for the half-second she needs to pull her thoughts away from fresh food and back to fighting. The peggies are overwhelming the jail; they need to help. “Jesus Christ, fucking -- okay. Hurk, do not blow up the jail, there are civilians in there. Find something off to the side, make a distraction. I’ll come in from the other side.”

“What do you want me to do, Dep?” Sharky asks, still too loud but serious now. His fingers are drumming on the door handle, ready to go.

She bites her lower lip, accidentally pulls a piece of dead skin off. “Fuck shit up.”

He hops out of the car and cheers. Hurk follows suit, and she jumps out with Boomer more quietly, double checking her AR-C before she follows them up the hill.

The place is a disaster. There are burnt-out cars in the parking lot, enough smoke floating through the air to make her eyes water, peggies screaming and attacking the outside walls. There are people she doesn’t recognize up on top, behind the razor wire, and she hopes they see her red flannel, Hurk’s stars-and-stripes, or Sharky’s green hoodie and realize they’re not peggies, hopes the smoke and chaos won’t be their downfall.

She doesn’t want to have to do this again, too.

Two peggies fall under her spray of bullets as something explodes off to the left side of the jail. As she’d hoped, the peggies scramble around, not sure who’s attacking them, and it makes it easy for her to sneak around and snap the neck of a third man.

When her radio crackles to life, she almost doesn’t hear it. “ Hey is that you, Rook? ” Earl. Earl. It’s Earl. He’s alive. He’s here? She blinks hard to clear her eyes of tears that suddenly have nothing to do with the smoke and squats behind a car that smells of burned rubber, pulling her radio to her face to hear the rest of his message: “ Ah, Christ, help us out here. ” 

She starts to press the talk button but a woman spots her, runs over with a shovel raised, and Mattie has enough time to wonder who shows up to a prison siege with only a shovel as a weapon before she has her pistol up and puts a bullet between the woman’s eyes.

When the last parking lot peggie falls, there are a few seconds where the only sounds are the roaring of flames, and then one of the doors in the wall opens. She walks through, doesn’t look back to see if Hurk or Sharky are following her, just steps into the courtyard and waits.

“Holy shit.” She snaps around to see Earl weaving his way through the rubble, his hat on his head and a smile on his face. He looks good, he looks healthy, and he’s trying to talk to her but she’s throwing her arms around his neck and bursting into tears before he has a chance to get out a full sentence.

He grunts and staggers back a step, but his arms still wrap around her waist and he squeezes her almost as tightly as she’s squeezing him. He rubs one hand up and down her back, soothing, shushing her when it only makes her cry harder.

She doesn’t care that she’s standing in the middle of the courtyard where everyone can see her. She doesn’t care that she’s getting tears and snot all over the shoulder of her boss’ uniform. All she cares about is that he’s alive, and he’s healthy, and he’s not an angel or trapped in a bunker, and she’s so overwhelmed with relief that she doesn’t know how to handle herself anymore.

“You’re alright, sweetheart.” He cups the back of her head like he might a child’s, comforting, and she draws in a shaky breath in an effort to just stop fucking crying. “We’re okay.”

She squeezes him even tighter for half a second then forces herself to step back. It feels like she has to unclench each of her fingers individually, has to scrape the toes of her stolen boots over the crumbling asphalt before she can give him the space she’s supposed to. She wipes at her eyes with the backs of her hands, wipes at her running nose and makes an ungodly noise when she intends to make a dainty sniffle.

“Sorry.”

“You’re alright,” he says, again, this time clapping her on the shoulder like he used to sometimes. “You really saved our bacon. The peggies’ve been throwing themselves at these walls for days. They just won’t let up.” He looks at the injured stretched out on the ground, then back to meet her eyes, a grim look on his face. “We really kicked open the hornets’ nest.”

Yeah. Yeah. They weren’t ready to arrest Joseph, should have waited longer or should have done it months earlier, before John had bought up so much of the county, before Jacob started kidnapping the locals, before Faith perfected her bliss formula, before everything went to shit.

Their moment of silence is interrupted by a man yelling a warning from the high walls, then being pushed back by a grenade. He falls in front of Mattie, his body hitting the asphalt with a sickening thunk. Blood pools under his head and his eyes stare, unseeing, up at the blue sky.

Earl jumps into action before she does, numbed as she is by everything. He checks the man’s pulse, yells for a medic, and part of her brain that she’d tried to bury wants her to respond. I’m a medic. I know that man’s gone. 

He snaps her out of it. “I need you up on that wall, Rook,” he says, and he looks sorry to say it, but his silent regret doesn’t make the need less dire, doesn’t mean not fighting back won’t lead to all of them being tortured at the hands of Faith or her brothers.

So… she does it. She does what he asks her to, does what she needs to do to protect the people in the jail. Minkler fights by her side for as long as he can, but he’s a politician, not a soldier, and the second time he trips over his own feet, she shoves him in the shoulder and tells him to get the fuck inside.

Sharky and Hurk fight with her too, performing better than she thought they would when she first saw them. Hurk, in particular, is able to keep his mouth shut and grenades sailing through the air with remarkable precision, so much so that she starts to think there’s some truth to the wild stories he’s been spinning in their down time. Sharky swaps his flamethrower out for a more reasonable AK-47, and she smiles when she sees it but doesn’t bother to reflect on why she thinks that weapon is reasonable, just keeps fighting.

It’s all she can do.

Just keep fighting.

---

“So are you fucking the sheriff, or…?” Sharky lets the tail end of his question trail off, like he hadn’t already asked the most important part, the part that has her wrinkling her nose in distaste before she starts laughing. He blinks at her, lips pulling up in a grin when she starts to laugh, and pulls his hat off to run his hand through his hair. It sticks up when he’s done, dirty, greasy from hours of sweating under the brim, and she’s happy the jail still has working showers.

“No,” she says. “I’m not. I’ve never even thought -- why would you ask that?” She sits on the edge of the cot she’s been assigned even though there’s still dirt on the seat of her jeans, starts untying her boots as she listens to Sharky take a sharp breath before launching into what she assumes is going to be quite the speech.

“It’s just, you were pretty happy to see him, I guess.” He pauses and sighs. “I’ve never seen anybody cry that hard into a hug.”

Mattie sits up and scratches the tip of her nose. She can feel her cheeks heating up a bit as he stares at her, waiting. “The Seeds have all my other friends. I thought they had him too.” She shrugs and fiddles with the tail of her shirt, rubbing the soft cotton between her fingers. Sharky’s looking at her with something a little too understanding on his face, so she looks down into her lap and chews at the dead skin on her lip.

“Hurky and me, we’ll help you get your friends back,” he says, squeezing the bill of his hat between his hands. She watches the motion, the nervousness of it, then meets his gaze just before he says, “That’s what friends are for, right?”

The earnestness on his face, of his offer, makes her smile. It eases the tight ball in her chest, and she takes what feels like the first full breath of the day. “I really appreciate it, Sharky.”

He shrugs, dismissing her thanks. “Once you get the other deputies back, you still won’t arrest me, right? For all the fire, and the murdering, and all?” He pitches his voice lower, but he’s still too loud. It’s like the man never learned how to whisper.

She stands and knocks his shoulder with her fist. “If anyone’s getting in trouble for what we’ve been doing out there, it’s me. You’re fine. I promise we won’t arrest you.”

“Okay, good,” Sharky says, voice brightening again. “You gonna shower now?”

“Mhm. Be right back.” She knocks him in the shoulder again for good measure.

He throws his hat at her back as she walks away.

---

She doesn’t remember dying this time. She knows what it feels like -- getting shot, falling too far, having her neck snapped, drowning, being run over by a car, or being struck in the face with the butt of some peggie’s rifle -- but she doesn’t know which of those things put her in the black white black this time.

She doesn’t remember, but she’s trapped here, searching through a place she can’t see for an exit she’s not sure exists.

Is this the final time? Has she used up her thirty lives and is now doomed to run through this place for the rest of eternity? Was she supposed to do something different, behave better, make choices for good and she ran out of chances and this is what hell is?

She grew up expecting a lake of fire, not this… nothingness.

She can’t stop the sobs, can’t stop herself from screaming for help even though it's useless.

She screams and screams and screams and

She wakes up with a start, her limbs jerking like she suddenly fell, and she tries to sit up but there’s a hand in hers and another wiping tears from her face. It doesn’t feel like a threat, so she relaxes and forces her eyes to look at something other than the ceiling.

For half a second, she’s certain the gentle touches belong to Joey, like she’s fallen asleep during a movie night and Joey’s absently stroking her hair. A half-second after that, she’s certain the gentle touches belong to Staci, because the hands are bigger than Joey’s, and he never complained when she flopped on him like a cat needing attention.

“There you are, shorty.” Sharky’s voice reminds her where she is and who she’s with, and she draws in a wet, shaky breath as the reality of everything crashes full-force into her. His fingers tighten around hers, and she curls her body around that point of contact. “You been crying in your sleep and didn’t wanna wake up, but you calmed down as long as I was holding your hand.”

She wipes her face on the back of her sleeve. “Sorry,” she says, voice thick and wet. “Did I wake you up?”

He brushes her hair away from her face. “Nah, I was still awake. Don’t worry about it.”

It doesn’t seem right that this large, boisterous man should be the one comforting her in the middle of the night, but she can’t help the impulse that tells her to nuzzle into his hand. She turns into it, blinking up at him in the dim light of what used to be the department’s bullpen, and he grins back down at her.

He’s sitting on the floor at the edge of her cot, long legs stretched out on the dirty tile floor, still in his jeans but now without his boots or hoodie. He’s got a ratty wifebeater tank on instead, stretched out at the neckline, and she can see faded swirls of ink on one of his biceps. She huffs out a laugh, and he squeezes her fingers in reply.

“How long’ve you been sitting there?”

She doesn’t mention their entwined fingers. He doesn’t seem keen to bring it up either.

“Uhh, dunno, like thirty minutes?” He shrugs, still playing with her hair. “You wouldn’t wake up.”

“I took like… four benadryl after my shower.” She starts to roll onto her back to stretch, and he releases her, moving back a little like he’s going to get on his bed. “I was dreaming that, uhm.” How best to describe it? He won’t believe her. “I was just trapped and no one could hear me.”

He nods again. “Don’t like small spaces?”

She actually does laugh this time, a sharp noise that surprises them both. “You could say that, yeah.” She considers telling him more, then remembers something he said earlier. “Wait, you’re still awake? Not sleeping?”

“Can’t always make my brain shut off,” he says. “Specially these days.”

She turns back onto her side and props herself up on one elbow, considering, weighing the pros and cons and the chances he’ll take what she wants to say the wrong way… then she decides a guy who’s willing to sit on the cold, hard floor holding her hand for half an hour to make her feel better is exactly the kind of guy she can trust.

“Come lie down with me.”

He blinks at her, cocks his head to the side like a puppy, like he’s not sure he heard her right. 

“I always sleep better when there’s someone with me. Maybe you will too.” When he doesn’t respond right away, she adds: “Humans need touch. It’s good for you. Just hop up here and go to sleep.”

He’s surprisingly silent, but he moves from his cot to hers, sits on the side to test the waters, then stretches out next to her when she doesn’t do anything to make him think her offer is a joke. She makes room for him, waits for his head to hit the pillow before she cuddles against his side, curling into his warmth with a self-satisfied sigh.

“See? It’s nice.”

It helps her forget the cold emptiness of the black white black in her dream, reminds her that this is real and she’s real and the people she’s fighting for are real too.

He jumps a little when he hears her voice, then he rolls onto his side, toward her. She gives him room to settle, then moves back in, head tucked under his chin.

“All good?”

He takes in a deep breath, lets it out in a slow exhale before he replies. “Yeah. You’re right.” His arm loops over her waist, just resting, then pulls her a little closer. “All good.”

---

Sharky doesn’t say anything about her nightmare or her offer-slash-demand for three a.m. cuddles, just slips out of her bed without waking her up from the second half of her nine-hour benadryl nap, leaving behind a cold spot and a pillow that smells faintly of gasoline. She was right though, sleeping with another body next to her soothed her until she was able to float dreamlessly through the rest of the night. 

She can only hope he feels the same.

Breakfast is instant coffee and a crumbly granola bar eaten at Earl’s side as he and the mayor take turns talking about events around the Henbane: bliss in the water, bliss plants growing unchecked, angels wandering along the roads, and Burke still with Faith.

“I can’t leave Joey and Staci to go after Burke.” She feels guilty even as she says it, knows the importance of the Marshal, but… “I can’t. You haven’t seen what I have.”

Minkler looks shocked, but Earl is nodding before she’s even finished her sentence.

“You do what you need to do, Rook,” he says. “We’re counting on you.”

She nods at him even though that makes her angry -- why is everyone counting on her? Why is this her responsibility? She’s not the only one in Hope County who’s physically capable of fighting back against the Seeds; she’s not even the most qualified.

She’s just the one person who managed to completely escape the Seeds on that first night.

“Hey.” His voice, pitched low, draws her out of that cloud of anger, and she blinks up at him as he says, “Stay safe out there, okay?”

The fight bleeds out of her as she sighs. “You too.”

Sharky and Hurk are already dressed and kitted up, standing by the jail gates and arguing good-naturedly about something. She catches just the tail end of the discussion, right when Hurk raises his voice and throws his arms out to the side: “--show my chimps, that’s right, they’re chimps, some respect! And don’t go slanderin’ their names!”

Sharky catches her eye and her confused expression and starts laughing even harder, tipping his head back and letting the sound echo around the courtyard. It’s catching, and she finds herself laughing before she has time to remember why she’d been frowning in the first place.

“You boys ready to go?” She stops a few paces away from them, tucks her hands into her pockets while she waits, and Hurk turns around to look back at her.

“I think I’m gonna head back up to the marina,” Hurk says, “maybe see if I can’t find Mama’s helicopter. You’n’Sharky’ll be okay without me?” He looks nervous like he’s afraid she’s going to say no, so she makes sure she keeps smiling at him even though the idea of him flying a helicopter makes her super fucking nervous.

“We’ll be okay, Hurk. You do what you need to do.” It’s the same thing Earl said to her, and she sighs a little even as her smile stays.

His face lights up. “Okay! Call me when you come back around, and I’ll come help you, okay?” He’s grabbing her up in a bear hug before she has time to nod, and she can’t do anything but chuckle as he picks her up off her feet and sets her back down. “Don’t get into too much trouble without me.”

“You too,” she says, breathless, amused, and she waits quietly as Sharky gets a similarly enthusiastic goodbye.

“Have you seen Boomer this morning?”

Sharky answers by pointing; Boomer’s on his back in a patch of sun, a woman Mattie doesn’t recognize kneeling beside him to scratch at his belly. Boomer blinks his eyes open when his name is called, then rolls to his feet like he’s just remembered he’s late for work. He gives the woman a wet kiss, which makes her laugh, and then runs over and jumps up onto Mattie with his front paws.

“There’s my good boy,” she coos, and ignores Sharky’s vague noise of disgust when she accepts a slobbery Boomer-kiss of her own.

When Boomer calms down enough to sit by her feet, she puts her hands on her hips and looks up at Sharky. “Ready to fuck up John’s day?”

His face lights up. “Hell yeah, chica. Lead the way.”

[secondhand-trash]

A/N: words cannot described how entertained I was when I was writing this...

Warning: suggestive themes

Word count: 1888

(click here to see more of Osamu’s bento)

(taglist in the notes, please go to the link in my bio or send me an ask to be added to the bento taglist uwu)

-

Previously...

You were so determined to tell him everything as it was, but you immediately didn’t have the heart to do it when you were met with his round eyes fixed on you.

You had it coming…

“Yeah,” you said, “we are going through this real big project right now and everyone is on edge.”

He took your hand and pressed it against his cheek. You smiled as he leaned into your touch, caressing his jaw with your thumb. He was lucky that he’s cute, you thought to yourself, silently deciding that maybe you would try to be a little bit more openminded the next time he turned your lunch into a meme canvas.

“Then I should try to bring you some excitement with your bento then! Something that both taste good and can motivate you visually!”

-

You might have deliberately left out that the true reason to your exasperation was the fact that your brain was squeezed dry after playing a game of edible pictionary under Osamu’s drive, but you didn’t exactly lied about anything either. There was really a big project your department was undergoing and it was pushing everyone’s mental well-being to the edge. Your friend, the one who sat at the cubicle opposite to yours, nearly had a meltdown in the office the other day because the drafts of a powerpoint was printed in greyscale instead of in colour. The head of the department, a middle aged man who looked like a round department store mascot and never raises his voice, was heard sobbing in his office after getting off a conference call with the management board. Needless to say, you had been walking on eggshells in every waking minute and you felt like you had aged by years just from theses few days.

The only bit of joy you had in the office was the short 30 minutes you were mercifully given each day to fuel your body with food so you could continue to be tortured by work. Osamu kept his promise with changing up what was in your bento every single day with no repeats. Making count of what you had seen in your bento had become part of your daily routine. You had gotten several different pepes, a few cat memes and some very ambiguous looking faces (most of which you assumed to be him). You were hesitant to accept his new hobby of using your lunch as a creative outlet but now you appreciate it to no end.

Slamming the door shut, you placed your palm flat on the wall and sighed as the soreness in all the muscles you did not know was in your body started getting worse and worse.

God could give you 48 hours in a day and it still wouldn’t be enough.

“I’m home...” you muttered, kicking your shoes to the side as you limped into the living room.

Osamu appeared from the doorway and took your bag from your hand. You groaned at the weight that was finally off of your shoulder, rolling your neck to feel each joint cracking. He caught you in his arms swiftly when you latched onto him, putting all your weight on him as you allow your tired legs the rest they needed.

“Urgh...” your voice came out as an inaudible noise as you groaned into his chest, rubbing your face against the fabric of his shirt. He let your bag fell onto the ground with a chuckle, wrapping his arms around you as he felt you sinking deeper into his embrace, “if it goes on like this I’m not going to live to see tomorrow’s sunrise..."

You whined as he rubbed soothing circles on your back, the warmth reaching from his palm to your body. You felt your limbs slowly reviving under his touch, his hand trailing from your back to your shoulder blades then down your spine again. You could feel the rumbling from his chest as he spoke, his voice low by your ear and his breath ticking your neck, “Do you need me to give you some motivation?”

A sound that resembled a choked moan slipped from your lips when his hand pressed down at a particularly stiff spot on your back, “Please do.”

The corner of his lips curled up at your breathy reply. Brushing your hair away with his finger, he dipped down to the sensitive skin of your exposed neck.

“Can you make nanban chicken for tomorrow’s bento?”

He froze in place at your request. Ah, you had taken his suggestion towards a completely different direction. He thought that he sounded pretty sexy when he was whispering in your ear but perhaps the suggestive tone lacing his words went lost in your tired brain.

He bite back the sigh that was threatening to leak out, “Of course.”

-

Osamu didn’t try to initiate anything again the next couple of days, mostly because you came back looking like your soul had flown away from your body every single night that he felt bad for even thinking about doing anything that might tire you out even more. Was it bad that the thought of not being able to do anything actually made him even needier? Perhaps. But it had been a while and quite a while since you had done anything intimate and being a normal young man with normal needs, he felt like the even the slightest bit of skinship he could get from you was setting off something indescribable in him. 

Like right now, on the long weekend that he had been looking forward to every day for the past week, he swore he would combust if you shifted around next to him for just one more time on your couch that felt particularly crowded today.

You smelt so nice, he silently thought to himself as he buried his nose in your hair, and your skin was so warm. Your body fit against his perfectly, each sharp corner and soft bump molded together like the world created you two to fit with each other like this.

This was good, and all he needed was a slight push...

His arm around your waist tightened and his hand started wandering to the side of your thigh, "You know, it’s been a while since we... you know...”

He tried his hardest to not press against you when you pushed your hips back as you turned around to face him, “Hm?”

“And I miss you...” his voice was dripping with honey as his lips ghosted over where your ear connected to your neck.

You grinned, feeling the way he got more and more handsy all over you, “Is that so?”

Osamu felt his chest swelling when you didn’t push him away, “Uhm.”

Your hand was on his toned chest as you slowly sat up and he couldn’t help but let out a heavy breath in anticipation when you inched towards him.

He nearly lost balance and fell off the couch when the doorbell rang.

He wanted to scream when you perked up, snapping towards the door in excitement, “Oh it must be my parcel!”

A million different curses in all the languages he didn’t know he knew ran through his head as you leaped out of his arms, leaving his hand hanging in the air as you hopped over to the door.

His eyes followed your frame like a puppy who got kicked to the side as you, not sparing him a glance, happily walked into your room with the card box in your hand.

Running his hand down his face, he let out a muffled groan as his plan was spoiled. Throwing his head back in frustration, he felt the dread building up inside of him when he felt the familiar stuffiness in his pants.

Oh. Oh hello.

Not that you were aware, but he had gotten rather familiar with the shower and its temperature settings the past week and as he once again shivered under the cold water that rained on his head like a waterfall, he contemplated the possibility of being drowned in a cold shower.

-

Your hand was shaking as you moved the mouse so that the arrow on the screen hovered over the send button.

Was this all? Was there anything you needed to add? You paused, your mind in a state of blank before your finger bounced against the key. You stared while the page buffered, before it returned to your mailbox.

You blinked, processing this sudden overwhelming feeling that was the fact that there was nothing you needed to do anymore.

It’s over. The earlier hollowness caught up to you in the form of thundering joy and trumpets going off in your head. You finished up everything.

You could not help the little squeal that you let out as you stretched your arms wide, rolling your shoulders bac to reward them for carrying you through. Clasping your hand together, you almost felt like humming when you saw that it was just in time for lunch.

You could not be in a better mood. Your work was done and you managed to get it cleared out before lunch. How long had it been since you last had the leisure to really savour your food instead of gulping it down to squeeze out more time? 

You paused when you opened the lid of the bento, tilting your head to the side as you took in the very oddly shaped onigiri that was sitting in the center.

Hm- oh? Oh.

You scrambled to shut the box up with flailing hands when you realised what it actually was, looking around in panic to check if anyone had seen what was inside just then. 

What the fuck? What the actual fuck? 

What was he thinking? Your chest was pounding and your face was steaming with embarrassment at the very visual representation of the last thing that was safe for being shown in the office. How the hell would he think that this was a good idea?

Sliding your lower body off your chair, you carefully lifted up the corner of the lid so that you could peak inside to confirm your suspicion.

For fuck sake.

You attracted the bewildered gaze of a few concerned colleagues when you flopped down onto your desk, hiding your burning face on the cold surface to calm down your mind that was going haywire from what you have noticed in addition to the what you had figured out earlier.

That dummy did not model it after his own...

-

You were not sure if you wanted to be angry or amused when Osamu gingerly, but also a bit anticipatingly poked his head out from the doorway to observe you from afar when you came home that night.

All that was left was for him to have a tall to wag behind him when he stared at you with his round eyes like he wanted to say something but was also too scared to bring it up.

“Samu.”

He immediately stood up straight, “Yes?”

“I’ll give you 10 seconds to explain yourself.”

He blinked, his eyes skittering around the room before focusing back on you, “Was it not obvious enough?”

You found yourself unable to question his logic. Palming yourself, you did not know if laughing was the right reaction when he snuck up next to you and very awkwardly pulled you closer to him before resting his chin on your shoulder, looking up at you with a look that he deemed to be extremely irresistable.

Fine, he looked kind of cute.

You wanted to smack him when he very eagerly latched onto you when you turned to face him, his hands being everything but well-behaved as he leaned over to kiss you square on the lips.

His eyes widened when you put your hand on his face right when he was almost touching you.

“Should I worry about you doing that again?”

He shook his head frantically, looking at you from behind his bangs with a pleading look.

You laughed, before moving your hand away and let him close the distance between your lips.

[artistic-writer]

Fever :: Whump Fic

Title: Fever Rating: M for mature themes and whump  Whumpee: Killian Jones, Emma Swan, Liam Jones in a mixture of physical and emotional whump. A/N: Requested by @the-wandering-whumper who wanted to see Killian Jones with a fever for my @badthingshappenbingo card! I went all out and I hope its what you asked for.  Beta’d by @resident-of-storybrooke because I like to break the young ones ;)

Do not read if you think that I give everything a happy ending. I don’t.

Flashes of light invaded his vision, even behind his closed eyelids, and the sheet he was wrapped up in was soaked through. His eyelids fluttered, eyeballs rolling under them erratically, like he was trying to avoid something in his line of sight. Killian felt all of the hairs on his arms stand on end, followed by a rippling shiver that covered his entire body and made every muscle spasm.

The fever had developed from being in the water. Whilst sailing with his wife, Emma, they had hit turbulent waters. A freak storm in the middle of the night had rocked them both out of their hammock, their embrace broke apart by the impact with the hard, wooden floor of the boat. They had rushed out onto the deck, the crack of thunder and the flash of lightning temporarily blinding them, before a huge wave washed them over the side of their modest sized ship.

The dark seawater enveloped them as soon as they hit it, the icy water slicing their hands apart like an invisible blade, and a deep grey wave folding them over and causing them to tumble away from each other. Killian didn’t remember much after the cold set in, taking his breath and making his lungs seize in his chest. He remembered feeling a calmness, every one of his limbs limp and seemingly floating just beneath the ocean’s surface. His eyes fluttered closed and then the next thing he recalled was the steady beep of the hospital machine beside him.

He had tried to open his eyes once, but the lighting in the room was too bright and he could only make out the blurred figure at his bedside for a second before his eyelids protested too much. He knew he was safe. The warmth of the room only just touched the outside of his skin, the frigid chill from the ocean having permeated right into his bones, but the burning in his lungs had eased. All of his limbs felt heavy like they were glued to the bed, and unable to move, he simply resigned himself to staying in the indent his weight had caused in the mattress.

He felt hot, but a shiver rattled his spine, shaking every bone in his body so painfully he thought he might expire right where he lay on the sodden sheets. The fever had wracked his body for what seemed like forever and he couldn’t breathe from how tightly his muscles constricted his chest. He groaned, using every ounce of energy he had left to pull his knees up to his chest, making himself as small as possible. Sweat poured from his brow but his pillow was already drenched, stained yellow, and the smell of stale sweat invaded his nostrils.

“Oh, baby, I’m right here.”

Emma’s voice was soft and smooth, like a soothing balm washing over him and stopping his quaking body from trying to shake itself apart. Her hand on his clammy cheek was like a cool compress, drawing out the toxins in his body that had got in when he had gulped down so much sea water. He sighed a relieved breath, ignoring the shooting pain down his neck as he nudged his face into her palm.

“You-you-you’re alright, l-love,” Killian stuttered, his blue tinted lips ticking up at only one side due to his weakness.

“I’m alright,” Emma smiled, her eyes fluttering closed as she nodded reassuringly. “I’m alright,” she repeated, the pad of her thumb brushing over the scar on his cheek.

“I’m h-hot,” Killian whimpered pathetically, his teeth chattering together despite his body continuing to perspire from every pore.

“I know, baby,” Emma said, her voice remorseful despite the fact she couldn’t take away his pain. “Let me help you change your clothes,” she insisted, pulling back the lightweight hospital blanket and balling it at the foot of the bed. “You have to sweat out the fever, Killian, but you don’t have to stay in these wet clothes.”

With her help, Killian rolled onto his side. He moaned, every muscle arguing against the tiny movement, the sound from his mouth something unrecognizable as his own voice. He was hoarse, his throat dry and scratchy and the pitch of his voice had been lowered. He sounded like a wounded animal writhing in a trap, the agony of moving tearing invisible shreds through every one of his limbs like he was rolling on glass.

He could feel Emma’s hands on him, her fingertips cooler than his skin as she pushed the gown over his shoulders and let it slide off his arms. The pinching sensation in his shoulder joints throbbed as he rolled them, his jaw clamping shut and a hiss sounding through his teeth. It was agony, the only saving grace Emma’s dulcet tones as she whispered her apologies.

“Is that better?” Emma cooed, helping him roll onto his back.

With a painful grunt he nodded, the mattress seemingly jagged and rubbing against his body like the sand of the beach he had been relaxing on not too long ago. It had all happened so quickly. One minute they were sleeping and then the next they were thrown into the sea, the sound of the waves as they churned them up like the thunder in the sky. Darkness followed, a silence humming in his ears that was only brightened by the sound of Emma’s voice.

She was his light, the guide that pulled him from the depths and warmed him as he lay incapacitated by the chill in his veins. All of his muscles relaxed the second she laid her hand on him, the tickle of her skin as it dragged against his so welcome and familiar that he smiled. And for the first time since he had been pulled from the ocean, he felt no pain.

“So much better,” Killian sighed with a more reassuring smile.

“You’re going to be okay, baby,” Emma whispered, brushing the hair from his eyes with a sweep of her palm. “When this fever breaks, you will be okay.”

Killian let his eyes fluttered closed for a little longer than he had before, the exhaustive efforts of his body’s fight manifesting in his fatigue. His jaw creaked as he yawned, his shoulders shaking off one last shiver and his hands balling the sheet that Emma had tucked up under his chin.

“You’re tired,” Emma told him softly but sternly. “Sleep, baby,” she added, the sweetness of her words reflected in her smile that Killian could just make out through the blurred edges of his vision. He felt her hand slip from his brow, caressing the side of his face before it finally rested lovingly over his heart, slowing the erratic pounding of his heart. “I’ll be right here.”

Her words were a haze as sleep took hold of him, his eyelids stinging and finally too heavy for him to lift anymore. His breathing evened out, the tap of Emma’s fingers against his chest the last thing he felt before finally drifting off to sleep, the weight pushing down on him easing him into comfort.

Pinprick flashes of white invaded the blackness of sleep and lightning flickered in his dream, casting a white light over the vision he saw. It was of the storm but it was different, the golf ball sized hailstones pounding the deck of their boat as the wind blew through the single sail they had failed to tie up in time. Killian frantically called for Emma, the sound of the storm drowning out his words as she looked up at him just as the sail boom whacked into her and threw her overboard.

Killian gasped for breath, his muscles screaming in protest as he sat bolt upright in bed. The beep from his monitor sped up immediately as he hyperventilated, the back of his throat prickling with dryness as he rasped the only word he could say.

“Emma.”

Hands grabbed at his shoulders, stopping him from falling forward anymore. They were bigger, more masculine, and Killian clawed against them as he struggled for breath. After Killian’s blood pressure had levelled out his vision returned, the room spinning only a little longer before he turned his head and set eyes on his brother.

“Liam?” Killian gasped on a ragged breath. “Where’s Emma?”

His eyes searched the room, rapid blinks not enough to focus his vision, but there was no sign of what he saught. His brow beaded with sweat, his armpits prickling with heat and he clutched at his brother’s arm in his panic. Liam was at his side, his calming words falling on deaf ears as Killian noticed a distinct lack of evidence to suggest Emma had even been in the room. His fever had broke, but he wouldn’t feel better until he found what he was looking for.

“Where is Emma?” He repeated, slowly accenting each word at his brother.

Liam’s face changed from elation to sorrow instantly, his grip on his brother loosening as he fell back into the chair beside Killian’s bed. Killian’s wide eyes flitted over his face, a heavy lump forming in Liam’s throat as he opened his mouth to speak but no words came out. He tore his gaze away, unable to look his younger brother in the eye for fear he would be able to find the answer he sought in the greyness of his eyes.

“She’s-” Liam began in a quavering voice.

“No.” Killian clenched his jaw defiantly. “No.” He repeated shaking his head and ignoring the pain in his teeth.

“She hit her head,” Liam said unsteadily, his words unbelievable to even himself. He shuffled forward, the chair making a grinding noise against the polished floor, and he reached out to rest a comforting hand on Killian’s shoulder.

“No, she was just here,” Killian breathed, the word lost on a single sob that hitched in his chest. “Emma!” He cried out, the sound echoing around his room. “Love, where are you?”

He shook off his brother’s touch and grabbed at the bed sheet, throwing it aside and swinging his legs over the bed. Killian planted his feet on the floor, simultaneously ripping the electrodes from his body and ignoring the pain as it pulled off clumps of his chest hair. Liam was barely able to get to him before Killian tried to push himself to his feet, weakness taking his legs from under him and he toppled to the floor.

“No!” Killian screamed in frustration, leaning back and banging his head hard against the metal bed frame.

“Killian, stop!” Liam pleaded, sinking to his knees beside his brother and grabbing his head in his hands. Liam turned his brother’s head, palmed pressed hard against his cheeks until Killian’s watery eyes opened to look at him.

“She was just here,” Killian sobbed again, but this time he voice was cracked, small and childlike and it broke Liam’s heart clean in two. Killian tried to shake his head again but Liam’s grip stopped the movement before it even began. Liam finally swallowed the lump in his throat and exhaled hard, his words of apology struggling to find their way to the tip of his tongue.

Emma was gone.

The sea had taken her, turning her over and over in its grasp until she had no energy left to fight any longer. The lifeguards had found her body sometime after Killian had been recovered, but she was already dead. They were too late. Liam had sat at his brother’s bedside for days, listening to him mutter deliriously about his deceased wife as if she were in the room. When the nurses had come to help him out of his fever soaked bedclothes, Killian had talked to them as if they were Emma from the recesses of his sleep, moments of calm passing over him that had him smiling from his reverie.

It broke Liam’s heart, even more, to know that his brother loved Emma so much that even his fever dream was about her. That even as his brain tried to shutdown and reboot itself, she was all he saw. With a gentle shake of his head, Liam took his brother’s hand in his and sighed the heaviest breath he had ever taken.

“Killian, I truly am sorry.” Liam’s voice cracked half way through his words, Killian’s grip on his hand tightening with his realisation.

Killian’s wails could be heard throughout the hospital and as he held him to his chest, fighting off his own tears, Liam wondered if his brother was strong enough to survive losing the biggest part of himself. Emma was more than just his wife, she was his everything, his true love and soul mate. Killian had lived through the storm that had taken her, but would he be able to live the rest of his life without her?

[ventrue-rosary]

33. This is gonna hurt. (bonus points if you make the two ppl partners :3 helping one another)

Thanks nonny! Autumn is my own, Kevir belongs to @theasexualityfandomI 

This one’s been sitting in my inbox for a while so have it in all it’s undrafted mediocrity 

Ko-Fi

Since that damn fireball Autumn had felt everything far too much. The pain, the loneliness, the guilt–it all piled up until it suffocated her, stealing her breath yet not having the mercy to kill her. She remained in the land of the living, dragging herself from day to day as the agony only worsened with each new morning without Winter, and with the words of her mother’s cruelty driving a dagger closer to her heart, inch by inch. Autumn wanted to feel something, anything else. 

Waterdeep fell victim to a hard winter, driving most people to seek the comfort of crackling hearths and bellyfulls of cheap ale, particularly at evening when even the water froze over. 

It is still a foolish thing to wander through the most dangerous areas of Waterdeep at this time of night, when only the vilest scums braved the cold winds in hopes of finding easy prey. Autumn normally is a far cry from easy prey. But without her weapons or a general regard for her safety, tonight’s a different story. 

Autumn walks without an exact destination in mind, winding through the streets and alleys, letting the cold night air burn her lungs and clear her mind, as much as possible as the sound of drunken voices and music stream from the various taverns and inns. She finds herself drawn to the a particularly raucous one, named The Weighed Anchor. From the open door pours out the orange light from the hearth and the many, many torches and candles lighting the interior. People laugh, talk and cheer, washing away the days worries with celebration. She wonders how many tankards it takes to reach such levels of elation. 

She steps inside, enjoying the rush of warm air, which caves to a small knot of anxiety as many eyes fix on her. Though small in stature, her wings and horns always draw attention. People part for her with nudges, whispers and more than a few snickers. She feels the swell of anger that simmers beneath her skin as she makes her way to the bar.

The barkeeper, a stout hardy human wearing a sleeveless shirt to reveal his heavily scarred, muscled arms to the world takes one look at her and snorts.

‘Think you’re in the wrong place, sweetheart. Castle district is that way.’ He points with the filthy rag he is using to attempt to clean the glasses. 

‘I didn’t come here expecting honeyed wine and polite company,’ she responds, hopping onto a bar stool. 

‘What are you here for?’

‘Looking to forget my troubles.’

He grins, revealing several missing and chipped teeth. ‘You’ve come to the right place.’

Autumn hardly every touches mugs of cheap ale. But tonight she chases them down one after the other, bearing with the grim taste as she looks to the bottom of her tankards for even just a shred of happiness that continues to elude her, but the more the collection of mugs grow, the less cohesive her mind is, and that helps. She finds her mind unable to really focus on anything other than how her vision has doubled and everything around her seems a might shinier. It hits her that now is the time to return home.

Autumn slips off the bar-stool–quite literally, falling face-first into the back of a burly human nearly twice her height and girth, spilling his mug of ale all over his and his friends’ front.

‘Oi, watch it,’ he growls.

Autumn mumbles a slurred apology as she sets out for the door when a meaty hand clamps over her shoulder.

‘What did you just say to me, freak?’

Autumn shakes his hand off. ‘That I was sorry, but I take it back because you’re, quite frankly, a jack-ass.’

His snickering drinking buddies quiet with one withering glare before he sets his sights back on Autumn, rolling up his sleeves to reveal impossibly large forearms bursting with veins and muscles.

‘Someone needs to teach you some manners, little bitch.’

Her irritation grows. ‘Look, I’ve had an unfortunate few days. Do yourself the favour of removing yourself from my company before you regret it.’

He breaks out in guffaws of laughter, clearly unimpressed. 

‘You’re cute, I’ll give you that. I’m still gonna smash in that pretty face of yours.’

Autumn swings first, before he even finishes his sentence. Her alcohol-addled mind misjudges the distance and her first comes up a few inches short. He grabs her wrist, pulling her forward into the knee waiting to slam into her abdomen. It forces a cough from her lips as the air is forcibly knocked out of her. An elbow right in the centre of her spine drives her to the ground, dizzy and nauseated.

‘Hey, no rough-housing in my bar! Take it outside.’

‘If you insist.’ His expression sounds rather smug as she physically lists her from the ground, carrying her through the parting crowd of spectators. Through pain-squinted eyes Autumn sees them cheer, pump their fists in the air or raise their flagons, yet none step in to help, or look even a fraction concerned.

His boot kicks open the door, and with a roar he hoists Autumn above his head before hurling her forward. She raises her wings to try and catch herself midair and swing herself back to attack–big mistake. The momentum of the throw right in the direction of the blowing wind sends her careening into the side of a building rather than a harmless slide down the alleyway, her wings still outstretched. They strike against hard brick and mortar first with a series of sickening cracks that prelude the burst f agony spiderwebbing across her wings and spine. She can’t even scream through the pain, just breathless gasps as the pain continues its merciless onslaught. She crumples onto the ground, rolling on her front to take the weight from her broken wings. 

A series of feet and fists strike her like hammers, but she barely feels the initial impacts over the throbbing back pain, but it is enough for her mind to mercifully shut down.

‘…jy? Dajy!’ A voice calls her to consciousness, but with the spreading soreness across her entire form, she wishes they wouldn’t.

She groans, and tries to roll onto her back from habit–then quickly returns to her side with a cry. Her eyes flutter open, feeling the sting of the cold morning air. Kevir hovers over her, his face managing a weak smile when their eyes meet.

‘Dajy..I was so worried. You were missing all night.’ His fingers trail lightly over her arm, her shoulder, just stopping shy of her wing joint, where her wings both lay pathetic and broken. His expression forms into a snarl. ‘Who did this to you?’

Autumn tries to recall faces, but she can;t. Just muscled arms and mocking laughter. She swallows thickly, her mouth tasting thoroughly awful and dry as carpet. ‘I–I don’t know. Dock ward scum.’

‘If I ever find out who, so help me god…’ Kevir gently encourages her in a sitting position. ‘Can you stand? We should get you home.’

She meekly nods, and with Kevir’s help finds her feet. Her head swims and spins, pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer on an anvil. She lulls against him for support with a dazed moan. She half expects a witty joke accompanied by an easy grin, but he merely winds an arm around her waist and helps her on the long walk back to their manor.

Due to the early hour, they are the only two awake–a small mercy she is thankful for. Kevir sets her down on a chair close to the dying embers of the fire.

‘I need to set the bones before I heal you. I won’t lie, dajy, this is gonna hurt.’

He steps behind her. Autumn’s hands grip the sides of the chairs tightly in preparation.The wood nearly buckles under her grip as he forces the bones of her ings into their proper position. She hears him whisper words of encouragement and affection, yet they are lost behind her howl.

A warm sensation eases the pain as he uses healing magic to mend her injuries, and she softly sighs in utter relief.

‘Thank you, dajy,’ she whispers softly, nearly collapsing back into the chair, her head lolling to rest on the back of it. Kevir comes to stand in front of her, placing a soft kiss on her brow.

‘Of course.’

Footsteps announce the arrival of a sleep-dishevelled Gar as he fixes them both with a half-amused, half-exasperated look. ‘Guys, I’m thrilled for you and all but if you could practice you’re kinky, noisy sex out of ear-shot of the rest of us, that would be great.’

[wearebloodhunter]

Briggs and Paisley, Or; Good Ale in Bad Cups on Peony Hill

“Looks like luck’s on our side for once, Paisley.” Briggs holds up his open journal. “We’re already in Peony Hill and the guide said we wouldn’t make it for three more days. If we keep this up we’ll be in Port Kerouac an entire week ahead of the package recipients.”

“That sounds like news worth celebrating. I say we toast!” Paisley ignores the half drunk pint in front of himself, glancing over his shoulder and swiping the full tankard of an inattentive man before holding it up to Briggs with a grin.

“You know, one of these days you’ll knock back the wrong cup and end up with your teeth knocked out, Paisley.” Briggs knocks his own half-empty pint against the tankard and drinks.

“It’s no worse than the gambles you take, Briggs, remember that time you won and lost two month’s pay in less than-?”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” Briggs rolls his eyes and slowly tips Paisley’s stolen tankard over, prompting the other to down the entire thing in one go and slam it on the counter.

“I can already see your free week, Briggs,” Paisley spreads his hands in a dramatic gesture,“You’ll walk into a gambling den, you’ll win thousands, you’ll lose thousands, and you’ll walk out with the exact same fortunes you had going in down to the copper. It’s a goddamn superpower; you don’t get ahead when you gamble but you don’t fall behind, either.”

“It’s the lack of falling behind that’s the real superpower.” Briggs reaches over for Paisley’s abandoned pint and casually sips it. “Plenty of men lose everything at the tables, I can’t seem to lose anything at them.”

“I bet you could walk into The Rowdy Raven and become the first ever creature to walk out with your finances still intact.”

“I’m a betting man, not a brain-dead one. Everyone knows every table at The Raven’s as rigged as a loaded gallows. Mark my words, Paisley, if I ever took a single willing step into that place Lady Luck would rescind my old charms and let The Raven have at me with all the vigor of a starved man.”

“You seem damn sure of yourself, Briggs, why not try your luck at-” Paisley inhales sharply, expression turning sour as he looks down and presses a hand to his mouth.

“Paisley?” Briggs leans forward. “Are you alright?”

“Something I ate bit me in the ass.” He spits in a hurried, breathless tone.

“Tch, it’s karma biting you in the ass for stealing booze. You better- Paisley?” Briggs barely manages to catch a glimpse of the other rushing out the tavern door. He stares at the wide-open entryway for a few seconds before shrugging and finishing off Paisley’s pint from earlier. “Eh, he’ll be fine.”

Paisley is not fine.

He leans against the outer tavern wall, panting as a second wave of nausea balls up in his gut in time with the sharp pains prickling up and down his trunk.

“I... don’t remember eating anything that looked like th- HURK!” He digs his fingertips into the wood siding to stay upright, flowers jerking back and forth as more dark crimson splashes onto their petals and ooze down their stems. The sharp pains sizzle up his spine and begin pounding thorns into his skull as his stomach burns so intensely he feels like he’s swallowed live embers. The massive flower head have perked up by the time he wrenches his eyes open again, displaying his own darkly colored vomit to him like trinkets on silver platters.

“That’s gotta be- it’s a trick of the light. It has to be a- a... a trick of the light...” He plucks a peony from the bush -the soft fuzz of the stem feels like barbed wire to his over-sensitive nerves- and stumbles towards the light of a tavern window. Paisley can barely keep himself vertical by the time he holds the flower up to the buttery light, the dark red glittering as he slowly turns it over.

“...I’m fucked.” He collapses against the wall and dull pain radiates through his entire body as he slides down. “I’m...” He takes a deep breath, stomach and lungs roiling as he opens his mouth. Panic bubbles in his chest and he tries to shoves it away before leaning over and fertilizing another patch of peonies.

‘I have to take stock of the situation.’ He thought to himself. ‘I have to make a plan. Maybe if I act fast enough- No, if I act fast enough I won’t die. When I act fast enough, I won’t die. I won’t die. I won’t die tonight.’

Paisley muses to himself, laying out the facts one-by-one: He’s vomiting blood. Most likely because he’s been poisoned. Most likely after drinking that damn stolen ale. It’d been too long since the last stop for anything else to be the cause. At least that means he wasn’t singled out. At least no one wanted to stop the meeting in Port Kerouac that badly. At least if he dies, he’ll die ‘heroically’, saving an inattentive bastard from their fate. He didn’t even take a close enough look at the bloke to decide if they deserved it or not.

“Jackass...” He tries to take a deep breath and drag himself up the wall, only to end up leaning over and sputtering in the flora again. His limbs feel as heavy as wet rags and every muscle in his arms spasms in protest as he tries to avoid ending up face down in the mess.

‘Alright. Moving is a bad idea. Not moving is a worse idea. I need help and I can’t crawl to it. I can call for it, but breathing too deeply is a bad idea right now. Not calling for help is an even worse idea, though.’ Paisley inhales through his nose, the cold air stabbing deep into his core and mixing a new pain into his trunk to contrast the molten lava bubbling inside him.

“BRIGGS!” Shouting makes his throat burn even worse than the icy air and another wave of white-hot nausea balls up inside him at the exertion.

“BRIGGS!” Bile rises in his throat again and he spits in into the grass.

“BRIGGS!” His mouth tastes like copper and fire and heat and pain. “Briggs... please...” The wind picks up again, caressing the sheen of sweat on his body before a small body blocks the breeze.

“Holy shit,” Briggs whispers, the blood smeared on his fingertips transferring to Paisley's shoulders as he grabs them. “For the love of god, please still be alive.”

“You’re a really-,” Paisley wrinkles his nose at the new foul smells clinging to his friend. “-really bad listener.”

“Insult me later, I’ve got your life to save.” Briggs leaps to his feet, bursting into the tavern doorway and shouting for help.

Paisley ended up unconscious in the innkeeper’s bed. Everyone thought putting him on a stretcher and carrying away would be a simple task, but it soon became an arduous trial: every new sensation overwhelmed his senses until he felt like he was suffocating and the lightest touch had him screaming as if his nerves were sticking a foot out of his skin. The local healers worked their fingers to the bones at his bedside while Briggs pressed himself to the foot, asking dozens of questions and fidgeting like a spooked horse. They did all that could that night, then declared Paisley’s fate in the hands of the gods.

 Briggs keeps an uneasy vigil over Paisley from that moment forward, refusing to leave the room or the bedside for more than a few minutes. The days spend watching over Paisley’s prone form feel akin to the slow torture of starving to death: nothing changes but the position of the sun and yet the anxiety in Briggs’ gut gets more and more potent with every hour; growing into a pain that no food or drink or conversation can soothe. He looks like he’s ready to explode and constantly paces back and forth to stem off pent up energy.

The nights feel like the torture of being beaten to death: nearly every hour brings something new, whether it be terrifying, exhausting, both, or just plain annoying as sleep deprivation sets in. The first night it was sounds: Paisley would pant as his skin burned and sweat soaked the sheets, then he began to scream gibberish that woke everyone in the building before calming down and keeping Briggs up with growls, whispered cries for help and indecent moans. The second night it was fits. First, a seizure that terrified everyone who saw it, then nightmare-induced thrashing and cries for help that couldn’t come. The third night was calmer, though Briggs still got no sleep as his friend mumbled and groaned for hours on end.

 The fourth night never comes, as on the third day, something finally changes.

“...briggs...?” Paisley cracks his eyes open then squeezes them shut again, the sunlight already burning to the back of his skull. “Briggs...?” He inches his hand towards the sound of Briggs’ soft breathing, now as loud and clear as a wedding bell to his sensitive ears. (Pain prickles in his joints as he moves.) “Briggs, you whoreson, wake up.” Paisley’s fingers bump into greasy hair and he freezes, trying to puzzle out how Briggs’ head ended up on the mattress.

He tries to open his eyes again and the sudden deluge of information makes his head ache. After snapping his eyes shut again he peels them open in tiny increments, marveling at all the new things his eyes can pick up. It’s like a film has been rubbed off his eyes; every color is more vibrant and the subtle changes in hue and light stand out like never before. When he opens his eyes a little more he can see every crack in the walls and ceiling and every thread in the curtains.

Briggs has drapped himself over the side of the bed, resting his head on his arms and snoring softly. (Paisley wonders if he could count the hairs on his head from the other side of the room. It feels possible.) He cards a hand through Briggs’ greasy hair, savoring the simple sight of sunlight through the window and the sounds of Peony Hill slowly rousing itself around them. He can hear someone swearing outside as they drop something, the innkeeper frying eggs in the kitchen, and the soft swish of washrags on tavern tables.

A out-of-place sound appears and alarms bells ring in Paisley’s head. He grabs a handful of Briggs’ hair and the other wakes with a hiss, clapping one hand on his head and glaring at Paisley. “What the-?!”

“Someone's here.” Paisley whispers, looking at the door so intensely Briggs wonders if he can see through it.

The sound of heavy, steady footfalls comes closer as Briggs begins listening and he puts a hand on the dagger at his side, slowly leaning over Paisley.

The footsteps stop in front of the door. The two men tense up as the doorknob turns, every click of a tumblr sounding like a firework.

The door finally swings open and a grim looking man in grey nobleman’s clothes steps in, then freezes at the sight of Paisley. He visibly looks Paisley up and down, blinks, and finally notices Briggs. “You’re not dead.”

Paisley looks at Briggs, then back at the newcomer. “No, I’m not.”

“You should be.”

“I feel like death warmed over, if that satisfies your... requirements, sir?”

The nobleman looks behind him and gestures to a couple of waiting men, then looks back to the duo. “This is about to get very interesting.”

“What do you mean by that?” Briggs bristles, glaring at the newcomer.

“By that, I mean your friend gets to enjoy the status of ‘sole survivor’. Put your knife away, I have no plans to harm either of you.”

Briggs and Paisley look at the man as if he’s struck them. Their mouths hang open, Paisley unable to speak as Briggs begins to sputter. “Wh- what?! Sole- what?! Sole survivor of what?! You-”

The man raises a hand to silence him. “Listen, and I will speak. I am Alastair Grey, blood hunter and a member of the Order of the Lycan. A week ago, one of our own stole a few vials of Hunter’s Bane and decided to have a little fun at the expense of others’ lives. I was tasked with tracking the string of deaths to the source and I found it.”

“What happened to the... the turncoat?” Paisley asks.

“They have been dealt with.” Alistair says in a grim tone that leaves no room for misinterpretation.

“Serves ‘em right,” Briggs says. “How many other people did they nick before you nicked them?”

“I don’t see fit to disclose that information to the unindoctrinated.”

“At least tell Paisley. He drank the bloodhaunter juice and he’s still kicking.”

“Bloodhunter. And...” Alastair sighs, “Despite having survived, Paisley is still unindoctrinated as well. Most bloodhunters are folded into the order and trained long before they’re imbibed. This is... an oddity.”

“I think that was the turncoat’s point.” Paisley says.

“Say again?”

“Well, I don’t know much -at all, honestly- but it sounds like the turncoat was trying to break the rules and see what happened. If they wanted to poison people- why use something so secretive? If they wanted to kill people, they’d just use a sword like anyone else. They had a different plan. And... I guess I’m the result?”

“That’s quite astute for a letter carrier.” Alastair says.

“We have our moments.” Briggs shrugs. “You don’t survive on the backroads through sheer luck.”

“I’m alive. You can refill whatever plots you just dug up. What’s your plan now, Captain Grey?”

“I’m not a captain. And... This has never happened before. You know we can’t just let you go now, right?”

“I’ve been assuming so.”

“As soon as you’re fit to travel, I’ll take you to the Order. Further discussions can happen there.”

“Just me?” Paisley burrows his brow.

“You are the one who survived imbibement without any training.”

“...I...” Paisley looks at Briggs.

“We don’t - We’re a package deal, alright? I don’t care what I have to go through, Paisley and I don’t split up. Only fools and deathseekers go on the road alone.” Briggs says. He can feel Alistare try to pierce through him with a single look and holds his ground, steeling his gaze and surrendering nothing.

“Alright,” Alistare turns towards the door. “You can accompany him to the Order’s headquarters, but I can't guarantee you’ll be allowed entry inside. Good day, you two.” He leaves,the waiting men following him out the door.

“Briggs...?” Paisley says.

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think we’re gonna make it to Port Kerouac on time.”

“Or at all... I already got another team on the package.”

“Good.” Paisley pauses, looking out the window and catching a glimpse of Alistair's tailcoats. “Hell, I don’t think we’ll ever make it to Port Kerouac.”

Briggs looks out the window as well, the deep set bags under his eyes slowly turning purple. He shrugs and starts rooting through through his pack.  “Eh, the tables there are rigged, anyway.”