#just in case you were thinking you hadn't quite seen enough content of this man's back today 👹

[kindahoping4forever]

Ash IG Story

[dlscenarios]

Delicate

Benedict Bridgerton x f!reader SMUT

"Come here, you could meet me in the back"

Cw: SMUT, AFAB Reader + Reader wears period-typical feminine clothes, Ben catches feelings instantly (like an idiot), Why are all Bridgertons handsy, Vaginal Fingering, Pull Out Method/Coming on Stomach, Sex with Feelings, Is Vanilla a Kink?

I don't like this one as much as I liked Anthony's but I'm sure I'll write more for Ben eventually.

MDNI

It is oft said that second sons have more fun. They have the wealth and influence of a firstborn son, but they also have the freedom to behave in ways their elder brother could only dream of. This was the case with Benedict Bridgerton, second son of the late Viscount Bridgerton and only two years younger than the new one. While being one of the most eligible bachelors in London, he somehow manages to deflect wedding bells every time his eager mother brings around a single lady. He often escapes to White's for a stiff drink, but lately he has taken up going to parties thrown by the other unmarried men in the ton.

Benedict had never been a fan of Phillip Cavender — his soirées were always hit or miss — but tonight's actually seemed to be quite good for once. The spirits were high end yet no guest had thrown up the contents of their stomach thus far and the rooms didn't smell of sweat and sex. Of course, there was still the occasional couple in the hallway with their tongues down each other's throat, but the Cavenders' house had seen much worse based on the last few times Benedict had paid a visit. Though better than the last, the party was not exactly to Benedict's taste.

The only unwed Bridgerton brother — aside from Gregory who was not quite old enough for marriage — had just stepped outside with his glass to enjoy some fresh air when he heard a groan from the other side of the house. Benedict, though intrigued, decided not to butt in but subconsciously took a small step closer toward the sound. He took a sip of his drink before someone, supposedly the one that had made the aforementioned noise, stepped out from behind the wall, halting instantly once they spotted him.

You had been hiding on the side of the Cavenders' house, having been relegated there after the friend you had come with started getting debauched by a nameless lord in the hallway. It hadn't exactly been an unwanted change of scenery, the party had begun to take a turn for the worse when Phillip started chugging brandy straight from the bottle, but you would have preferred to gather your friend and flee had she not been taken up with someone.

When you rounded the corner, posture relaxed and hair freed from the coiffure it'd been in all night, Benedict's heart almost leapt out of his chest. He couldn't put his finger on why, but it had been the first time in his nearly thirty years of life that someone caught him so off guard. You took a startled step back, eyes widened after nearly running into the man.

You let out a small surprised squeak before clearing your throat. "Apologies..." you muttered, offering the stranger a quick nod of acknowledgment before turning to walk past him.

"Wait!" Benedict's mouth had worked before his mind. He couldn't let you leave. Something about you drew him in and after years of thinking he'd never feel the same flutter his siblings felt when meeting their spouses, a random partygoer gave him that exact feeling. However, now that he had your attention and you waited for him to speak once more, he couldn't think of anything that'd make you stay. Instead, he just gazed at you, studying every feature of your face, your hair, your chest...

"Sir...?" your voice came out meek but was enough to force Benedict back to earth. He blinked and straightened his stance, instinctively bitting his lip as he tried to think of what to say. Would a compliment be too forward? Too soon to ask for your time?

"Would you...care for a drink?" He immediately regretted uttering such a flubbed line.

Much to his relief, you tittered, "Sorry but I do not drink. Especially not at a party such as this."

Benedict nodded. There went his only idea...

You cut off his thoughts, "You seem familiar."

He looked up from the ground. "Do I?" He could track your eyes as they studied his appearance.

"You're a Bridgerton, aren't you?"

That made Benedict crack a nervous smile. Of course you'd clock him as a Bridgerton. Everyone in the ton knew his family and how they all shared the same features. "Can you guess which one?"

"Well...considering you are here and not with a  wife, I assume you're Benedict. Unless you're the viscount hiding from the viscountess." Your smirk told him you were joking. If you knew Benedict's name, surely you knew enough about his brother to know he was too enamored to ever leave Kate's side.

He mirrored your smirk. "I assure you, I am not married." He paused briefly before asking, "Might I ask why you were out here alone?"

You sighed and pointed toward the Cavenders' front door. "My friend is in there. She's found some man to make her very happy, for turn of phrase."

Benedict let out an "ah" and leaned against the side of the house.

"Why are you out here alone?" you asked, clasping your hands in front of you.

"Not quite a fan of Cavender's parties. I only came because a few buddies asked me to."

"I am not a fan either. The man himself is so...distasteful. I do not understand why any respectable person comes here."

"What is your name, if I may be so earnest?" Benedict pipes in and the moment you answered, the very sound of your name became a tight yet comforting presence around his heart. It felt right, as if he had been searching for it all his life. He had never heard of you or your family before but meeting you hadn't felt like meeting the other strangers of the ton.

He couldn't even tear his eyes away from you, meeting yours as he suggested aimlessly, "Do you...wish to go inside? It is quite cold out here tonight. I'm sure we could find a room to stow away in."

It, in fact, wasn't "quite cold" at night in the middle of June, but Benedict chose not to correct his mistake either. You seemingly didn't care to call him out as well, as your reply came in the form of linking your arm with his, eyes still glued to each other's as he lead you through the house.

After escorting you into a vacant bedroom and shutting the door, Benedict downed the rest of the alcohol in the glass he'd forgotten about until then before setting it on a nearby table and sitting on the side of the bed, gesturing for you to sit next to him. His eyes trailed over your dress, taking in how it hugged you in places too improper to show off in any other occasion.

His hand subconsciously moved to rest on your thigh, just above your knee, as he spoke with a smirk. "Quite the dress..."

You smiled shyly. "My friend suggested I wear it."

Benedict seemed much closer than he had been five seconds ago, yet neither of you moved away. He replied lowly, "I should thank her then."

Without warning, Benedict leaned in and captured your lips with his. His hand squeezed your leg a little tighter when your hands moved up to his head, pulling him into you as you returned his kiss. His hand trailed up your thigh, aching to bring you closer if it were possible and, when he squeezed, you noticed how dangerously close he was to your ass.

Breaking the kiss, you pressed a softer one to his jaw before leaning back to meet his gaze once more. His own hand now cupped your cheek. Benedict leaned in again, this time resting his forehead to yours. Neither of you said anything, not wanting to ruin the moment with meaningless words, instead basking in the other's presence.

The air had changed and with it changed the way you saw the man holding you. Instead of Mr. Bridgerton, the most eligible bachelor and skilled eluder of the aisle, you saw Benedict, a beautiful, warmer soul than most men you had met in the ton. It left you wanting to know more of him. It left you wanting him.

As if on the same wavelength, the two of you leaned in once more, the hand he'd had on your cheek slipping into your hair as the kiss grew hotter. Benedict groaned into your mouth, instinctively rolling his hips into the air when you returned his moan. He broke the kiss, gripping your shoulder, softly panting against your lips.

"I want you..." he whispered, eyes shining as if he'd just then realized it. "I want you..."

Your hands held his face again, futilely steadying him when you felt the hand sliding along your back tremble.

"I need you..." Benedict muttered, pulling your lower half closer. "Please..." His hand trailed over your clothed leg again.

He could have blamed it on the alcohol had you declined. He would have accepted your decision, though shattering his heart, apologized and fled. Instead, he meticulously watched as you hiked up your skirt, bunching the fabric at your thigh. Without hesitation, Benedict slipped his hand under, passing your stocking and caressing the soft skin above it. His eyes looked up to meet yours, silently asking if you were sure. Your warm smile coaxed him into kissing you again, softer and sweeter than the two prior and ending much too soon, but then he pressed similar pecks to your jaw and neck. His thumb rubbed gentle circles on your thigh before moving up to squeeze your clothed breast.

Your breath hitched as he mouthed at your neck. The hand at your chest then groped your hip then finally rest on your ass. With another chaste kiss to your cheek and a limp tug to your skirt, he whispers into your ear, "Take this off. Lie on the bed."

Without wasting a second, after he pulled away, you reached back to unbutton your gown. Benedict's eyes were glued to your body as he followed your actions, throwing his coat and shirt to the floor in time with your dress. He helped you undress further, having to restrain himself from ripping off your stays. The moment your back hit the bed, Benedict was on you, caressing your newly-bared thigh.

Benedict lowered himself to capture your lips again. Warm hands slipped up your sides, one taking a breast into it as he planted another peck to your cheek, whispering breathlessly into your ear, "Perfect..."

His lips pressed a kiss below your ear before trailing down your neck, past your collarbone and stopping at your chest. He mouthed at your breast, showering the soft skin in languid kisses. The hand that once held one slid between your legs, the pads of his fingers wasting no time in circling your clit. You let out a gasped moan, instinctively curling into his hand. Benedict's lips met your jaw as nimble fingers rubbed just a little faster.

Your own hand, unsure of what else to do, sneaked up his shoulder and rested at the nape of his neck, guiding him in for another kiss. His tongue expertly clashed with yours when you felt a finger slowly push into you. Benedict swallowed your moan, unable to hold back one of his own as he felt your heat clench around him. He gently thrusted into you, thumb returning to your neglected clit. As your lips departed, a quiet smack echoing between your bodies, your hips rolled to match his movements.

The way your pleading eyes looked up to meet his almost broke Benedict's resolve. It was almost like an angel had fallen from heaven and landed right beneath him. He studied the way your lips parted to allow breathy pants to escape, the glass-like shine in your stare begging him for more, the way your back arched when he applied just a little more pressure to your bud. God, if he wouldn't kill to paint the very sight into the recesses of his mind.

Benedict was admittedly never a patient man — a trait all Bridgertons carried if his nearly thirty years of experience with seven siblings was any indication — so it should have come as no surprise when he started growing antsy. The ache in his trousers was growing harder to ignore and, with a dejected whine from you, he slipped his hand away to undo the buttons. Your eyes were glued to his newly bared form. Benedict resumed his position above, hands roaming your figure again. Everything about you was perfect.

His fingers dragged across your ribs, running warm, gentle lines over them as he whispered, "Are you ready?" He hardly heard himself, lost in his head, admiring your body in another once-over. However, Benedict heard your breathy "yes" clearly. 

He took himself into one hand, holding the plush flesh of your thigh in the other as he aligned with your entrance. He slowly entered, breath hitching at the way your body welcomed him. Once he finally bottomed out, Benedict gripped your hips, blunt nails digging into them in a futile attempt to ground himself. He couldn't come before you, but the way you squeezed him, taking him as if created by God to do so, did not make that an easy feat.

Benedict was no virgin — hardly any man his age and status hadn't lain with someone — yet it suddenly felt as if he was. He gave an experimental, careful thrust, soon adjusting into a slow rhythm. As he gradually picked up speed, nearly resorting to recounting arithmetic from his schooling days to stave off the orgasm threatening to overtake him, one of his hands flew between your hips, thumb catching your clit once again. He needed you to come, needed to feel you tightening around him before he'd join you.

Maths could only do so much. 

Yet, as if some higher power had answered Benedict's prayer, your back arched, muscles tensing and moans growing louder as your release hit. His thumb continued its assault on you long enough to guide you through your high, your toes curling and hands ripping into the silk sheets below.

Once your body retracted from his touch, Benedict pulled out, replacing you with his hand, your arousal dripping from his cock as he finished himself off, tightly gripping the pillow by your head. With a high moan, he painted your stomach with his spend.

He sighed and crumbled to the bed beside you, his hand resuming its spot on your thigh. Benedict laid back and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling. He never wanted to let go, he thought with a subconscious squeeze of your flesh. As he replayed the events of the past few minutes in his head, the pieces were falling into place. His heart picked up speed, the satisfied expression he wore falling as he realized what he felt for you.

Benedict turned to your side, seeing that you too had been reflecting on the night as you bore up.

He never wanted to let you go, and the way you looked at him when you finally noticed his gaze told him that this wouldn't be the last time he'd see you.

[strlingsav]

Sequel to this fic, inspired by @simpforghost, asking if I'd planned on making part two. Couldn't resist after you mentioned it. Thanks for the love 🫶🏻

Drive: Two

– Simon "Ghost" Riley x F!Reader

Explicit sexual content under the cut. Read at your own risk.

You'd arrived at base- a towering, intimidating fortress surrounded by harsh metal walls and barbed-wire fences.

After your encounter with Ghost, you knew nothing between you would be the same. Not the way you saw him, talked to him, even looked at him. Now you knew how he felt, better yet how you felt. It wouldn't be easy putting on a facade, especially in front of your Captain and troop-mates.

You'd dug yourself into a hole, acting without thinking of the consequences that would come after. You'd forgotten the very real emotional factor that would follow. He'd seen the most intimate parts of you, there was no returning from that.

You weren't delusional. You knew Ghost wasn't a family man, wouldn't be getting down on one knee to propose, would never take you on a date, but the intimate interaction was there to stay. You'd never be able to rid your mind of how his hands and lips felt on your body, how he felt inside you.

You were beyond paranoid, worried you'd give it away with the wrong look or words. You could never go back to the awe-struck, helpless Sergeant you'd been before, waiting for a crumb of attention from your Lieutenant. He was pursuing you.

You climbed out of the SUV, falling in stride with your Lieutenant and the two of you wandered through the security gates, toward the doors.

You peered at Ghost through your periphery; he was stoic and cold as usual. You were a bit relieved, though somewhat disappointed. It looked all too easy for him to appear unaffected beside you, as if he hadn't had his head buried between your thighs a few hours ago. You envied him for that.

"You're starin' again," He commented, breaking the silence.

You huffed quietly, resuming your silent march to the entrance.

Once at the doors, he grabbed it for you. You strode through first, but not before he leaned in, his voice in your ear as he said, "Wasn't lyin' when I said we'd pick it up later."

You knew. You knew he didn't lie. It was another thing you'd picked up on from your months of surveying. It was fucking infuriating the way he always said exactly what he meant, and in this case, both infuriating and arousing. It bit at your spine, a lick of heat forcing a flush over your chest and cheeks. Your gaze was trapped by his eyes for a few moments, like the world only existed for the two of you, before it was pulled away by Price's voice.

"Where the hell have you two been?"

"Had to stop for a piss, Sir," Ghost answered, saving you from Price's wrath.

He hummed, "Right. Laswell's waitin', let's get on with it."

The briefing was short, though detailed. Surely, Price and Laswell would hold another before too long, one with input from General Shepherd who was chomping at the bit. Still, preparation was in the works, a long way to go before there was enough intel to follow Hassan, to infiltrate any part of his operation.

A few days passed and you'd hardly spoken to Ghost, but his gaze followed you everywhere. Watching, waiting for the opportunity to finally have you alone, to take what was his.

You filled the silence with your squadmates instead. You focused solely on the mission, trying desperately to ignore the set of eyes on your back. You could feel him around every turn. No matter the substance of conversation, even Soap's ridiculous sense of humour couldn't quite distract from the heavy weight of anticipation in your stomach.

You almost didn't want to be alone with Ghost, didn't want to put yourself in the position to give in to him. It would just be something else you'd have to hide. You knew he didn't care. He wasn't shy about watching you. A look over your shoulder, and he was there, locked in on you. He wasn't hiding his wandering eyes anymore.

You finished locking up your gear in the armoury, heading to your room to call it a night. Ghost's voice gnawed at you, the assertion that he truly wasn't done with you. It was almost a threat. You felt like a prey animal, waiting for him to finally sink his teeth in and tear out your jugular; it had you on edge.

You exhaled. The hallways were quiet, with flickering lights overhead and a dingy smell that hung in the air. Everyone had gone off to get some sleep.

You hadn't heard the man behind you, stalking you, ready to pounce at any second. Watching your figure from behind already had his fatigues tightening against his thighs.

Just as you reached your door, a strong hand wrapped around your waist, quickly tugging you back into something firm, hard. Your eyes lifted upwards, relief flooding through you at the sight of the white mask.

"L.T.," You sighed. "You scared the fuck out of me."

"Get inside, Sergeant."

In seconds, you entered the small room, large enough only for a bed, chair and table.

"Been waitin' for you, sweetheart."

You exhaled. It was a venomous statement- injected into your veins, running hot and thick with want, right through you until it finally clenched your heart and squeezed. He could see your eyes flutter shut, feel the warmth emanating off your body- he knew he'd made it into your head.

He was looming behind you, a veil of tension between you as you stood still, waiting for the right words, the right action. His hand trailed around the front of your fatigues, toying with the button of your jacket.

"Take it off for me," He said, low and breathy in your ear. "A proper show this time."

Your eyes snapped open.

He moved around you, taking a seat in front of you. He was hunched over, his elbows digging into his thighs, eyes meeting yours with a sober disposition.

This time around, you were nervous. He'd made it a point to get comfortable, to have all his attention on you. You were silently debating within yourself; it wasn't a good idea. It wasn't right. But as your gaze lifted to meet his eyes, any and all inhibitions were shattered. You wanted to please him; there was no denying it. You were willing to push past the shake in your hands if he wanted.

You did as he asked, demanded, peeling the jacket off your arms, followed by your tactical pants, thrown on the table beside you. He inhaled deeply, his eyes wandering your frame, truly absorbing the curves of your body, how fucking beautiful you looked. He'd never admit it, never tell you- but you were as close to Heaven as he'd ever get. Maybe one day, he thought.

You felt bile bubble in your throat. You were pathetic. Undressing for your superior just because he'd asked. It was humiliating, but his short nods of approval overrode your conscience, the sensible part of you that knew it was wrong.

Your bra and panties were plain, but he could've cared less with the way they hugged your body. Truthfully, he didn't even notice. He was too distracted with your hips, your navel, your breasts spilling over your bra ever-so slightly.

He could tell you were breathing heavily, waiting with burning anticipation for his next order. You'd obey, you both knew it.

"Keep goin'," He said, leaning back to unbuckle his belt and trousers.

You inhaled; long and shaky, your hands moving to the clasp of your bra. The straps slid down your arms with ease, and it joined the pile of clothes you'd already removed.

He pulled his briefs down, taking his cock in hand, running slow strokes up and down his cock. It wasn't harsh; they were tortuous, delicate strokes, teasing the pleasure to come. His cock was already painfully hard, blood rushing through every vein with brute force, demanding to be satiated. His eyes scoured every inch of you, pleased with the new sight of your breasts.

You stepped out of your panties, the last layer, standing bare in front of him. His chest rose and fell with urgency, watching you shift from one foot to the other, your hands clasping together.

"Come 'ere," He said.

You pushed your feet forward, making your way to him.

"On your knees."

You gulped, knees hitting the cool floor of the room, quiet and filled with expectations. You knew exactly what he wanted, what you wanted. You shifted upward, your hands gliding over his thighs, staring at him.

"Can I?" You asked, your heart racing in your chest, jugular pounding in your throat.

"Could never say no," He answered, leaning further back, removing his hand as you smiled softly.

Your tongue extended, a light lick over the head of his cock, listening to the strangled exhale that left his mouth. It filled you with pride, unraveling your Lieutenant with such a simple action.

His head fell back as your soft lips wrapped around him, saliva already gathering in your mouth just at the thought of him. You took him deeper in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks, tightening your lips around his cock.

Up and down, you moved along the length of his cock, lubricated with your saliva, quiet slurping sounds making his hips jerk up.

His hand reached the back of your head, gentle strokes, before he gathered it from your face. Your eyes lifted to his, appreciatively, then, you felt his other hand join. He used both hands to guide your mouth down his cock, setting a painful pace as he drove his cock into your throat.

You gagged, body lurching forward as your throat tried to push him out. He buckled down, his knuckles white, gripping your hair. Your lungs screamed for air, aching pains in your chest, you sucked in a deep breath through your nostrils. You had no relief, not as he blocked your airways with his thrusts. Only the animalistic growls and grunts coming from him made it worth the burning suffocation.

He finally let up, releasing you from his iron grip, settling back to watch his cock disappear in your mouth, past the swollen wetness of your lips. You exhaled, your eyes watering, stinging, your nose running as you took him even deeper.

"Fuck me," He groaned.

You sat back, sniffling softly, wiping your eyes. He helped you to your feet.

His arms grabbed the neck of his shirt, lifting it over his head, careful not to remove the balaclava. Your eyes drifted to the impressive tone of his abdomen and chest. The dim light didn't do him justice, but you could see the scars that marked his skin, the hills and ridges of pure muscle across his body.

Pleasuring him had already created a longing in your stomach, but seeing his naked torso for the first time was exhilarating. He took his time laying down, his hands on your waist as he moved your body over his. He squished your flesh between his fingers.

"Do me a favour, sweetheart," He said, his hands moving to your breasts as he massaged lightly.

You hummed in response, your head turning as you waited for him to respond.

"Ride my face."

Your eyes widened, swallowing the lump in your throat at the daunting thought of your full weight on his face.

"I-What if you can't breathe?" You asked, furrowing your brows.

"I ain't scared of anything- remember?"

You shook your head, disbelief in your expression, but silently agreeing to the request you'd never received before- not with longterm boyfriends and certainly not with one-night stands.

As you looked at him, you realized he was still wearing his mask.

"The mask," You said. "It's in the way."

"I ain't takin' it off 'til you've soaked it," He said. "Stop stallin' and get up here."

Your pussy was aching, already desperate to feel him inside you, but he managed to make you absolutely miserable with desire.

You sighed, awkwardly shifting up his body, his hands helping to lift you over his face, settling you on the outline of his lips beneath his mask. He let out a short groan.

You inched forward, shifting uncomfortably, when the fabric of the mask over the bump of his nose hit your clit.

"Oh," You breathed, pleasantly surprised with just how good it felt.

He hummed beneath you, practically gloating, and his hands gripped your ass, pushing you forward. He held you down against his mouth, forcing your entire weight over his face, and you let out a sharp exhale.

You didn't waste another second, jerking your hips over his mouth. Your hands settled on the headboard, wrought iron that squeaked with every thrust of your hips, and his eyes watched you from below. He couldn't get enough of the sight, your breasts recoiling with every roll of your hips, your bottom lip tucked under your top incisors, your eyes squeezed shut to focus solely on your pleasure.

You could feel the harsh indents of his fingers on your ass, daring you to stop, to hesitate, and he'd unleash hell.

The texture of his mask on your clit was a bitter-sweet feeling; harsh, but just enough to leave you chasing your high. The curves of his features fit between your thighs just right, like he was made to stay there, live there- and he wanted to.

He could taste you through the mask, smell the pheromones washing over him, making his cock even harder. He shut his eyes for a moment, when he thought you weren't watching, savouring the feeling of you, your presence, lucky enough to have you grinding yourself against his face.

It didn't take long; left to your own devices you could get yourself off in minutes. The overwhelming knowledge that you were riding your Lieutenant's face only made it easier. Maybe there was something wrong with you, twisted or disconnected in the dark parts of your brain, that made you so willing to risk it- to risk your career. But if you really were fucked up, he was right there with you.

You breathed heavily, your abdomen tense as you felt the undeniable force of your orgasm. It ripped through you, shooting sparks of pleasure up your spine. You arched your back, your hands gripping the fabric of his mask, your lips parted as you moaned.

You nearly collapsed, your body weak now that you'd drenched his mask.

He helped you off his face, lifting the mask over his nose.

"Bloody hell," He breathed.

"That was interesting," You nodded, slow, lazy blinks, in a post-climax stupor.

"Could taste you through my fuckin' mask," He was ravaged with desire, disbelief, unbridled lust.

There was a wild look in his eyes, pupils blown, stillness as he caught his breath, not sure how to proceed without breaking you in half.

You, on the other hand, were a bit embarrassed- he'd said before that he liked your taste, but you couldn't help feeling overly aware.

"Be smellin' you for days," He whispered, shifting to climb over you.

"Sorry," You breathed, looking up at him with a fragile expression.

He nearly chuckled, a slight upturn of his lips. "Can't get enough of it, sweetheart."

The small bout of reassurance was comforting, but not nearly enough. However, you didn't care much once he lined his cock up with your entrance. He rubbed it teasingly along your still-sensitive clit, soft breaths across your face as he restrained himself, remembering you weren't nearly as resilient as himself.

His lips met yours, an unexpected surprise, and your hands jumped to wrap around his neck. He used his free hand to wrap your thighs around his waist, encouraging you to squeeze, to hold him there, between your legs.

His tongue slid in your mouth, and you welcomed it with yours, gliding softly, moaning at the taste of yourself on his lips. It was obvious, the crazed desire coursing through him, the driving force behind the hungry kiss, the rough use of his lips and tongue on yours.

You didn't mind; especially not when he slid inside you- filling you. You gasped into his mouth, your fingernails digging into the flesh of his neck, pulling him closer. He stayed still for a moment, relishing in just how fucking soaked you were, how soft the walls of your pussy were. A low groan left his throat, his head falling against your shoulder as he rounded his hips. It was a lazy thrust, and like a gut reaction, your chin tilted back.

The closeness, the intimacy, it was just enough to satisfy the insatiable woman he'd made you into. His head lifted to watch you from his view beside you. He could see the space between your lips, feel your pussy clench every time he dove back in, deep. Your breasts pushing against his bare chest- it drove him insane.

It also terrified him; he couldn't get enough. He was addicted, fallen into a rabbit hole he'd never find his way out of. A part of him didn't mind, not with your delicate hands clawing at his back, leaving long, red scratches over his muscles, or when your thighs clenched his sides. The other part was horrified; he'd been reduced to a pile of feelings, and knew he constantly be chasing the feeling you gave him since first time he met you.

He'd resigned himself to silence since then, not allowing your conversations to get past simple greetings or commands. You'd cornered him, in the car. He had nowhere to flee, nowhere to hide away the part of him that craved you like a fucking drug. You'd hit his soft spot, unintentionally, but you had. Taken him down in one fell swoop, crushed any plans he had to stay away from you. To stay away from the sound of your voice, your laugh, your freshly-showered smell, even your ass in the stupidly-tight combat pants you wore.

Now, he'd seen every part of you. Maybe it would be over, the constant longing, staring, restraint. He couldn't count how many times he dreamed of being buried in your pussy, listening to you call out his name over and over again. He knew exactly how you'd feel, though he didn't expect you to be so damn soft. So soft he could barely keep his hands off you, even while plunging his cock inside you, his palm was on your thigh.

To say he was addicted wouldn't be an exaggeration. He truly couldn't wait until his next fix- he couldn't even hold himself back until you'd gotten in your room. He'd have a hell of a time hiding it from his C.O.

You gasped when his cock grazed your cervix, shifting your hips upward to allow him even deeper. His cock hit your clit, a sensation that caused you to jump against his body.

"God-" You choked out, burying your face in his neck. "God, Ghost."

He grunted in your ear, panting softly with every harsh thrust, his arms encasing you in a possessive hold.

"Simon," He said. "Want you to say my real name," He breathed.

It was just another layer he'd peeled back for you. Maybe another mistake, something else for him to regret. But as you whispered it in his ear, whimpering quietly about how good he felt inside you, he knew he wouldn't. He couldn't. Not when it sounded like that.

"Just like that, please, Simon," You whispered again, thighs shaking with exhaustion, pleasure.

"That right, sweetheart? God," Another deep breath, "You drive me fuckin' mad."

His hips met yours roughly, and he pulled back to watch you, to really examine your face as he stroked his cock inside you.

"Shit baby," Your eyes closed. "More, please, I can take it- just- fuck me harder."

That was all he needed to hear, his stamina increasing tenfold with the way you pleaded for more.

He did as you asked, now driving into you relentlessly, so hard your arm reached up to grab the headboard, stabilizing yourself. You choked out a sob.

"Fuck this cunt is tight," He grumbled, shifting an arm underneath you to hold you closer. "Tell me it's mine- you're mine."

You recognized the beginning of your orgasm, his words driving you over the edge into a blissful asphyxia. There was a steep incline as he kept his pace, even as your pussy squeezed him so tight he thought he'd burst.

"It's yours," You repeated, open-mouth gasps for air through your rigid body. "I'm all yours."

He didn't need anything else, not a guarantee, not a promise. Just the words, the knowledge that you knew. You knew you'd never find anything close to him.

"That's it," He nodded, so close to his orgasm he could feel his testes tighten. "That's my girl," He grunted.

"Cum in me, Simon," You looked up at him, glowing with a layer of sweat and endorphins. "Please."

He couldn't hold out, couldn't deny your request, and released inside you. His thrusts shortened and slowed after that, dragging out his orgasm as his cock drove his cum ever further inside you. He'd think about it days later, remnants of him still inside you.

He pulled out slowly, a harsh exhale over your chest, then an unexpectedly soft kiss on your lips.

He was in shit- mile high shit. But as he pulled back, watching your eyes open, the innocent, satisfied smile on your face, he knew he'd risk it. He'd kill for you, if you just asked.

Once your pulse had settled, and you'd regained consciousness, you stretched. He stood up from your bed, dragging his pants back up, finding his T-shirt on the floor.

"Are you going back to your room?" You asked. You tried to keep your expectations down, tried not to appear too eager.

"Y'want me to stay?" He replied, seeming almost confused.

"You're warm," You lied. Of course it was a lie. The real reason was too humiliating to say out loud.

He shook his head. "Should get back to mine," He said, watching your face fall. Even as much as you tried to hide it, he could see it. He could see right through you.

He liked toying with you, watching the disappointment before he kissed it all better. Only he could do that to you, and you both knew it well.

But, he couldn't resist, never could. The idea of wrapping an arm around you as you slept, feeling your body against his; he craved it. He'd never planned to sleep next to you, but Christ did he ever want to. "Lieutenant's bed is bigger. Come on."

You pursed your lips, once again trying to hide a small smile, but he saw. He always saw. And it made his heart swell.

[theanonymousfoxsimp]

Double trouble

A-60/multimonster x reader

(mostly gn but it has some fem content)

Human death,no nsfw ,reader gets more trauma

The day had started out like a normal one,sneaking into the latest group once again after being smuggled a new outfit from sebastian. Your uniform had been stolen off of a corpse from a dead newbie, the tracker and explosive device ripped out, then deactivated before being put back on. Sebastian had half the mind to leave it activated just in case something bad happened, but your existence-simply if they knew of it - would end your hidden paradise with the other handlers. Nothing could keep you from joining them. Sparky had offered to join, but Blitz was all too eager to pull him around the newest area of the facility. An A.I. helper had rebuilt a portion of the facility,aided by sebastian and the others ,solely to make it a better living area. You hadn't seen much of Angus and the others, so you assumed they were further into the facility,in the place they called the ‘ridge’.

A-60,aka Mac, had been on standby the entire time. These rare runs he would show up whenever you were in dire situations, which happened quite a bit whenever someone would attempt to sacrifice you to a wall dweller or another angler. Your job,the role of being the traitor,it was an easy role to play if you could get past all of their questions. Urbanshade had been aware of an extra passenger but they couldn't pinpoint who it was,so anyone who came through were instructed to question everyone and everything. It had been an annoying task at first until sebastian taught you a few more tricks to manipulate the mass,he only knew so much though. You were left on your own to discover who these people were and the best way to throw them off course or simply to get them killed. Ethan had been ready at certain points to yank your body away from incoming danger if it were a hidden enough spot.

“Oi!” That wasn't a good sign,the rude masculine voice that had echoed out of the ship when it docked. The guy had been suspicious of everyone from the start,it's almost like he knew almost immediately you weren't one of them.

“The fuck is your name?” He asked,his body towering over yours. He had one missing eye,a jagged scar on his face that looked like it was from an ax wound. His approach towards you had been quite aggressive.

“Oh-uh-(insert name)” You shouldn't have stuttered.

The man’s eyes narrowed, it looked like he was about to wink at you with the one eye he had. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could say anything the door besides you both slid open with a hiss. There had been a handful of you,9 total including you so he had every right to be suspicious. The taller woman next to him pulled on the diving gear strapped to his back,giving him a look that said to ‘move’. He obliged, clearly not wanting to upset the woman, head hung low as he kept up pace with her. It looked like he was a lost puppy now trailing a human who showed him a simple bit of kindness. The run hadn't even started yet and you already had to eliminate someone before it became too late. You knew a few tricks to attract the beasts over,spilling a bit of blood wouldn't hurt too much-well not you that is,it would definitely hurt the person you thinking of stabbing with the pencil you stole from a passing table.

Though before you could do anything,the room filled with the telltale sounds of a wall dweller clicking as it landed out of its hiding spot. The one eyed man,like a moron, had waited until everyone was past so he could take care of whatever made the noises. Unfortunately for him,the dweller happened to be smarter. It didn't hop down until he had turned away to move into the other room,utilizing his blind side before it kicked him over. The man had died quickly,his own stupidity had killed him. Your group had only moved a few doors down before painter had slid the door shut far behind the group, you could hear sebastian's angry screech as he yelled ‘IT WAS RIGHT BEHIND YOU’ before he looted the mangled corpse. He had a thing against the dwellers.

Further along the lights flickered once,then twice, blitz’s screech a bit too close for your liking. The only source of safety was the next room but you barley had enough time to get there,blitz tearing through the previous door before he burst into the room you were in. In a fit of panic you had forgotten he wouldn't kill you as he simply sat there waiting for you to appear out of the locker you dove into. Static and electricity buzzing around him madly. Though when you showed no signs of appearing,he left to go deal with the others. Your locker opened,void mass had been in there and nearly suffocated you at first until they discovered it wasn't a meal but you. It didn't want to take the chance with the overhyped creature, a tendril had had kept the locker tightly shut until it dumped you out of it.

You greedily inhaled,coughing as oxygen finally met your lungs, the air felt a bit too crisp from the thrum of electricity blitz left. Void mass had been a gentle creature, even without a voice they were very good at shadow puppet shows. The ability to mold their body to whatever shape had come in handy at these times. Your mind flickered back to the group of expendables who just ditched you to die to blitz, you could hear their cackles as they pushed further and further into the facility. It seemed blitz had gotten bored and decided to pursue other prey, a bummer really.

The expendables couldn't run but you could, for some reason the higher ups did not like it when they would attempt to rush to the end. This would be used to your advantage as your legs picked up a swift pace,quickly making your way through the rooms until you were only a door away from the others. Their voices echoed through the hallway, a few less than before. Only four remained out of the eight,it seemed they either sabotaged themselves or died to something before you could get there. Blitz hadn't killed anyone as far as you were aware so the idea of another wall dweller or a good person popped up in your mind. The taller woman from before had survived,leaving you and three others who seemed clueless about the entire ordeal.

“move” She barked out,noticing one of the others were lagging behind,”You're not dying to lopee” she huffed out,picking up a pace so she could lead the small pack of humans. She even shoved the poor person who needed a minute to breath,yelling how they needed to keep moving. She even scoffed when you tried to comfort the woman by offering her some water.

Her attitude had to go. She needed to die,your mind Screamed at you to crack her over the face with something to keep her attitude in check. The next room was the same,frogger tearing through this time before anyone could properly react. Your hands reached for the locker,your fingers wrapping around the cold metal,the door had simply opened a few inches before your body was shoved from the locker. Your back connected with the metal table behind you,your head smacking against the wall with a loud thump before the locker you were going to hide in had closed. Frogger simply left you alone though,your body wasn't hidden enough from sight too so she had every reason to go after you and your dizzied mind.

Once frogger had left,the surviving two left their lockers. The woman you had been plotting on ending had stolen your locker,adding more fuel to the flames. She wore a shiteating grin,standing over your body before she yanked you up by the collar of your suit. You could see the curiosity in her eyes, the way your suit was digging painfully into the skin of your neck,slightly choking you. From this position you could see the other dead two, it looked like she had done the exact same to them as she did to you before she stole your locker. Their eyes and mouths were open with disbelief as the person they once trusted had now betrayed them.

“You didn't die!” She said angrily,raising one eyebrow. “why is that?” her grip tightened,cutting off more air and making it harder to breath.

You couldn't speak,too focused on trying to breath properly as she cut off your air supply. Her other hand had moved to grasp your neck,squeezing far too tight,your throat hurt with the force she was putting in. She had been too busy to notice the other expendable as they neared with a microscope, they raised it up high with shaky hands before they cracked it over the ladies head. She fell over easily,your knee coming up to connect with her jaw the moment her hands let go. Blood splattered the ground around you from her head wound and her teeth cracked from the sheer force you put in with kneeing her. Though your rage hadn't been contained well enough the lights flickered,the scent of blood had attracted someone. She rolled over,moving to crawl away but a sudden kick to her side stopped her, your leg had stuck her fiercely and cracked a few of her right ribs. You were covered with her blood and definitely not safe. The lady looked to be dead,her body limp and chest not moving like she wasn't breathing. The adrenaline started to die down,the realization you just murdered someone now starting to sink in as the other expendable darted in the opposite direction towards sebastian's shop a few room over. You could hear the beeping of their suit,forcing them to stop completely until it too stopped.

The air felt off,you couldn't hear any of the screaming,the buzzing,though only seconds had passed before these feelings were wiped away. The sound of a deep voice echoing through the rooms had shocked both of you.

“Think fast” shit,not HIM.

The static that filled your ears,the thrum in the air,your hair standing on edge as he neared. There was only one locker however through the areas,it's almost like the other person knew what was about to happen as you yank it open,your hands moving so much faster than anticipated. The other person,their poor soul, had no clue what to do as they began to panic while frantically looking for another spot to hide when they realized you weren't giving up the half opened locker. You were almost there,his voice nearing as he screamed for the others to run. Wait,others?

“Gotcha” you could feel as a hand wrapped around your ankle,grasping it tightly before you were yanked down to the ground.

The lady hadn’t died,her jaw shattered and bled profusely but it didn't stop her as she stood to take the locker. Your head connected with the floor,white light bursting behind your eyes as the air was knocked out of your lungs. She was surprisingly smart,far stronger than you were and quicker too,she had planned this from the start once she figured out you were the attempted traitor. So she took the role,murdering the others before you could. A-60 had been watching from afar before he decided to step in,he wanted you to be tougher and defend yourself more but she seemed to be providing a tougher challenge than intended. He had bribed her to do this but he didn't realize she would also go back on their agreement and try to murder you too. She had been an informant for sebastian,he wouldn't be too happy finding out he was about to murder one of them but sebastian be damned you were almost killed twice.

Your eyes closed,your body luckily had been shoved away from the locker so it was easy stumbling further away to the corner closest to you. Confused how you were even standing when you were on your back before. The locker next to you had been one filled with void mass,the kind creature helping you stand there with a sticky tendril. It kept you away from the locker as a-60 tore through with an inhuman screech,effectively squishing the first expendables into a pile of mashed skin and bones before he darted towards the locker the woman was hiding in. Lockers weren't always a safe space when he was around.

The scene?A brutal one. The doors were ripped clean off its hinges to expose the hiding being behind them. She had been a bit too confident however seeing a-60,thinking he wasn't going to kill her as she reached up to stroke his face. Clearly she had the wrong impression with their agreement to kill the others,she fully believed he was solely after her and loved her as she began to rambled on and on. Going on how they could ‘finally’ be together after he kept playing hard to get all this time. A sick one sided obsession. It almost hurt to watch as he in turn cupped her face,moving to rub it with his thumbs before he suddenly sank both digits into her eye sockets. The jealousy disappearing as he laughed madly while he dug around then he began to pull her head apart like an apple slice,the force had also tore her body in two like a piece of paper. The locker bloodied, his arms soaked up to the elbow in her blood as discarded whatever remnants or the lady but the tendrils below him were set on tearing her apart more. He had started to go a bit overboard. Murder on his mind after seeing what she was going to do,she had left you to die to him.

Void mass had seen enough,the locker next to you rumbling before masses of purple tinted black tendrils shot out to engulf the enraged beast. This wasn't Mac,this had been a-60, your well-being wasn't on his mind. He fought against the tendrils,yelling about how he needed to be let go as he began to try to untangle himself from the mass. The locker had nearly exploded next to you,the hole in the wall behind it burst with more tendrils as they surrounded him,pulling his arms to pin him down to the ground,keeping a-60 perfectly still until he decided to give in. His body slumped over once he realized he wasn't going to be let go,now sulking at the defeat. He had won but at what cost?

“It did that for your own good” your voice snapped him out of his pouty mindset,ego hurt a bit from how he had been so easily pinned down. Void mass only rumbled as if laughing at him,it's eyes blinking when you thanked it.

“it can let me go” he said a bit angrily,his face contorted into a pout,the fins on the sides of his head flopped down to show his mood.

“You can't flip out when it does” your words made him laugh. He had no reason to get angry now that the woman died. “Went a bit overboard there darling” Oh? he loved that pet name,his chest rumbled with a deep purr whenever you said it.

The tendrils moved away leaving red marks along his body where they were,his wrists a deep shade of red from how much force that was put in. His spine popped as he sat up,the sound as good as it felt,clear by how relaxed he was suddenly looking. His face and chest were a mess,his arms soaked up to the elbow with drying and fresh blood. He needed a bath,a shower more than anything but he didn't like the way you needed to give him a shower,he couldn't fit underneath the showerheads like the others could. It's almost like he knew what you were about to say as his face scrunched up,nose wrinkling at the thought of not sleeping or eating after a chase. The look was rather adorable in comparison to the sinister smile he always had.

“come onnn” he grumbled when you spoke, the sound similar to how a male lion would complain. He felt your tiny hands tug at his shirt, he had half the mind to roll over right there and take a nap but he also knew sebastian would gladly help you clean him. You couldn't drag him,you were only able to yank at the stained sleeves before be decided to get up.

“no cold water this time” he huffed,smiling while he said it,he was clearly tugging your leg here.

“It was one time!” You laughed,the memory suddenly appearing. The time you accidentally had its water on the ice cold temperature,when you didn't test it before you tried to clean him and caused a new hole in the side of the shower wall. A mistake you tried to never make again.

He carried you further into the facility,careful to keep your head cradled as another tendril carefully rubbed the nasty red mark around your neck. He didn't say anything but he was worried about you, he wasn't the best at showing all of his emotions. The beast still was trying though,your soft Mac back instead of the monstrous a-60. A trail of blood followed behind you both until it slowly faded into nothingness, the tang of blood strong in the air but it would disappear soon as you both neared the shower. Dread started to build up,the shower wasnt empty. Sebastian had been there , nude and bathing with the sounds of music in the background. Sebastian paused,peering at the two of you before continuing with what he was just doing.

Depending on who it was,being nude around each other wasn't an entirely big deal. You didn't see each other as animals of sex or tools to be used for the devils tango,it was actually quite common for someone to stroll around nude because of how normalized it felt. The others didn't have legs so the concept of pants wasn't something to them,only sebastian knew but that was a time long gone now. He simply gave you a one handed wave, Mac grumbling even more while trying to slowly move out of the room.

“Alright you know the drill big Guy”

“I could snap ya like a twig sweetheart”

“You make me limp instead,try harder. Now strip.” he frowned as sebastian snorted,finding the entire situation entertaining. His words did nothing to deter your goal of cleaning him off with his arch nemesis,the hose.

Sebastian turned away,too busy now with helping Ethan scrub their back clean of any dirt. He purposely avoided staring but he stole some glances while Mac peel off the bloodied shirt he wore. You watched too,the red beast even flexed his muscles a bit when he noticed you were practically oogling his body. The dopey smile back on his face when he caught you lacking,your blushing face turning away faster than he could grab. A black tendril wrapped around your ankle,he noticed you weren't stripping down like he did, it was something he didn't like. He didn't care for the others whenever they looked at your naked body,they could browse his menu but never order it. Mac even felt pride whenever the two of you were caught in the act, knowing he was the only one who could make you feel this way as he would show off anytime you were caught. Sebastian sometimes would stay a bit too long to watch the two of you,clearly enjoying how it annoyed the other.

The tendrils that were wrapped around you echoed his mindset as they began to tear off the wetsuit you were wearing. The sounds of ripping filled the room as they eagerly tore away the fabric until you were completely nude,the dive gear you wore had been tossed out the room with little care. If it weren't for the other In the room you would've let him push this further but you didn't want to create a scene. Mac seemed distracted enough now as you slowly raised the hose,giving sebastian a look to turn it on quietly. He nodded,a smile on his face as he turned it onto the warm setting. It had been connected to a showerhead so you could control the temperature.

“Hey” it was all the warning Mac was given before the hose was turned onto him,the spray of water startling him out of his mindset. You watched as he raised both of his hands up in defense,hissing madly before he turned to face you.

“Oi!” He yelled, moving to grab you with a playful smile. The hose falling out of your hand ,spraying the both of you as he yanked your tiny body into the air. A tendril grabbed the hose,turning your weapon onto you as he washed the dry blood off of you. He would have licked it clean if you allowed him to, he had done it before but you found it extremely disgusting because you were covered in his spit after. You woke up to this one day,your skin moist and drenched with the scent of blood and cigars. He had been mercilessly sprayed down and scrubbed clean before he was forced to do the same to you to get rid of the blood.

“Hey-” You spoke,your body being moved every which way as he used a rag to scrub you clean,he took extra care to not put too much pressure in when touching the blooming bruises around your body. “Let me-yknow what,nevermind. I'm owed this after today” he shook his head,finding your attitude adorable.

Red water drilled out of your hair,the dried blood being rinsed out with ease when he ran a clawed hand through the strands. The wound on the back of your head stung when he touched it,his hand retracting quickly when you grimaced from the pain. Sebastian had left a bit before,exiting from the other side of the communal shower to give you both a bit of privacy. So he wasn't too worried about showing any weakness whenever he touched a wound. Mac thought he hurt you but your kind look measured him. His hand coming back down to ruffle the wet strands.

“Sorry…for all of that..I didn't think she would do that” he spoke suddenly,the words slowly sinking into your relaxed mind. Anger began to bubble up,he could see it as your hand raised to slap him across the face,the sound echoing through the room. His face stung with the force you put in, the sudden action shocking him enough so he dropped your now angered form. You didn't want to do anything too rash,a multitude of ideas forming on how you would get payback for his dumbass decision. The hose wiggled around beneath you,spraying the tiled ground, an idea dawning in your mind while he processed what just happened.

“Well,I guess I have some explainin’ to do-OH HOLY SHIT, DARLIN WHY?” he screamed,ice cold water being sprayed onto his body at max force. The hose,equipped with a multi functioning head, had been turned onto the most violent setting,truly giving you the ability to spray him like a firefighters hose. The tendrils around you suddenly released you,nearly all of them were violently wiggling from the cold temperature of the water as spikes began to form along his swelling form. You dropped the hose,backing up as he turned to face you with a look you knew all too well. He wasn't angry but he wanted to do something even if he had started this.

“payback,fucking asshole! If you didn't step in I would've died! The hell you going around doing that for,making deals with other women” he thought you were jealous too,a smug smirk coming back as he stared down at you. His form changed, shrinking just a bit as if he unpuffed himself,spikes disappearing as quick as they came. “You know what I mean! They are manipulative witches! Especially sebastian's informants of all people,you know they double cross us whenever they can” another fact he also knew about,he didn't think any of this through clearly.

“look-” he tried to speak

“no,you look here,you don't need to be testing me like you did with the others, I ain't built like you are” his ear fins drooped,if he had pupils he'd be looking away from you with shame.

His arms went to pull you into a hug which you happily reciprocated. He angered you,you wanted to beat the shit out of him but he was part human,mistakes were made and now he knows what not to do now. You couldn't stay mad forever considering he murdered the woman once he figured out she was trying to kill you. A part of you still stayed angry,it was natural for you to feel that.

Your head leaned against his hairy chest,the warmth of his body being absorbed into yours as you hung there wrapped in his embrace. The hose had been turned off,you both were cleaned off enough so he made the decision to end the session. Not caring to grab his discarded shirt as he carried you through the facility nude,passing others and even a group of newbies who simply gawked at your naked forms. Mac held a finger up,shushing them which provided a quick enough distraction for pandemonium to swoop in and eat them alive. The passing creature paid no mind to either of you,set on devouring the screaming humans.

“How do you deal with that?”

“I don't, sebastian does. I deal with the others” he stated. Sebastian was the one who had the giant bite marks similar to the shape of pandemonium’s jaw. Mac barley had scars but the ones you did see seemed to be primarily from blitz and pinkie.

He barely ever shows up for a run regardless of the situation. His energy drained far too much every single time to continue anything after. You were lucky enough to keep him awake for the shower,the cold water doing enough, but now that he was nearing his bed, it wasn't doing much to help. You couldn't see much in the darkness, but his eyes had begun to droop,ear fins flopping down while his body began to slow significantly. The rumbling in his chest grew louder,content showing when he entered the clean but dark room.

Luckily the old bed had been replaced,several mattresses in place that allowed you both enough room to sleep comfortably or cuddle whenever wanted. The led lights that you hung up earlier had flickered to life,the soft dim red hue filling the room enough so he could maneuver over to the mattresses. Your body dropped onto one of them with little care before he flopped down onto his belly. The tendrils around him stilled,the ear fins flopped completely as his eyes had closed entierly. He wasn't asleep but quite close to it.

Merchant loved to go through and clean,it passed the time for her enough so she could wait for any projects to be completed. This time, she had left a dozen tiny muffins for Mac,they were normal sized for you, though, so it wouldn't be easy to bite them like he could. She left a note, too,some other treats and drinks for you. The monthly order of ramen and other foods had been delivered early this time. A crate of various Halloween themed candy had been left too. Merchant currently had been the only one to make the dangerous trips to the surface. She had come back one day missing both horns, they grew back significantly large, which she blamed on losing to humans. She had the wounds to prove it, a nasty burn mark now permanently embedded into her side.

“honeybun?” Mac rumbled sleepily,his voice bringing you back to reality. He turned his head,a tendril moving to wrap around you and forced you to lay down next to him. It tickled,your laughter bringing joy to him.

“Yes yes,big man want scritches?” He couldn't say no to that,his body adjusting slightly while the tendril let you go. His body stilling once again after.

The room fell silent besides the sound of you two breathing, the facility silent but you had him move to a more quiet area away from all of the action. Mac didn't like it at first until he realized that having a wider territory and more quiet to sleep was a good thing. The others didn't really invade it,mostly Merchant and sebastian did along with blitz and Angus occasionally to see how you were doing mainly or to visit mackintosh whenever he secluded himself for far too long.

Mac waited eagerly for your hand, realizing it wasn't going to move so as a small joke he gently grasped your hand to place on the top of his head. He trusted you enough to do this,your mind wandering back as your hand grasped the string that kept his hair pulled up into a ponytail. With a gentle tug it came undone,his hair falling down slowly,the tension in his skull finally going away after all these hours. Your hand gently rubbed through the silky locks,tugging any knots free. Mac wasn't being hurt by this,he had actually fallen asleep quickly while you were doing that. His body moved,adjusting to sprawl out his arms and tendrils along the massive bed you both shared,his mouth closed somehow as he began to loudly snore. The sound rumbling the bed somewhat and your body when you moved to lay against the bed.

It had been nearly impossibly to wiggle into his embrace with how he had positioned himself. Mac’s top half going through multiple potions before his unconscious mind laid him on his side,the inky black and red tendrils around you had sprawled out even more ,stretching and engulfing a good portion of the room. You had fallen asleep sometime during this,finding a comfortable place further on the cold edge of the bed, your monstrous sleepy lover noticing this somehow in his sleep. The feeling of a large arm wrapping around you had awoken you,his hand pulling you to lay pressed against his chest. Your eyes barely opened,he wasn't entirely awake either during this, but he grumbled out something about you “staying put” while he slept.

You felt as he adjusted,one thick arm holding you in place while the other was stuffed underneath a pillow. His head curled down ,he had hunched over a bit as if he were shielding you in his sleep but the tendrils around you stay splayed out like a web. His eyes closed,mind falling back into the abyss of slumber,your mind and eyes quickly following suit. There was no telling when you two would properly get up,the naps you both could take would last for days on end. Either of you only getting up to use the bathroom or snack on something before falling back asleep.

[casspurrjoybell-29]

Healing Ties - Chapter 26

*Warning: Adult Content*  

Fanner hovered in the doorway for a moment after Yore had left and then took a tentative step outside.

If he didn't leave the cabin now, he would probably just hide himself away and drown in his worries until Yore returned.

Yore's cabin was on the outer edge of the settlement, set away from everything else, so there was nobody around immediately outside.

Besides, it was still quite early in the morning.

Were werewolves typically early risers?

Wolves were usually most active at night, weren't they?

When Fanner had come by, Slone had been awake but Yore had been sleeping.

Fanner could hear the sound of a running river, so he headed down a slope, through some trees towards it.

He eyed the water suspiciously when he reached it and made sure to keep a couple of steps back from the bank.

He didn't think he would ever trust a body of water again after that thing had tried to drown him.

Were there a finite number of known threats or did the people who lived out here just have to hold a certain level of suspicion towards their surroundings at all times?

Yore had said he'd never seen anything like Cookie before.

He'd taken it in stride, too, like seeing a new type of creature wasn't a rare occurrence for him.

Maybe if you were as big and powerful as a werewolf you didn't have to worry about it too much or perhaps this area was just much safer than some of the other ones they'd passed through.

From what Yore had said, it sounded like the latter was the case.

Fanner was pulled out of his thoughts when he rounded a corner and saw a man sitting on a wooden dock, hefting a netful of still flopping fish out of the water.

Fanner hurried towards him.

"Um, hi. My name is Fanner. Can I help you with anything?"

The man was large enough that he was clearly a werewolf and edging towards middle age.

He levelled Fanner with a dispassionate gaze.

"Do you know how to clean out a fish?"

Fanner shook his head.

"How to cut it up for drying? How to hang it?"

Fanner shook his head again.

"Then I guess you can't help me."

Fanner stood there awkwardly, his hand twisting in the hem of his shirt.

Should he just walk away now?

"You're a fuckin' bully, Morren," a voice said from behind them, and Fanner jumped.

He turned around to find Slone, Yore's brother, heading down the path to the dock towards them.

The man, Morren, shook his head.

"How's it bullying to tell him I don't need his help?"

"You coulda found something he could help with or fuck, I dunno, coulda taught him a new skill."

"We have plenty of kids of our own around here to teach."

"Yeah, 'cause you're so busy with that. Where's your kid? Want me to go find her so you can teach her howta dry a fish?"

"Why don't you teach him, then?"

Slone waved a dismissive hand.

"Oh, I dunno how. Hardly know how to cook one, honestly."

"How do you manage to spend so much of your time on your own and not die?"

"Well, I'm pretty fuckin' decent at catchin' fish. Don't see any need to cook 'em."

Morren made a face.

"Do werewolves..." Fanner startled to say, then faltered when both men turned to look at him.

Somehow, he hadn't expected to actually draw their attention.

"Sorry, um. Do werewolves eat prepared foods, like humans? Is eating raw fish unusual?"

"Eh..?"

Morren shrugged.

"Won't make us sick. It's a bit like growing a nice vegetable garden, then when all your vegetables are ready you sit down and eat three whole, raw carrots. You could munch on a raw one here and there and nobody would find it strange but if you only ever ate them raw because you don't fucking know how to cook then people might think it's fucking weird and you should maybe learn to cook."

Slone yawned, unconcerned by Morren's animosity.

"I could prob'ly manage to fry one but it always seemed like a lotta work. I'll butcher a bigger animal that I can't eat on my own but why bother with a fish?"

"Oh, um, Slone," Fanner said. "Is Cookie still around?"

"She stuck around and ate my unwanted deer bits but she didn't seem too interested in comin' near the village. I packed the meat up and left it in your cabin, by the way, Morren."

Morren nodded.

"I'll get to it after I'm done here. Who or what is Cookie?"

"Somethin' that crawled outta the swamp. Ain't pretty to look at but she's a sweetheart. There was this lizard hangin' 'round while she ate everything she could fit down her throat and when we were done she picked the thing up. I was sure she was about to eat it but she just put it on her head like a fuckin' hat an' wandered off."

"She's strange but... I like her," Fanner murmured.

"I like anything that comes outta that swamp, 'cause usually it means some animal fell in there and the Fae took the opportunity to mash it together with one of the corpses in there and give it its life back. One less fucking corpse in that soup is fine by me."

Fanner watched as Morren slammed his knife down against the neck of a fish, severing its neck.

He didn't like the sound it made.

"There are corpses in the swamp? Don't they rot away?"

"Living corpses," Slone clarified. "That's what put an end to the war. An army of the dead. Kinda takes the fun outta killing each other when the dead rise right back up and try to kill ya all over again. When the fighting finally stopped, the dead marched off into the swamp and buried themselves in the mud. They've been there ever since, grabbin' at anyone who gets too close."

"But they don't come out?"

"Nah, nah. Some reckon the Fae leave them there as a warning or like a backup plan in case things get too rowdy again but I think that taking life away just ain't something the Fae can do. Like, they'll warn us about vampires or whatever, tryta get us to help deal with that shit but I ain't never heard of them just making one be dead on their own when they wanted it to be, y'know? I don't think they can."

That was the swamp he and Yore had passed by.

It wasn't that far from here.

"That's unsettling. That the dead are still there, I mean."

"I don't fuckin' love it," Slone agree. "Had nightmares about them when I was a kid. Still do, sometimes. When I was younger, like a teenager, I found this rusty old spear and I went out there and I would stab 'em through the heads. That kills them, if you do it right. I figured I could make a project of it. If I killed ten, twenty here and there, one day there wouldn't be any left, right?"

Fanner nodded. That made sense.

"Fuckin' dangerous game for a kid to play, I'll tell you that. Did it for years, though. Killed hundreds of the fuckers. They definitely died and stayed dead 'cause I could see 'em rotting where I left 'em but there never seemed to be any less. Then one day I got too close to a spot where the mud seemed a bit deeper and one of the fuckers grabbed my ankle and it pulled me down... and down..."

Fanner gasped.

"Wasn't so much mud there as muddy water. And it was fuckin' deep. Couldn't see shit but I could feel 'em grabbin' at me. Never felt the bottom, just a writhing mass of bodies. Kicked my way free somehow, got out of the water and I gave up on killin' 'em for good. Too dangerous and too many of 'em for what I was doing to make a damn bit of difference."

"That seems wise. I'm glad you survived. That sounds like an awful way to die."

Slone grinned.

"Aw, thanks. I'm glad I survived, too. So, didya get a look at that rock golem?"

Fanner nodded, his mind flashing back to the monstrous thing.

"It was huge and it had the form of a man but it was made entirely out of stone. I thought it was nothing more than a pile of boulders when it was laying down."

"And twice as tall as me at least, right?"

"I'd say so. You're quite tall but it was massive."

"We didn't know what to do about the thing. They're hard to kill because well... I'm not sure how much they're even living things. They're stone all the way down. No organs. Not even a brain. Just rocks and enough magic to keep 'em moving. The only way to put 'em down for good is with explosives or heavy projectiles. Not exactly things we keep handy."

Fanner tensed.

"So it's still wandering around out there?"

"Nah, nah. See, I came up with a plan. I know those swamps. Lured the thing over to that deep spot I got dragged into that one time and it stumbled right on in. Lotta people I told that story to over the years doubted it was as deep as I said but there were four other people with me and they all saw that thing sink and not come back up."

"Did it... did it drown?"

Slone shook his head.

"Ain't got lungs. I sat there for an hour, though and I'm pretty sure it can't get out again. Banks are too steep, water is too deep and it's too heavy to swim. I'm hopin' it flails around down there for a bit, killin' all the dead it comes into contact with, then slowly sinks into the mud and never escapes."

Fanner let out a slow breath.

"I hope so."

"Don't let that shit scare you. We get weird shit showing up from time to time but territory like the swamplands that don't belong to anybody is way more dangerous than places like here or the mage camp."

"Something tried to drown me, too," Fanner said. "It was like a child, only... watery?"

"Ah, those fuckers," Morren said. "Stupid little things. They wash through sometimes. Not too often but maybe don't go swimming alone."

"It thought I was a human."

"They think anything vaguely human shaped is human. Like I said, stupid. They'll let go of us if we shift because that's a bit too not-human even for them but I always keep an eye on my kid when she's in the water even though she can swim just fine because I'm worried she'll panic and forget."

"There was one that hung around for a couple months when I was a kid," Slone said. "Damn thing would realise we weren't human and let us go when we shifted, then forget and do the same thing all over again five minutes later. My mum tried to keep me out of the water at first but I just thought the whole thing was funny."

Morren beheaded another fish.

"You have a bad sense of humour."

Slone shrugged.

"Either that or don't swim for two months. Lots of folks did that. Everyone got all worked up and wanted to find some way to kill the thing but it washed away with the next heavy rain and that was the problem solved."

"Do you think they can be killed?" Fanner asked.

"Might be a way," Slone said. "They were gonna try catchin' it in a tub an' then boiling the water. Mighta worked. I reckon they're like the rock golems. Not alive, so you can't kill 'em but there are ways to destroy 'em."

"The thing in the water talked to us, though. How can it not be alive?"

"Guess it depends what you mean by alive, right? Gets kinda complicated this side of the border an' I ain't sure there's any clear line."

Perhaps, for Fanner, whether something was alive would depend on whether he could and could not heal it.

He could heal both Yore and Cookie, two very different beings and they were clearly alive.

He doubted he would have been able to heal the rock golem or the watery child.

He didn't think they were even able to sustain injuries.

At least not in the traditional sense.

Fanner realised his attention had wandered, and while he was thinking his eyes had locked onto a fraying rope in Morren's net.

"Um... I could fix that. If you like."

"Huh?" Morren asked.

"The frayed rope. I...I could fix it before it snaps and the whole thing comes apart."

"Huh. Sure. You can watch me clean out and cut up these fish for drying while you're at it. Learn something new."

Fanner nodded and kneeled to get started on the net.

"Okay."

Fanner was bad at focussing on one thing but he was actually slightly less bad at focussing on two at once.

Well, depending on what they were.

What Morren was showing him seemed simple enough.

Fanner had never gone through the whole process of cutting up a whole, fresh fish before but he had a decent amount of cooking experience that he figured should translate at least a little bit.

He kept getting distracted and forgetting to work on fixing the net but he did that whether or not there was more than one thing he was supposed to be focussing on at a time.

"Um, here," Fanner said when he was done with the net, holding it out to Morren. "It's fixed."

Morren took the net from Fanner and examined the rope.

"Huh? Now that bit looks better than the rest of the net."

"Sorry it doesn't match," Fanner murmured, though he wasn't sure whether that had been the point Morren had been trying to make.

"I can clean and fix the rest of it if you like or if you have anything else that needs to be done..."

"Hmm, might do."

Morren looked the net over one more time and then set it aside.

"For now, I want you to have a go at this. Here, take this knife and cut this fish's head off."

Fanner laid the fish out on the wooden board Morren had been using to cut them, held it steady by the tail well out of the way of where he would be cutting and brought the knife down against the fish's neck.

It only made it halfway through.

"Sorry. Maybe... maybe I'm not strong enough?"

"A lot of strength is up here."

Morren tapped his head.

"That's why you'll find you're suddenly a lot stronger when you really need to be. Some of that's your body protecting you, making sure you don't hurt yourself but in your case I bet you've been taught you're not meant to be physically strong."

"Well, compared to you..."

"You don't need to compare yourself to me."

Fanner ducked his head.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry. Try again."

Fanner held the fish down, swung the knife and... missed entirely.

The knife lodged in the board and Slone had to help him pull it free.

Fanner offered Morren the knife back.

"Maybe this just isn't for me."

"You've tried twice and already you want to give up? How do you think people get good at things? Try again."

Fanner nodded.

He held the fish down, swung the knife and it lodged deep into the fish's neck.

"Good," Morren said. "Now rock the knife to cut the rest of the way through."

Fanner obeyed.

He could hear the crunch of tiny bones, the sensation of the knife slicing through the soft flesh... he yanked his hands away and hid them under his armpits.

He remembered being tied down, remembered the knife coming down against his finger.

Remembered Whelan rocking the knife back and forth to fully sever the digit while Fanner screamed and begged him to stop.

There had been blood everywhere.

Fanner had been able to see the splintered bone through the top of the wound.

He'd bandaged it securely so that it wouldn't brush against things.

He didn't know whether it would regrow.

He only hoped, at the very least, that the skin would grow back to cover the exposed bone.

He couldn't live with that sticking out of his finger.

It looked completely normal now, like nothing had ever happened but Fanner could still feel it.

That slight numbness, the tingling sensation that ran through it when he bent it sometimes.

"What happened?" Morren asked. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Fanner shook his head but he kept his hands hidden in his armpits, kept hugging himself.

"Sorry. I... I don't think I'm very good with knives. Can I fix something instead?"

Morren studied Fanner for a long moment and then shook his head.

"Don't you worry about that. Come on. We'll take a break and I'll fry you up a nice fish."

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter eight - “hovel, sweet hovel”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n arrive the shelter and take a look at what it has to offer.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

[A/N]: what would you like to see happen next? let me know! (p.s. this is what i pictured the shelter/hovel to look like)

"I think this is it," Bucky said, looking forward at the structure in front of them.

"That's the 'shelter?'" Y/N huffed, hopelessly annoyed.

They had been walking and jogging on and off for forty-five minutes straight. Her feet killed.

"We're... gonna die."

"We are not gonna die, Y/N."

"Look at it! That is a hovel!"

"Well, inside's better than outside," Bucky retorted. "At least no one will see us if we're in there. It looks abandoned, they'll assume it actually is.”

She sighed and followed behind Bucky into the shelter. It was a one story stone structure that looked so old and weathered. It... looked like a shed. An old ass stone shed. She briefly wondered if Wakanda had a storm season because she was almost certain this thing wouldn't withstand it.

The door let out an anticipated squeak, and she was just as disappointed to see the inside as she was the outside. Bucky put the bags down and rubbed the back of his neck.

"Yeah... this... isn't great..."

It was just as small as it seemed. And empty. Mostly. There were a few withered shelves with dusty pots and bowls, and an even more withered attempt at a table. There was what looked like a furnace in one corner with old, rotted wood in it. The wooden floor creaked under their steps.

The whole place felt like a ghost: desolate, ancient, and lonely. Except for one peculiar thing...

"Bucky?" she beckoned.

"Hm?"

(Y/N) hadn't noticed it when she first entered, but in the middle of the table sat a small, shiny, black panther figurine. It posed on all fours, looking ferociously up at her. It looked so out of place in contrast of the eternal layer of dust on everything else.

"What is this?" she asked reaching for the one thing that didn't match.

When her hand wrapped around it, energy surged into her skin. It felt almost... alive.

"(Y/N) what-" Bucky was cut off by a sound that startled them both.

In the corner across from the furnace, a section of the floor starting moving. Wood on wood on stone was not a good sound. Nonetheless, in mere seconds, there was an opening, and if (Y/N) leaned forward, she could see stairs!

Both of them remained still, feet planted on the creaky floor. They immediately looked at each other.

"What did you do?"

"I'm... not sure. I think I opened it."

(Y/N) smirked.

"What?" Bucky asked, confusion clearly evident in his tone.

"I should've known," (Y/N) shook her head. "Shuri wouldn't have led us here unless there was something more."

She held the panther figurine as she walked towards the opening.

"Wait," he grabbed her arm. "We don't know that Shuri knew that was here. What if it's a trap?"

"A trap from who? I don't think anyone knows we're here except Shuri."

"I don't know. J-Just let me go first."

"Alright. After you, oh wise one," she acquiesced, voice sarcastic but endearing all the same.

Bucky tried to suppress a chuckle. "Smartass. You're the wise one."

She tried to go down the stairs, letting him go first, but apparently that wasn't enough.

"Wait, just let me go look around and I'll holler when it's all good."

"Holler? Who says holler?"

"Me. Wait here."

"Fine," she made a show of pointedly plopping down on the top step, still and waiting as he requested.

It only took about ten seconds.

"Woah..." his voice came from far away.

"What is it?!" (Y/N) leaned forward.

"You were right! Come down, you gotta see this!"

She wasted no time... and standing beside Bucky, her jaw dropped.

"Holy..."

Beneath the ground was a significantly larger, way more modernized, and highly advanced survival shelter. All equipped with smaller versions of a table, chairs, and cabinets, along with a compact freezer and miniature stove, a chest, a closet, and two sets of bunk beds. Everything was clean and looked in optimal condition. There was even a rug.

"Shuri definitely didn’t leave you with nothing," Bucky commented, still taking it all in.

"-us with nothing," she corrected, retreating back up to the shed to get the bags.

-

Later in the day, (Y/N) got a handle on the panther key and how to use it to open and close the entryway to the bunker. Once she figured it out, she kept it closed, ensuring their concealment and maximizing their safety.

Bucky had found his way into the closet, listing off the contents to (Y/N) who sat on the floor, back up against one of the bunk bed legs. She was exhausted. Her body had been assaulted by adrenaline and strenuous mortal-danger-physical-activity. Bucky seemed to be fine, though. Curse that super soldier serum. His energy was always so high.

"...oh, and here's the bedding stuff. I don't know what this is, though."

(Y/N) lethargically leaned her head over to get a good view of the closet.

She chuckled. "That's a space heater...Oh! And next to it - that's a portable AC. Makes sense. I doubt they could get electric or plumbing out here."

And her head rolled back to center, eyes closing, body exhausted.

Bucky seemed to notice. "Hey, if you're tired, I can make the beds...or at least yours if you wanna sleep now."

(Y/N) stretched her legs straight out in front of her. "No, that's okay."

She wasn't about to force her one armed friend to make a bed for her. That's just rude. Especially after he carried those bags. She felt bad; she wished she had done more.

"Nah, I don't mind. It's not like I got anything else to do," he insisted, bringing the bedding over.

(Y/N) stood, body internally complaining in aching protest. She didn't really have the energy to expertly persuade him.

"Buck, it's fine." Her voice was faint.

He didn't even stop to hesitate, seemingly determined on the task. She thought it better to just give up and let him do his thing since he was so set on it. However, the sheet was fitted and there were pillow cases, not really one-arm friendly assets. He was struggling... very clearly. (Y/N) felt even worse.

He started moving quicker, frustration jerking his arm in quick, irritated bursts as he was trying to get the sheet to stay. There was still no success.

She stepped forward gently. "Bucky..."

"Damn it!" he hissed, slamming his hand on the bed frame before forcefully standing up. His hand went to his forehead, rubbing his eyes in disappointment.

(Y/N) was a statue. She had never seen him mad before; she had no idea what to do. Don't get her wrong, she wasn't scared, she just wasn't sure what to say.

"Can't fuckin' do anything," he muttered under his breath.

She finally moved forward. "Hey, forget the bedding, it doesn't matter-"

"Yes it does," he turned. "We're hiding from a collapsed regime and I can't even make a damn bed. Plus you've done so much for me, I just wanted to help with something. I just wanted to be able to do something."

Oh. Suddenly, his anger was gone. It was replaced with a miserable helplessness. It made her chest tight; she needed to fix this.

"Buck, you don't owe me anything. I'm here because I wanted to help, not because I was expecting anything in return. And I don't know what you've been paying attention to, but I watched you carry the majority of those - heavy - bags the entire way here while simultaneously figuring out the way to the shelter while my brain was momentarily smooth. You were the voice of reason in that chaos we just escaped from, and it's a damn good thing you were so calm because I don't know if I could have handled the panic of the both of us."

"You could've," he murmured. "And I wasn't calm, I'm just used to this. I was trained for situations like this."

No, she wasn't going to lose to deflection.

"Regardless, you were a huge help. Seriously."

He still didn't look convinced.

"In fact, I feel more safe here with you than I would with Shuri and the Queen. You're like a super soldier body guard."

A look washed over his face that (Y/N) couldn't quite place. He looked at her quizzically, like he was trying to figure something out.

"You... feel safer with me?"

"That's what I said, yes."

"You're not like... worried about..."

"The Winter Soldier? No."

He sighed. "How can you be so sure? You have no idea if or when I might... you know."

"We are literally the only people here, and I don't plan on saying the trigger words. So unless you plan on saying them, I don't really think we have anything to worry about. And, even if you did 'you know,' you could definitely get away with it and no one would find the body."

He turned bright red. "What?!"

"I'm kidding! Sorry. But Bucky, you've been doing so well with me and Shuri, and honestly the Hydra programming might not even be there anymore."

"But we don't know for sure!"

"Bucky..." she pleaded, turning her head slightly as to say what is this about?

"I can't trust my own mind," he sighed looking at the floor. "I just don't wanna do anything bad. It's just - weird that you don't seem to be worried at all."

"Why is that?"

"Everyone sees me as a monster."

The room was dead silent. He wasn't looking at her, but if (Y/N) looked at him any harder, she was sure she'd burn a hole through his head. How could anyone see this man as a monster? Logically, she understood what other people saw. But personally, she couldn’t find it in her to perceive him like that. It just didn’t work. All she could find was gentleness, compassion, and sincerity.

"I can't see you as something you're not," she said, whisper soft. "I don't care if you hands are 'scarred from murder' or however you said it a few sessions ago. I trust them entirely."

He finally looked up at her, his face filled with something she couldn't quite place. It looked a bit like disbelief and then it changed into relief and then something else entirely. A slow smile crept up on his lips.

"...hand."

"What?"

"My hand. Singular. Not hands."

A deep, deep smile - to match the one on Bucky - grew on her face just before the pair started cracking up ridiculously. Perhaps this was an odd way of releasing the tension, fear, frustration, and exhaustion of the day. Nevertheless, laughter was cathartic. It was so cathartic that eventually (Y/N) could hardly catch her breath and Bucky's stomach hurt. This went on for several minutes.

In time, they both calmed down. She didn't remember when exactly it happened, but they were both sitting on the floor now. They sat in between the two bunk beds, facing one another, each back leaning against a respective bedpost.

The atmosphere was different now, but not in a bad way. It felt like 2 a.m. at a sleepover, when the conversations get drowsily deep, with slow voices and honest confessions. It was heavy eyelids and low inhibitions.

A fresh wave of exhaustion washed over her. She let her head fall slack against the bedpost, resting.

"Bucky, what were sleepovers like in the forties?" she asked softly, eyes closing ever so delicately. 

"Well," he started, getting into a story of his past with Steve and the couch cushions.

And that's how she fell asleep. Sitting on the floor, leaning against a bunk bed, and listening to his voice fade out into the background of her consciousness.

If only she knew how she would wake up: laying comfortably on one of the beds, with one blanket on top of her and another below her because he couldn't get the sheet to cooperate. With the pillowcase carefully draped atop the pillow instead of enveloping it because that's what one hand would allow. With the bed next to her being slept in with no blanket because he used his as the replacement for the sheet he couldn’t get to cooperate.

[aureatesvn]

Economy//Jaebeom

Content: humour, fluff(?) if you squint

Model!Jaebeom has never been so confused.

Or,

An avid display of the frustrations of the rich (and supposedly famous).

People came and went like clockwork, each individual blurring into a mass flow of luggage and sweatpants and crying children, lord save him from the crying children. The airport was just a disaster waiting to happen, but he found an awkward kind of comfort in the timeless feel of the place. It was the same routine every time, arrive a few hours early, pass through security, don his trusty bucket hat and find somewhere to wait. With a book, preferably. This time was no different, aside from the… minor intrusion.

It had been less than an hour since he'd made himself comfortable in his isolated corner of the seating area, it was a nice spot and he was quite proud of himself for finding it, to be honest. He'd scoured almost a quarter of the airport (the quarter he was confined to), and it had taken exactly 38 minutes, but he'd eventually gravitated towards the large windows where the morning sunlight was streaming in from. A few moments later, he'd snagged the perfect spot. It was sort of a treasure-hunt type game to him, and he'd undeniable succeeded.

Unfortunately now he was feeling dozy, the warmth of the sun warming him, and the ebbing of people passing by allowing him some peace. It was the perfect setting for a nap, and he'd all but given up on trying to focus on his book. He needed a cold drink, which meant he had to go find a cold drink… He surveyed the area for any nearby cafés or bars, and was left with a single option he could make out if he squinted into the distance, that's where he'd have to go then. 

With a resigned sigh, he started collecting his things, unwilling to part with his spot, when a brilliant idea struck him. Possibly the best idea he'd had in his entire life, really. 

He returned the things to their original places, jacket across the back of the chair, bag (which he'd taken his phone and wallet out of) planted decisively on the seat. He considered leaving his hat as well, but eventually decided that was a step too far, and stepped back to assess his work. 

Well, the seat was indisputably taken, and anyone who would argue otherwise was either blind (in which case he'd happily offer up the seat anyway), or specifically looking to cause trouble. He possibly could have worried a bit more about theft and such, but as it was, he took it as a test of the upstanding airport security and didn't think much more of it. 

Happy with his spot secured, he smiled to himself and ambled his way to the café, peering back every so often to check no one was getting too close to his place. He had one or two stares at how he was forced to angle his head in a rather ostrich-esque way, but it was most definitely worth it. Eventually he was too far away to see, and focused on getting his drink and getting back as soon as possible. 

He was halfway back with his lime soda when he saw it. Actually, he'd seen it a bit before then, but had been in denial about the rather horrible turn of events, and so hadn't quite believed his eyes. He most definitely believed them now. As he drew closer, the scene he was nearing didn't get any less horrifying. In fact, when he was close enough to feel the need to cautiously side-step his way to his belongings, it was decidedly more awful than he'd anticipated from a distance. 

There was someone right there. 

Not on his chair, his things were still perfectly in place, untouched, but at the uncomfortably close distance of the very-next-seat along, there was a person. And all their things. 

He stood over his seat, trying to process the events that led up to this, not quite fully understanding how the obviously taken seat hadn't deterred this female (he thought she was female, at least) from making herself at home in the 2 seat radius surrounding the chair. Least of all, what had prompted her to sit right next- 

'Is there a problem?'

Yes yes yes yes yes absolutely, please leave.

'Sorry?' was all he could choke out.

She was looking up at him, but somehow managed to be looking down her nose, and he had enough sense in him to recognise she felt rich. Or maybe it was her small(ish) collection of branded items. Fendi? Jackson would have a field day. 

'I asked if there was a problem? I don't appreciate being ogled at.'

He was at a loss for words, he hadn't expected her to be so… brusque. Usually strangers at the airport interacted with a stilted politeness, lots of half-bows, please and thank yous, maybe she didn't get the memo? Taking a sip of his lime soda, he noted that Saint Laurent was also present within her collection. How ironic. 

'Ah, no, I wasn't looking at you, these' he gestures to his bag, 'are my belongings…'

He's not quite sure what he was expecting, but whatever it was, it absolutely wasn't for her to look possibly more offended than she had been before he'd spoken. Maybe she'll move if I upset her enough? 

As he half heartedly checks himself for thinking such a thing, she swivels her head back and forth between him and his things, the sunlight glinting off of her hair.

'They're,' she points at his seat, 'yours?'           

She points at him, disbelief written across her face. They stay like that in silence for a few moments, at an impasse.

He coughs awkwardly and takes another sip.

'Yes…?' 

At this point he's thinking it maybe wasn't worth it, and it would be easier for him to just find a different spot, without the oddly confrontational scenery.

'Are you sure?'

He chokes on his lime soda. Through spluttering and coughing and the highly unpleasant burning (fizzing) at the back of his throat, he resolutely decides he's not letting her chase him away from his spot. He got there first anyway. 

Fighting mindset truly in place, he sets her with a condescending smile, and drawls out his question like he would to address a rather irritating child.

'You don't believe that the bag and jacket that I put on that chair, walked over to collect, and said were mine are… mine?'

He sees the realisation dawn on her, and fights the urge to laugh (not because he wanted to be polite, but because his throat was still tingling and he was sure he'd end up coughing again if he laughed at her). She pouts and waves a manicured hand between them, shaking her head.

'No, no, it's just people travelling... economy… tend to…y'know...have...' 

People travelling eco- What?

He blinks at her, once again unsure what to say. 

'WAIT- Not- Not that economy is a bad thing or anything, that's not what I meant-'

A part of him is relieved that there are obviously people out there who are far worse than him at meeting strangers. The other part of him is bitter that he had to meet one of them. He's certain the ice in his soda has melted at this point, and curses her for (if nothing else) leaving him with a diluted room-temperature drink.

'Look, I'll just take my things and-' he spots a relatively empty block across the seating area from them, and gestures to make sure she sees. She blinks up at him owlishly, as if waiting for him to go, and he sighs tiredly. The polite thing to do is to offer to move instead. 

After approximately 15 seconds, he gives up, collects his jacket and bag, and trundles over to the less sunny, less quiet, and overall less comfortable seating block. 

He spends the next two hours trying to lose himself in his book, checking the flight status and complaining to the guys about the awful encounter.

At roughly 11:45 he finally hears the boarding announcement,

Flight KE418 to Seoul will be boarding shortly, please proceed to gate 117.

And by some sheer luck, he finds himself at the very front of the queue when the man at the desk starts checking passports and boarding passes. 

He practically skips his way down the corridor to the plane, buzzing with excitement. He's almost home. The flight attendant smiles at him, checks his pass and escorts him to an aisle seat, and when he takes off his hat to push back his hair, there's a barely noticeable twitch of her lip to show that she recognises him before she disappears to attend to another passenger. 

He sinks into his seat, browsing movie options on the monitor, and is just about to put headphones on when he hears it.

'Oh, thank you, sorry, this seat? Thanks…'

That voice did not go with that meek tone at all. 

He looks up to see her nervously shuffling down the right-hand aisle, and slowing down when the attendant does, one seat ahead. Please no, let me have my flight in peace, lord if you have any mercy…

'This is seat 04, if you have further requirements or any issues, just let us know.'

As it turns out, the lord didn't have any mercy free today. 

He takes in her slight frame over the divider, made to look smaller by her hunched shoulders and clasped hands, before realising she's not yet sat down because she's been staring at him. Great, now all he had to do was figure out if she recognised him because she'd chased him away earlier, or because she'd seen his face in a magazine. Or both. 

He decides to take initiative, and smile politely at her, bowing his head. She's already slowly turning a deep pink and, somewhere in the back of his head, he thinks she's quite cute when she's flustered. 

With that thought, he decides he's in a good enough mood to tease her, and acknowledges that there's no way she won't have recognised his clothes (if not his face) from earlier.

'So, economy huh?'

[xxisxxisxxis]

Gateway Drug | Part Thirty-Six

Table of Content or Part Thirty-Five

Read on wattpad here.

Word count: 3.3k

Warning(s): Explicit language, drug abuse, explicit sexual situations

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"If you weren't such an asshole, he wouldn't have to take up for me!" I bark at Nikki as he tipsily stumbles around, ranting at me about my "fucking friend not minding his own god damn business" nearly a week ago, as the guys and Doc just look on, not knowing what the hell either of us are talking about.

"I'm an asshole?! Like you don't get me riled up and then play victim?!" He throws at me.

"Like it takes very much to get your tweaked-out ass riled up!" I point at him.

"Bitch!" He sneers out.

"Fuck up!" I hiss back.

Duff wasn't even out of line with Nikki. He had kept calm and advised Nikki to cool down and then come back and talk to me instead of getting himself and me upset.

Nikki hadn't let on if he minded Duff's intervening to defend me, until a week later, because he was taking it as Duff trying to tell him how to be married to me as if he knew me better than Nikki did, which wasn't at all Duff's intention.

Compared to the number I've seen Duff do on guys during a fist fight, Nikki was lucky he didn't lay him out in the driveway. However, he would eventually know what it felt like to be punched in the face by Duff during the "Girls" tour.

Duff was good at keeping his cool until the people he cared about became involved, and if he had been drinking a lot--which, towards the early 90s, that was the case--his temper could surpass mine, and he worried less about legalities and just started decking people as hard as he could.

I knew he struggled with the band, they weren't as close, Steven had been replaced by Matt Sorum, Izzy got sober and began distancing himself to stay sober, and to top off the disconnect from each other, Axl had become God in his own mind, which caused the fans, the band, and the people around him to suffer.

Once I realized his drinking and drug use became so overzealous, our agreement which was arranged out of court, that each of us have two weeks with Monroe a piece, became an arrangement that I had sole custody but took Monroe to visit his father for a few days out of the month. Duff was struggling so badly to keep it together with his mental health, addiction, and ailing of his band, that he didn't really notice I had our son more than he did.

If he had been a baby and wouldn't remember his father throwing back Solo cup after Solo cup of vodka, putting cocaine in the end of his cigarette and smoking it, and not acting like himself, I would have just left Monroe in the care of Tansy (since she was fully sober then) and let him stay around for two weeks.

But he was four when Duff started speeding down hill, and he was picking up on when his dad wasn't talking right and when he was acting weird, everything he saw that no one knew he was paying attention to...then he'd come back to me and Nikki after visiting and tell us about everything he had absorbed like a sponge: uncle Izzy traveling separately from the band, Dad being really cold and shivering until he got some water, uncle Axl not singing until a lot of people went home...that's when I decided to cut back time spent with his father and accompany him through his visits.

At first I thought I would be fine staying the two weeks out of the month with Monroe, but Axl and I couldn't quit fighting a majority of the time (because he was a jackass) and I came to the conclusion that Duff had enough on his plate and didn't need me to add to it by trying to punch Axl every chance I got for two weeks straight. So I cut it back to about five days out the month while they were on tour. When they weren't touring and I didn't have to be around Axl, Monroe and I would stay with Duff for about a week and a half.

Being that Nikki was more conscious than Duff, he took up where Duff had left off in the fathering department from '92-'94. This isn't me bashing the dad of my first child, either. Duff is and always will be a phenomenal father, but he stumbled for a few years, leaving Nikki to become the father Duff was supposed to be until Duff got his shit together, like Duff became the man for me that Nikki was suppose to be until Nikki got his shit together.

"Um..." Vince says, causing the both of us to glare at him. "...Can we rehearse now?"

He, Tommy, Mick and Doc were all patiently waiting for Nikki and I to finish our quarrel.

"Yeah." I sigh out. "Have a good rehearsal. I'll be at Tansy's." I head to the door.

"I hope you crash." Nikki gets one last jab in.

"I hope you OD." I leave them with the slamming of the studio door and step to my car.

Of course I didn't actually want him to OD, I just wanted to hurt him. And I did.

By the time it was time for the U.S. tour of Theater of Pain, our hands were being pinned behind our backs, and Doc was giving us a "get along or there's no Vivian Sixx on the tour" promise.

Although we were in the middle of a small battle and wanted nothing more than for the other person to wave their white flag and beg for forgiveness, Nikki didn't want to imagine going months without seeing me, and I was scared if I wasn't on tour to keep an eye on him, he would take his issues too far.

So we made up for the sake of each other's sanity, but again, never discussed what exactly happened to make us fight to begin with, and just harbored resentment we didn't realize we were holding onto until we started taking it out on each other later on.

The tour starts in upstate New York, then to Connecticut, Massachusetts, Rhode Island, and all went great...until Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.

Nikki's coming to the side of the stage where me and his tech are standing, and I think he's reaching for some water while Tommy plays his drum solo, but before I can reach down and grab a bottle from the cooler behind me, Nikki's saying words I always dread hearing.

"Help me, dude." He tells his tech, starting to pull his arm out of his navy and white polka-dotted costume.

"What?" I ask Nikki, before my face pales, seeing him pull a needle out of his boot, and a spoon before handing the lump of tar to him. "You cannot be fucking serious?" I spout over the booming of Tommy's playing.

"Nobody out there can fucking see me, Viv, chill out." He tells me as a piece of tar is melted down with a lighter underneath the spoon.

The fact that it's so casual for him to do this in front of me, is startling.

"Nikki, this can't wait?" I try to reason with him as the spoon is discarded to the floor once the gold is sucked up through the needle.

The syringe is handed back to him, and Tommy's solo is nearly over.

I have to squeeze my eyes shut and turn my head as Nikki plunges the needle into his skin, throws up, then stumbles back on stage, nearly missing his cue.

When the drugs started to override his need for a great performance, I knew he was gone.

I get out of the shower, ringing my hair out and running my fingers through it, hearing the phone in the hotel room ring.

When I go to answer it, Nikki and Tommy are grabbing at it, shewing me away.

"Hello?" They both obnoxiously say and I roll my eyes.

The person on the other side of the phone says something.

"Oh, hey, Duff." Nikki smirks, glancing at me and I give him a "you better be fucking nice" look.

"Hey, Buddy." Tommy adds.

"Viv? Yeah, she's here." Nikki tells him and I step to them, reaching my hand out to grab the phone, thinking he's going to give it to me. "Well, she can't really talk right now with my dick down her throat."

My eyes bug out of my head as I tackle Nikki and yank the phone from him while he and Tommy laugh loudly.

"Hello?" I ask.

"Hey, s-sorry to interrupt but I was just gonna call and check how it's been going." Duff replies.

"It's great." I assure him, leaving out the heavy drinking and drug binge Nikki and Tommy have been on.

"How's Nikki been? Is he still pissed at me?"

"No, no, he's been..." I think of what to say. Shooting heroin on stage? Coked out and shooting Jack Daniels with Tommy? "...great." I finally say, seeing Nikki and Tommy biting each others ankles like dogs.

"I'm sorry again if I overstepped, Viv. I didn't mean to, I just got a little pissed." He tells me.

"Duff, he's fine, I promise." I state, seeing Tommy and Nikki start wrestling, completely oblivious to my conversation. "It's fine. I'm use to his tantrums."

"I don't think that's healthy, Viv." He tells me calmly and I let out a breath.

"He's just stressed out, they all are. It'll get better once this tour is done."

"And what happens next tour?" He asks me.

Nikki's affair is outed on television, I try to kill him, your band comes on tour with them, and you get me knocked up...

"I'm hoping he'll be over this hellion phase by then." I admit, Tommy and Nikki each have handfuls of each other's hair, yanking on it, still not paying me any attention.

"Maybe it's not my place, but from outside looking in, I'm worried about you, Viv."

"I know, I know, but there's no need to." I reassure him.

He let's out a breath, knowing he can't win, and gives up for now.

"I feel like the fucking brick wall you argue with." He tells me and I smile, rubbing my lips together, before seeing Nikki and Tommy finish their play fighting, standing up, looking like they're about to leave.

"Hey, I gotta go but I'll call you when we get to the next city, alright?" I tell him.

"Oh, yeah, that sounds good." He replies. "Goodnight, love you."

"Love you, too." I reply before hanging up just as Nikki and Tommy sneak to the door. "Where do you two think you're going?" I ask and they freeze.

"Uh, well..." Tommy stutters to come up with an excuse, but Nikki just doesn't give a shit.

"Score some stuff." He tells me and I cross my arms over my towel.

"Nikki--"

"Tommy, can you give us a second?" Nikki says it like the answer can't be "no."

Tommy just raises his brows a little and nods.

"Sure, man, I'll be in my room when you're ready." He tells him, stepping out.

Nikki shuts the door behind him and I wait for him to start a fight, my brow raised, an expression of "can't wait to hear what audacious bullshit comes out of your mouth this time" is plastered all over my face when he turns around.

As far as I can tell, he hasn't snorted, shot up or smoked anything in the past hour and a half, which means I'm not facing the absolute devil that goes by the name "Sikki" and is Nikki's evil, drug loaded, irritable, mean, scary, abusive, demonic, sadistic, cruel, vindictive, disgusting alter-ego.

Nikki rolls his jaw a little with each step to me, but I don't cower back, waiting for him to say whatever it is he is going to say.

His hands bunch at my towel, pulling me against him.

He doesn't say a word, and I keep my arms crossed until he holds back the inkling of a smirk, leaning down to press a small kiss where my shoulder and neck meet.

I know what he's doing, because I do it to him all the time: using sex to get what he wants.

I bite my tongue to keep from moaning when we realizes I'm not budging and ups the anti, the tip of his tongue making slow, figure-eights in the same spot.

I feel like someone's knocked the back of my knees loose with a baseball bat, and I have to uncross my arms and hold tightly to him to keep from falling down.

He completely engulfs me in his arms at the sound of me letting out a whimper, my fingers grabbing at his hair, my legs rubbing themselves together to aid some relief.

His hands pull at my towel, discarding it to the floor, pressing his lips along my chest, over my breast, running his tongue around my nipple skillfully.

Hands run themselves between my legs while teeth carnally tug and bruise my skin, sending a wave of heat from my chest to my dripping core.

His mouth moves to my other nipple, but my real undoing is when his teeth trail down to the rib below my right breast, and bite down.

I gasp out, arching into him, my head tips back as he adds a bruise to the skin there that's already scarred with his teeth imprints collected over the years.

He smooths his tongue over the bite before trailing down my stomach, pressing to my pubic bone.

He pulls one of my legs over his shoulder as he gets on his knees, pressing gentle kisses down my inner thigh.

My chest is heaving with loss of breath as he looks me in the eyes and runs tongue from my entrance to my clit.

I dig my nails into his hands that hold steady at my waist as the slick sound and euphoric feeling of his tongue lacing back and forth and side to side against the sensitive nerve endings.

He pulls away for a moment, only to spit between my legs and suck it off my pussy, making my one standing leg go numb at the sensation.

Shallow pants leave my mouth as I start moving in rhythm with him, one of my hands reaching for his hair, pulling at it.

He takes one of his hands from me before rubbing it against my folds, getting his fingers wet, and sliding them into me.

The thick, fullness has my walls tightening around the two digits, eager to please myself as his tongue massages my clit, and my fingers come up to play with my own nipples.

"Nikki." I let out shakily, his fingers curling inside of me, pulling back out, pushing back in only to repeat. "Fuck, you do it so good." I praise hoarsely, one of my hands going back to his hair.

His tongue picks up it's pace, sending my heart rate into overdrive as his fingers keep up with the pace.

He knows exactly what he's doing, smirking up at me when his fingers hit the spot, my throat unable to contain the loud but curt moan that the people in the room next to us can probably hear as I milk his fingers as if they're his cock and my orgasm gets closer and closer.

He pulls his mouth away, licking his lips, before using the pad of his thumb from his other hand to rapidly rub at my swollen flesh.

I grip around his fingers so tightly it falters his ability to move them as well, and he lets out a little groan.

"I wish I could be three places at one time." He comments.

If he could be three places in me at one time I would be wrapped around him 24/7.

"C'mon, Viv, I'm getting really thirsty here." He says gruffly, that fucking smirk pulling at a corner of his mouth, as I throw my head back, letting out another loud moan, so close to my end I can taste it.

His hazel eyes looking up at me in adoration as I curl my toes and come so hard I see black dots.

He's taking his fingers out of me, grabbing at my ass with both hands, pulling me into him and licking every last drop of cum from me before I collapse on top of him, the both of us landing on the floor.

He let's out a laugh as I try to catch my breath, my chest pressed against his, my hands holding at his biceps.

"Are you okay?" He asks me, proudly, and I nod.

"I just need a minute..." I can barely get out in a rasp.

After about five minutes, I'm getting off of him and pulling myself onto the foot of the bed.

He stands up, too, stepping to my suitcase, tossing me one of his shirts he gave to me.

"Thank you." I say to him quietly and pull it on and when he pulls his jacket on, I know he's about to go out to get some more smack.

This terrifies me and tears come to my eyes.

"I'll be back in..." He stops talking, furrowing his brows, looking at me. "...Viv?"

I shake my head a little, waving him off.

"I'm fine, babe." I try to tell him.

"Vivian, why're crying." He asks me.

"I-I think I'm about to start my period." I lie, sniffling. "I'm just being over-emotional."

"Are you sure?"

I nod.

"I'll be back in a couple hours, alright?"

I nod again.

"Alright, I'll see you later." He tells me, wiping my tears with his thumb before pressing his lips to mine for a few seconds, and walking out the door.

When I envisioned my life when I was little, getting married at nineteen, having three miscarriages by the time I was twenty-one, having an addict husband, and spending a majority of my nights sleeping alone—which is one thing I absolutely hated to do—was not at all how I dreamt of my life being when I grew up.

But there I was.

Night after night.

City after city.

Alone.

In pain.

Broken.

Silent.

With not a single soul knowing about it.

It's been four hours and Nikki still isn't back.

Restless, I turn over to read the digital alarm clock.

4:02a.m.

Sighing out, I get out of the bed and go to my suitcase to grab a pair of panties and slip them on, before grabbing one of Nikki's shirts from his bag that smells like him.

I leave the hotel room and head next door to Vince's room, knocking on the door.

After several attempts, the door opens to reveal a very confused, half asleep, blonde girl that isn't Sharise—who's baby is due any day now.

"Hi." I say, hushly, pushing past her. "Did you guys do anything in the bed?" I ask her once I'm standing by the bed and she rubs her eyes, still in a haze.

She mumbles something that sounds like "the shower" and I hold out my room key to her.

"You can go sleep in my bed. Room 223." I say.

She doesn't ask questions, she just wants to go back to sleep.

Once she shuts the door, I'm patting around the mattress to avoid laying on Vince.

I slip in where she was, Vince's back to me.

I seperate his naked body from me by laying on top of the sheet, just letting the comforter guard me from the cool air from the vent, and actually snuggle closer to him, my forehead pressing against his back as I hold Nikki's shirt close to me like it's my sacred baby blanket, and drift off.

[dark-and-twisty-01]

This has to be the saddest podcast I have ever listened to and I wanted to share this with you because I haven't come across many cases like this where the innocent have been executed for crimes they did not commit. It hurts knowing that Carlos died in pain and couldn't ask for help due to the drugs in his body. The botched execution lasted for 11 minutes whilst Carlos was promised a peaceful death by his last friend who he had asked to hold his hand, he wasn't allowed to hold his hand so he held his leg reassuring him.

Carlos DeLuna was arrested, aged 20, on 4 February 1983 for the brutal murder of a young woman, Wanda Lopez. She had been stabbed once through the left breast with an 8in lock-blade buck knife which had cut an artery causing her to bleed to death. From the moment of his arrest until the day of his death by lethal injection six years later, DeLuna consistently protested he was innocent. He went further – he said that though he hadn't committed the murder, he knew who had. He even named the culprit: a notoriously violent criminal called Carlos Hernandez.

At his 1983 trial, Carlos DeLuna told the jury that on the day of the murder he'd run into Hernandez, who he'd known for the previous five years. The two men, who both lived in the southern Texas town of Corpus Christi, stopped off at a bar. Hernandez went over to a gas station, the Shamrock, to buy something, and when he didn't return DeLuna went over to see what was going on.

DeLuna told the jury that he saw Hernandez inside the Shamrock wrestling with a woman behind the counter. DeLuna said he was afraid and started to run. He had his own police record for sexual assault – though he had never been known to possess or use a weapon – and he feared getting into trouble again.

"I just kept running because I was scared, you know." When he heard the sirens of police cars screeching towards the gas station he panicked and hid under a pick-up truck where, 40 minutes after the killing, he was arrested.

At the trial, DeLuna's defence team told the jury that Carlos Hernandez, not DeLuna, was the murderer. But the prosecutors ridiculed that suggestion. They told the jury that police had looked for a "Carlos Hernandez" after his name had been passed to them by DeLuna's lawyers, without success. They had concluded that Hernandez was a fabrication, a "phantom" who simply did not exist. The chief prosecutor said in summing up that Hernandez was a "figment of DeLuna's imagination".

Four years after DeLuna was executed, Liebman decided to look into the DeLuna case as part of a project he was undertaking into the fallibility of the death penalty. He asked a private investigator to spend one day – just one day – looking for signs of the elusive Carlos Hernandez.

By the end of that single day the investigator had uncovered evidence that had eluded scores of Texan police officers, prosecutors, defense lawyers and judges over the six years between DeLuna's arrest and execution. Carlos Hernandez did indeed exist.

Liebman's investigator tracked down within a few hours a woman who was related to both the Carloses. She supplied Hernandez's date of birth, which in turn allowed the unlocking of Hernandez's criminal past as the case rapidly unravelled.

With the help of his students, Liebman began to piece together a profile of Hernandez. He was an alcoholic with a history of violence, who was always in the company of his trusted companion: a lock-blade buck knife.

Over the years he was arrested 39 times, 13 of them for carrying a knife, and spent his entire adult life on parole. Yet he was almost never put in prison for his crimes – a disparity that Liebman believes was because he was used as a police informant. "Its hard to understand what happened without that piece of the puzzle," Liebman says.

Several of the crimes that Hernandez committed involved hold-ups of Corpus Christi gas stations. Just a few days before the Shamrock murder he was found cowering outside a nearby 7-Eleven wielding a knife – a detail never disclosed to DeLuna's defence.

He also had a history of violence towards women. He was twice arrested on suspicion of the 1979 murder of a woman called Dahlia Sauceda, who was stabbed and then had an "X" carved into her back. The first arrest was made four years before DeLuna's trial and the second while DeLuna was on death row, yet the connection between this Hernandez and the "phantom" presented to DeLuna's jury was never made.

In October 1989, just two months before DeLuna was executed, Hernandez was setenced to 10 years' imprisonment for attempting to kill with a knife another woman called Dina Ybanez. Even then, no one thought to alert the courts or Texas state as it prepared to put DeLuna to death.

Hernandez himself frequently told people that he was a knife murderer. He made numerous confessions to having killed Wanda Lopez, the crime for which DeLuna was executed, joking with friends and relatives that his "tocayo" had taken the fall. His admissions were so widely broadcast that even Corpus Christi police detectives came to hear about them within weeks of the incident at the Shamrock gas station. Yet this was the same Carlos Hernandez who prosecutors told the jury did not exist. This was the figment of Carlos DeLuna's imagination.

Many other glaring discrepancies also stand out in the DeLuna case. He was put on death row largely on the eyewitness testimony of one man, Kevan Baker, who had seen the fight inside the Shamrock and watched the attacker flee the scene.

Yet when Baker was interviewed 20 years later, he said that he hadn't been that sure about the identification as he had trouble telling one Hispanic person apart from another.

Then there was the crime-scene investigation. Detectives failed to carry out or bungled basic forensic procedures that might have revealed information about the killer. No blood samples were collected and tested for the culprit's blood type.

Fingerprinting was so badly handled that no useable fingerprints were taken. None of the items found on the floor of the Shamrock – a cigarette stub, chewing gum, a button, comb and beer cans – were forensically examined for saliva or blood.

There was no scraping of the victim's fingernails for traces of the attacker's skin. When Liebman and his students studied digitally enhanced copies of crime scene photographs, they were amazed to find the footprint from a man's shoe imprinted in a pool of Lopez's blood on the floor – yet no effort was made to measure it.

"There it was," says Liebman. "The murderer had left his calling card at the scene, but it was never used."

Even the murder weapon, the knife, was not properly examined, though it was covered in blood and flesh.

Other photographs show Lopez's blood splattered up to three feet high on the walls of the Shamrock counter. Yet when DeLuna's clothes and shoes were tested for traces of blood, not a single microscopic drop was found. The prosecution said it must have been washed away by the rain.

There appeared to have been an unseemly scramble to wrap up the crime scene. Less than two hours after the murder happened, the police chief in charge of the homicide investigation ordered all detectives to quit the Shamrock and allowed its owner to wash it down, sweeping away vital evidence that could have saved a man's life.

The exceptionally lax treatment of evidence continued even beyond the grave. When Liebman asked to see all the stored evidence in the case, so that he could subject it to the DNA testing that was not available to investigators in 1983, he was told that it had all disappeared.

Having lived and breathed this case for so many years, Liebman says the most shocking thing about it was its ordinariness. "This wasn't the trial of OJ Simpson. It was an obscure case, the kind that could involve anybody. Maybe those are the cases where miscarriages of justice happen, the routine everyday cases where nobody thinks enough about the victim, let alone the defendant."

The groundbreaking work that the Columbia law school has done comes at an important juncture for the death penalty in America. Connecticut last month became the fifth state in as many years to repeal the ultimate punishment and support for abolition is gathering steam.

In that context, Liebman hopes his exhaustive work will encourage Americans to think more deeply about what is done in their name. All the evidence the Columbia team has gathered on the DeLuna case has been placed on the internet with open public access.

"We've provided as complete a set of information as we can about a pretty average case, to let the public make its own judgment. I believe they will make the judgment that in this kind of case there's just too much risk."

As for the tocayos Carloses, Carlos Hernandez died of natural causes in a Texas prison in May 1999, having been jailed for assaulting a neighbour with a 9in knife.

Carlos DeLuna commented on his own ending in a television interview a couple of years before his execution. "Maybe one day the truth will come out," he said from behind reinforced glass. "I'm hoping it will. If I end up getting executed for this, I don't think it's right."

I highly suggest listening to this podcast by Morbidology, I follow them on Tumblr and they're amazing and I share a lot of their content on my Facebook page. So maybe check them out and give them a follow. Their tumblr is @congenitaldisease

[lacriemony]

Try to tame a dragon, would you?

Pt.3

The next day, they had worked on it a little more, this time sharing words. They had also agreed to eat lunch together, just to make use of the time and to work on the case a little more.

And so, it is why the two were sited face to face in an indian snack/restaurant in muggle London. Draco stared at the crowd in silence while Harry observed him.

The prat had changed. His snarky, disdainful attitude had almost completely disappeared, making him somewhat of a decent human being. Harry was surprised; he didn't actually hate being around the ferret that much anymore. It was even fun, sometimes, when they both trashed whoever had written the papers required for the case. Most of the time was spent in silence, or sharing thoughts and ideas on the works they were doing. Harry didn't mind.

His eyes fell to Draco's fingers. They were distractedly touching his forearm, caressing the skin over the jacket he was wearing. Harry guessed what was hidden, scarring Draco's skin forever.

With a sigh, he decided to spark up a conversation. "How's your mother?" he asked. She had saved him from certain death and for that, he couldn't hate her. She had been released and was now there and abouts with her life, happily, Harry hoped.

Draco's eyes jerked back at Harry and a spark of surprise hinted them. "She's...she's fine. Why do you care?"

"She saved me, remember? Plus, sitting in silence is boring. What have you been up to until we met again?" he continued, unaware of Draco's uneasyness. He watched Draco's shoulders lift and fall back down in a shrug.

"Not much. Went to live in Paris for a while, studied a little. Then back to London, then to Romania and else. Studied dragons mostly, with Charlie Weasley. The only red head I'll ever tolerate." he finished with a small smile. Harry seemed a little surprised to see his old nemesis smile so gently. His own lips curled upwards and he nodded, encouraging Draco to continue. The young man took the invitation with joy. "I learned a lot through him. I found a growing passion for dragons. They're so great, don't you think?" he asked, his eyes tinkering with interest.

Images of the Triwizard Tournament flashed before Harry's eyes. "I mean...I was nearly killed by one at 16..." he started, shrugging. "But yeah, they're pretty cool."

Draco's reaction was surprising. A wide smile appeared on his face for a blink moment, before his cheeks took a gentle crimson colour and he dropped his eyes back to his menu. It made Harry chuckle and melt, just a little though.

.

Harry sat, in his apartment, against the sofa. His eyes wandered over the burning logs of wood in the chimney.

He was hungry but his body refused to cooperate. A glass of wine in his hand, he balanced it between fingers, unaware of the world around him. Him and Malfoy had been working together for weeks now. They had sparked somewhat of a friendship, just enough to spend decent time together.

The Golden boy enjoyed watching Draco light up at the sight of dragons, or animals, in general. He seemed to carefree and soft that Harry found himself wanting to wrap his arms around the blonde. Even more so when they walked past pet stores. Draco would stick his face up to the puppies, nose against the glass and his voice would go up a couple of picthes. And then, when he would realise where he was -and who he was with- he'd blush and stand straight and proud. It made Harry shake with laughter, everytime.

Tilting his head towards the ceiling, he sighed. Feeling his body slowly fall into slumber, he welcomed it gratefully and closed his eyes, just slightly. The world became a blur and he relaxed.

A rumble made him flinch, then a burst of smoke and the loud thud of a body falling. He stood, wand in hand and looked through the smoke and ashes.

A figure was on the ground, coughing. Harry pointed his wand at it, ready to attack when a voice, gentle but raspy, flew to his ears. "Potter?", it asked. Harry flinched once more and rushed towards the nearly motionless body. It was Malfoy.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" Harry brought his hand up to Draco. He shivered at the touch of the other man's warm skin.

"My apartment...trashed...had to get out...before hurt.." managed to whisper Draco before he fell inconscious. With a worried glance, Harry shook his partner's shoulders in an attempt to wake him up, but it didn't work. So, he brought his arm under Draco's back, the other at the curve if his knees and he effortlessly lifted the limp body to his room.

Harry took off Malfoy's shoes after proping him over the blankets of his bed. The moon was shining brightly, its rays gently reflecting on Draco's dewy skin. It seemed to glow. Harry wondered if he wasn't part veela, for he was gorgeous. Biting his lip, he allowed his fingers to brush a silver lock out of Malfoy's face. Surprised of his movement, he retrieved his hand and laid down next to the other man, at a healthy distance. He'd get more information later on.

.

His eyes fluttered open as the sun gently lapped his skin. Green eyes looked around, confusedly. It was now bright, the room was bathed in a golden halo of warmth.

With a groan, Harry turned to his side and fell face to face with a sleeping Draco. He hadn't been able to quite see him in the dark, but now, he could see the small scratch above his brow. His lips were curled upwards and his whole body rested, peacefully, with an air of contentment. He was truly gorgeous and Harry felt his heart palpitate.

"Observing me, Potter?" asked Draco's sleepy voice. His eyes hooded, he looked down at Harry with a smirk.

Harry felt his cheeks ignite and he shrugged. "Nah. I'm gonna make coffee." he said, in an attempt to leave the room -and to hide his growing erection-. Draco nodded and allowed his eyelids to fall back, relaxing once more.

A little later, he was presented with a cup of warm coffee. Siting up, he held it in his palms, the gentle smell flowing to his nose. Harry sat next to him, a little awkwardly.

"So hum, what was yesterday about?" asked Harry. He felt Draco's body tense and watched his eyes take a darker shade. Harry frowned, little worried. The only couple of words he had managed to get out of his partner weren't so useful, so he asked again.

Draco took a deep and long sip of coffee. His adams apple moved along with the movement as he swallowed and Harry found himself wondering what it would look like if the other man was swallowing something else than coffee. The stiffness in his pants told him that it would certainly be hot, very very hot. Dismissing these thoughts, he looked down at the bed sheets. "When I got home yesterday, my wards were off. The living room was absolutely trashed and I could heart laughter coming from one of the guest bedrooms. I freaked out and just had the time to protect my pets in a closed off room before they found me. I couldn't really see them, and suddenly, memories came back vividly and I couldn't do anything about it. I froze. It was horrible. I got in the chimney, threw the powder in and I must have thought of you then, I found myself coughing my lungs out in your apartment."

Harry's frown deepened. This kind of stuff happened a lot in the Ministry. He had to let the other Aurors know and they had to perform some tests and charms to ensure of the safety in the apartment further and to find out who had been able to enter such a protected place. Nodding thoughtfully, he let a smile appear on his face. "It's okay. You can stay here for as long as you want. It's big enough. I'll sleep on the couch." he said, without really realising so. Then, with a smile, he walked to the kitchen, leaving a blushing Draco alone in his room.

After a couple of minutes, Draco walked out, hands firmly gripping the warm mug. He found the kitchen without much bother and leaned against the door frame. The radio was on, flying about in the room. A muggle hit was playing and Dracp snickered. It reminded him of Paris, somehow. Harry hadn't seen him yet and he was wiggling his hips, swaying them to the rythm, a spatula in hand. Draco observed with an amused glare and sipped his coffee. The bacon was sizzling in the pan and the eggs were cooked, in a plate. Draco figured he'd help so he placed the mug on the table and walked to Harry. "Where are the plates?" he asked.

Harry stopped his dancing and blushed. Recoverring from the slight surprise, he pointed to a cupboard and then a drawer. Draco got two plates, two knives, two forks. Two of everything. He then placed them face to face on the small table and leaned against this one. "You've got some dancing skills scarhead." he teased, a smirk curling his lips.

Harry shook his head and pouted. "Oh shut up."

[oumakokichi]

How do you think chapter 2 would have gone if the Kubs hadn't mixed up who got what pads? We might have seen a bloodbath.

Personally, I’ve always seen the Monokumerz’ “mix-up” assomething that was deliberately scripted and arranged, rather than an actualmistake. While Monokuma and all of the Monokumerz no doubt operate on a veryintelligent AI, they still respond directly to the Mother Monokuma, and thereforeto the ringleader.

All of the plot-points involving the Monokumerz, from theirinfighting to their “rebellion” against Monokuma, to them slowly but surelygetting picked off each chapter, seems to point to them all being there to addextra drama of their own for the audience’s sake, so that the killing gamenever gets “too boring.”

They’re an entire cast of “Poochie the Dog,” basically:cheap mascots to provide base humor and try to get the audience roped into anew season of Danganronpa, only to be written off deliberately because theywere never meant to be deep or to stick around for long. The only reason theywere brought back in Chapter 5 at all was because the ringleader desperatelyneeded the Exisals around to enforce order and protect Monokuma from the restof the group.

This would mean that any “mistakes” or “mess-ups” on theirpart were actually all just a part of the script, which I think is highlypossible. I don’t think Kirumi was actually handed her own Monopad by accidentor mistake so much as I think it was all a very deliberate move on theringleader’s part. I think the “mix-up” and “accidental swapping” of everyoneelse’s motive videos was actually scripted, in order to try and avoid givingeveryone their motive all at once. The ringleader wanted something that wouldwork as an “interesting plotline” for the chapter, but they certainly didn’twant everyone trying to kill each other all at once.

However, as for whether watching all of those motive videosat once would’ve really led to a bloodbath or not… Well, it’s kind of hard tosay actually. The characters certainly seem to think so at the end of Chapter2, after hearing about both Kirumi and Hoshi’s motive videos, but I’m not socertain myself.

The motive videos weren’t exactly a surefire guarantee toget someone to kill. We know, for instance, that Hoshi saw his, but there areimplications that he wasn’t even entirely suicidal afterwards. Despite beinggiven a motive that was very clearly supposed to make him want to give up onlife entirely, there are a few glaring holes in Kirumi’s story that Hoshi just “gaveup his life willingly”—namely the fact that she handcuffed him after knockinghim out, and that he struggled against her hard enough to leave scratches onthe sink.

The motive videos seem to work very similarly to the flashbacklights, as shown by the fact that Kirumi only “remembered” that she was theprime minister of Japan after watching her own. We can assume that some of theother motive videos included flashback effects like this which were intended tohelp provide a motive to kill—but that causes problems in its own way. Namely,if everyone had watched their motive videos in a big group, a lot of reallyobvious contradictions probably would’ve occurred which would’ve pointed outthat the videos (and therefore their own memories) weren’t nearly astrustworthy as they all thought they were.

In Chapter 2, Ouma especially seemed to think that by havingeveryone watch their own motive videos in a big group, it would be the easiestway to get the motives out of the way and have everyone confront them directly.This was the same course of action that the dr1 characters suggested themselvesfor the “embarrassing secrets” motive in dr1 Chapter 2—confessing their secretsdirectly likely would’ve circumvented the issue, even if it was unbearablypainful or humiliating. And Momota also confesses to Saihara later on inChapter 2 that he actually had the same idea as Ouma and thought that everyonewould’ve been able to “cooperate” much better had they actually confrontedtheir motive videos directly.

If we assume that Kirumi was scripted to receive her ownmotive video no matter what, then having everyone watch all of the motivevideos at once (including their own and each other’s) would’ve actually tippedeveryone off as to who had the most incentive to kill, and they all would’vebeen able to keep an eye on one another much better, even if they couldn’ttrust one another. And if they’d been able to pinpoint contradictions in themotive videos’ stories and points where they overlapped, well, it’s quitepossible they would’ve started questioning their own memories a lot sooner.

Technically, Kirumi’s motive video should’ve already been apoint of contention among the characters. Momota claims in his FTEs to know theprime minister of Japan, and seems like he wholeheartedly believes it. Thiswould mean that he’d have been somewhat familiar with the man who hired Kirumi—despitethe fact that Kirumi’s very clearly never seen him before, and should’ve theoreticallyknown all of her client’s friends while working as a stand-in. I put the factthat this never comes up down to plotholes and lazy writing on Kodaka’s part,but it could’ve worked really well as a pretty early indication that theirmemories and the flashback lights were never as reliable as they seemed.

Of course, in the end it’s impossible to say what would’vehappened exactly. It’s possible there really might’ve been a bloodbath—if everyonehad panicked and hadn’t been able to get their emotions under control, thengetting all their own motives might’ve led a few characters to fly off thehandle. I can’t imagine this would’ve been a particularly exciting outcome foreither the ringleader or the audience, though, since it would’ve meant everyonedying way too early for the story to continue, so that might be another reasonthat it was engineered so only one person received their own motive, ratherthan everyone getting them all at once.

These are just a few guesses as to what might’ve been. I’mpersonally more inclined to think that everyone watching their videos might’vebeen a good idea in the end, especially since the credibility of the videoswould’ve gone way down the more they all saw, but an all-out bloodbath would’veprobably been just as possible, and not something I think the ringleader wasinterested in at all.

In sdr2, Junko herself rigged certain motives so that amurder would definitely occur among certain groups of people, because she wasclearly growing bored and impatient while waiting for the deadline to countdown. In ndrv3 though, I think that rather than wanting to guarantee a motive,the ringleader wanted to include scenarios that would be “more likely” amongcertain characters.

They take a much more passive backseat to every case exceptChapter 1, so I think they simply hoped that things would turn out according totheir scenarios, rather than knowing for sure. For instance, it wasn’tguaranteed that Kirumi, who had everyone riding on her shoulders, would killHoshi, who had absolutely no one left to live for—but it was an interestingplotline that worked out in the ringleader’s favor nonetheless.

This was a fun question, anon!Thank you for stopping by!

[ayanacam]

Stand Still

:03

Four Months Ago...

August 6th, 2022

"Alright class, let's bring our legs into a bent position and begin to do our quick breaths." Instructor Carson Bengali spoke happily.

Dallas held up Christen's legs, her stomach rounded more than ever at the fifth month mark. Dallas smiled as Christen huffed at her discomfort, Christen restless than ever since she couldn't lay on her stomach anymore. Her ankles were starting swell and her hormones were everywhere. She wasn't allowed to work, according to him, afraid of not being somewhere he knew nothing weird could happen without his supervision.

"Are you okay?" Dallas whispered into her hair.

"I'm going to be when I give birth to your daughter. She keeps moving and it's annoying." She answered with annoyance.

Dallas chuckled into her ear, "Well I think you look sexier than ever."

Christen could feel the heat in her body travel up her neck and into the chubbiness of her cheeks. Lately she had been horny as ever and nothing could satisfy her, even countless hours mounted on her husband. They would spend weekends simply trying to satisfy her craving for him.

"Alright class let's begin." Carson clapped.

Quick breaths exercise ensued and Dallas had even joined in along with the other soon to be fathers. Christen looked around, other partners around the room, laid out on a variation of colored mats. Other wives looked as uncomfortable as she felt, the prospect of having her vagina on technical display a little awkward. Christen began to focus on Carson, her breaths following the rhythm she was pacing out for everyone in the class.

"Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha," Carson brought her arms up and down, "Partners make sure your wives are getting enough air into their diaphragm. Don't let them short themselves because of the tempo."

Multiple significant others brought themselves around watching their girls, making sure they were acquainted with everything.

"Are you okay baby?" Dallas smiled.

She nodded, her breaths on a consistent pace. Her throat was burning with the quickened pace of breathing but she was doing this to make sure she could get through the birth of their little girl.

Dallas held his wife's legs up as she breathed, a warm sensation rushing throughout his body. He was undeniably excited, so ready for what was to come. He had been wanting a child for what had felt like years, but he wasn't so sure he'd get them, that is until now.

"Alright class, five more seconds and then we're done!" Carson announced.

Present Day 

January 17th, 2023

The class had ended that day on such a happy note from what Christen could remember. They had gone to lunch and enjoyed their simplistic meals before heading over to the park and walking for a few minutes so she could get her exercise of the day in. It seemed like so long ago but if she thought about it, it was only weeks; sixteen weeks to be exact.

"Christen?" Andrew's voice abruptly brought her to the car.

The windows were frosted, tinted over in a clear dust in just the few minutes that the car had been sitting in the parking lot. The engine had been cut off for a minute or two, but that didn't stop North Carolina's winter frost from creeping over the two of them.

"Yeah?" Her voice thick, almost like she had swallowed a glob of peanut butter.

"Are you okay? Do you need to talk?"

She shook her head, her eyes focused on the small parking lot of the police station. She could slightly remember the night her and her late husband had gotten caught for streaking on the small town's river that one night, but that was years ago and the man she knew then was nothing like the man she had realized he had been during his years on this earth with her.

"I just need to know," she spoke suddenly. "Did you know?"

"Know what?"

"About what he was doing? Did you know...about the other..woman?" She choked.

Andrew's heart broke. Andrew hadn't known, but he might've been thrown signs that hadn't clearly stood out to him. His head shook, his eyes watching her every move in case of a small breakdown.

"Why didn't I see the signs?" She questioned herself softly.

It was all starting to make sense. The business trips and how secretive he was about the bank accounts. They were always separate; she had hers and he had his. Nothing was ever joint in the making of their marriage, except their license. Her mind was racing, searching for all of the times something could fit into this catastrophic puzzle of events. This was her life, this wasn't a scenario that someone could make up.

"Christen, you had nothing to do with him and his ways." Andrew testified, he refused to see this woman beat herself up over a man that wasn't a good one to stay faithful and honest.

"And what if I did?" Christen's voice was even thicker, something Andrew couldn't tolerate.

Tears dropped heavily across her cheeks, staining and drying streaks on the way down. Her face was dry and cracked, lack of moisturization and hydration playing into her state of madness. Her curls strewn across her face as she tried to hide from the cameras and the pitiful stares of the hometown people. Everyone knew, everyone. There wasn't a soul in this world that didn't know, at least in Christen's eyes.

"Christen you can't blame yourself for his mistakes and secrets. He isn't worth it. He was never worth it." Andrew started the car. 

She nodded, not truly taking in his words but instead disbelieving.

Christen's thoughts were everywhere and no where. Her body still being in a state of shock, hearing information she didn't quite believe. She had thought something else for the last few years of her life, her trust never failing against Dallas. Her perception of him was completely altered now, something she could never get back. 

"I want to meet her." she whispered as Andrew slipped onto the road and continued straight. 

Andrew's face pulled into one of shock. His emotions were way less worse than what Christen must have been feeling but even he knew it was probably a bad idea to meet the woman, whom carried Dallas's "bastard" children in a way, so soon after the incident. He knew Christen would be even more broken if she was given more truth on top of her dwindling mental state. That trip could lead her straight into a mental hospital, that he positively knew. 

"Why?" Andrew spoke after a few more moments of silence. 

"She's hurting too Andrew," Christen explained quietly. "She has kids with Dallas, at one point living a picture perfect life or somewhat. He wasn't there. I don't know what Dallas had set up for her."  she choked, thinking this woman was just as set as she was. That Dallas had everything taken care of in case something did happen with his shady past. "I also need to be in touch for the insurance policy since he's gone. He didn't have a will, so everything is rightfully mine. She deserves support too." 

Always the person to have a big heart even when she was broken. Andrew was in full disbelief in what Christen had presented. She was going through turmoil, a destructive and disastrous one, yet she wasn't even thinking of herself. Her husband and her daughter were both brutally murdered, her the only survivor to the madness. She had also been hurt, her ribs and face busted. 

"If that's what you want." 

Christen simply nodded. She couldn't find the words to say what she really wanted to say. That she was hurt, obliterated, and exhausted. She didn't want to admit that she felt like disappearing. She, at this point, could care less about Dallas. Her anger shining through subtly. Her own daughter was taken away due to his careless mess. She wanted her daughter more than ever. 

"When would you want to go?" 

"As soon as possible, preferably." Her voice sounded. 

She sounded far away, her ears still disheveled after being hit on the side of her head. 

Andrew nodded, "I'll get her information and I'll let you know." 

The car pulled into the motel parking lot. Andrew hadn't wanted to take her to the house. The crime scene was still commenced and blood was everywhere. He had been their as soon as he was called to be Christen's lawyer. He had to know what he was dealing with. Seeing his best friend's body was one for the books. Eyes were wide open while blood, that had dried over the last twenty-four hours, sat around the entirety of his body. His face was as white as a ghost, blood drained. His body was upright, and spread eagle across the foyer floor. They suspected that was Dallas's demise, being thrown off the balcony from upstairs. 

The rest of the house was covered in blood spatters and broken memories. Pictures, with their broken frames, covered the stairs and upstairs. The nursery bed was broken, luckily Angela hadn't passed that way. Didn't mean that it hadn't been a painful death, but Andrew knew he wouldn't be able to deal if he had seen his god daughter smashed by the bed. Her small body would've been crushed, splattering everywhere in vicinity. She had passed after being suffocated in her car seat, patiently waiting for her mother that had almost saved her. 

What Christen didn't know was that there was camera footage of the whole incident, there security cameras working faithfully. They had them installed after Angela was born so that they would always know she was safe. Andrew had seen everything. 

His stomach becoming queasy, he opened the car door and puked. Christen immediately jumping to his aid while his arms forced her back. Tears streamed his face as he let the contents of his stomach go. 

Eventually it had subsided, Christen standing to the right of his door. She wanted to reach out and console him. She knew this situation had taken a toll on him just as it did her. 

"It's not your fault." Her voice broke. 

Andrew shook his head, his breathing even but tears trailing down his cheeks. 

"I should've protected you Christen. That was my promise. Ever since that night, I tried to keep it. I'm so sorry." Andrew admitted through broken syllables. 

Christen shook her head, here was not the place to discuss the night she realized her feelings for Andrew. That maybe she had chosen the wrong man to spend the rest of her life with. 

"You couldn't have known. It's not your fault Andrew." She whispered through her erratic heart beating. 

She pulled his arm, dragging him around his mess and pulling him to the side. 

They hugged while he leaned against the car for support. His head buried in her hair, she smelled of anesthetic and disinfectant. Somehow calming and disorienting in the least, but that was the least of his worries. His heart was beginning to calm down slightly, his breathing returning to normal. 

"Come on." He spoke softly. He tapped her shoulders and spun her around to lead her to the room. It was nice, two beds with a full access bathroom and windows. He kept the curtains closed in case of cameras sneaking pictures to incriminate Christen. 

"How long do we have here?" Christen questioned. 

"As long as you're comfortable to stay here. I didn't know if you wanted to start looking for apartments." 

She nodded, sitting on the bed. 

"Can I sleep?" Christen wanted nothing more than to do just that. She wanted to sleep the rest of her life away so that she no longer had to deal with the emotional repercussions of this situation. 

"Of course." 

She pulled the bed sheets back and slipped in, still wearing everything but her shoes that she had discarded at the front door. 

Her eyes shut and soon enough, as Andrew peaked at her a few moments later, she was fast asleep.