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zepskies · 1 year ago

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Break Me Down - The Epilogue

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: This chapter is set about a month before "Love Actually." So...are you ready?

Song Inspo: For this last chapter, it’s “The Book of Love” by Peter Gabriel. (It’s just lovely. I listened to it while writing the second half of the epilogue!)

Word Count: 7,800

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Violence and peril, angst, familiar bickering, smutty smut, bit of breeding kink, tender fluff, hurt/comfort, and an ending…

Epilogue: All My Living Time

“I’m not fucking around,” he said. “I want you to live with me.”

Your smile was soft and bright when you took his hand. Ben wouldn’t admit it, but something in his chest stuttered to life then.

“Okay,” you said with a nod. “Let’s do it.”

Six months later…

You were frustrated with your roommate.

And yes, you used the word roommate, because he hadn’t seen fit to give it any other label.

You stewed in your irritation as you also stirred the beginnings of chicken tortilla soup. It was early in the morning before work, and Yvette had been teaching you how to master the crockpot. Hopefully, by the time you and Ben got home tonight, it would be ready and waiting for dinner.

Six months. You had to nag him about cabinets left open, dirty boots left right in front of the door to your shared apartment, and hell, actually going to his therapy sessions.

While that last one had taken months of convincing and cajoling, he’d caved when you suggested that acknowledging and dealing with what happened to him in Russia might help him control the nuclear power inside him. And maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t have to patch another hole in the ceiling.

Mind you, he wouldn’t actually talk to said therapist about anything related to his PTSD. But at least he was going. And the therapist was apparently getting an earful of Ben’s celebrity encounters, with all the explicit, gushy details.

However, even with all of this, it also sometimes felt like you were an in-house maid rather than a partner.

The latest reason for your frustration returned to you when Ben strolled into the kitchen in search of coffee. He wasn’t yet dressed for work in his supe suit; instead, still in the plain shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in.

He glanced at you, and seeming to sense your mood, he kept to himself as he found his usual mug and poured a cup of steaming French press in silence.

You took in a breath, trying to calm yourself. Maybe he’d had time to sleep on it. You closed the crockpot and went over to him. Your hand on his arm made him pause.

“Hey,” you said, “have you thought about what I asked you last night?”

Ben’s expression remained flat. “I think I already said my piece on that.”

You sighed.

“Why is dinner with my family such a hard thing for you?” you asked. Your brows furrowed. “My sister’s starting to warm up to you! And Mom just wants to get to know you. What’s the problem?”

Ben scoffed. “Your sister fucking hates me.”

You bit your lip. He wasn’t totally wrong, but in fairness, Louisa wasn’t happy to learn about why you’d nearly died in the hospital, when Vought Tower collapsed.

She thought you needed therapy for an egregious case of Stockholm Syndrome. But the more Ben worked with Supe Affairs, helping to clear the streets of out-of-control supes and cleaning up the remains of Vought, you were slowly getting Louisa to come around.

“She just needs time to get to know you too,” you said.

Ben wasn’t having it though. He rolled his eyes and tried to walk away from you with his coffee and a newspaper—aiming to get to his favorite lounge chair in the living room. It was the way he always started his morning, like the old man he was.

You followed him.

“Come on, one dinner won’t kill you,” you said. “And by the way, neither would moving your dirty-ass boots out of the doorway.”

You went over to grab said boots, and in your annoyance, you all but tossed them into the hall. Ben frowned at you, throwing down the newspaper onto the coffee table.

“Why’re you nagging me like a goddamn wife?” he snapped.

“Wife?” you scoffed, crossing your arms. “You don’t even call me your girlfriend.”

But God forbid another man even smile in your direction. Ben was possessive, protective, and claimed with all but words that you were his. And yet, he wouldn’t say it.

You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was afraid of commitment, but you’d been living together for six damn months. Almost seven, if you counted the safe house.

When you found this nice, but cozy apartment in Scarsdale, you’d sat him down at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, like the two of you used to in that house in Medellin.

And you established the ground rules before you two officially moved in together:

First, an exclusive relationship meant exclusive. Meaning no fucking around. (He’d raised a brow at you.)

Second, you were his partner, not his slave. You expected him to carry his hefty weight, not only in the relationship, but around the house. (He’d most definitely rolled his eyes at that.)

And finally, don’t be an asshole, you’d decreed. “Be honest when you’re not feeling right about something. But don’t be a dick about it.”

That cut both ways, of course, just like the other two rules. He’d agreed to all of these, albeit begrudgingly. You hadn’t really known then if he meant it.

And now, looking at him, you still had no idea if he was trying, or if he was just tired of being alone…and if you were just a convenient bedwarmer. You bit your lip once again, this time with a growing fear blooming anxiety in your chest.

“Do you even love me?” you asked.

Ben blinked down at you, and his lips pulled into a deep frown.

“Stop fucking around,” he said.

“I’m serious,” you insisted. Your crossed arms tightened, as if to protect yourself from what he might say. “You’ve never said it once.”

“And the fact that I agreed to live in this mediocre fucking apartment doesn’t mean anything?” he said, gesturing around him with a hand. “I take you out, I buy you shit. Matter of fact, I fucking spoil you.”

“And you take off whenever you feel like it, especially after missions,” you shot back. “Sometimes I don’t know where the hell you’ve gone for hours. For all I know, you’re out there doing blow with a caravan of strippers!”

While that did sound like a damn good time, that hadn’t been Ben’s M.O. in recent months. And in his mind, you should’ve known better.

“I haven’t fucked anyone but you since we moved in here,” he snapped.

Even longer than that, if he was honest.

Meanwhile, you wanted to trust his words, desperately, but you just didn’t know if you could.

“Even if I believe you, what’s the problem here?” you asked. Your gaze fell from his as you worried your bottom lip. “Am I doing something wrong?”

You didn’t see the way Ben’s brows knitted together, his eyes softening a bit.

“Other than annoying the hell out of me right now, no,” he replied.

“Okay,” you nodded with a sigh. You looked up at him again. “Then just tell me the truth. What are we doing here?”

“What the fuck do you mean?” Ben’s hands went to his waist, and once again, he frowned in irritation. “I’m here. What more do you want from me?”

“Do you love me?” you asked. “And don’t lie to me.”

He knew very well that you would be able to detect if he was lying. Which was why, you suspected, he hadn’t tried to.

He couldn’t seem to answer you though…and that broke your heart.

Shaking your head, you walked away from him to get ready for work.

Your attitude at work was snappish at best. Annie had pulled you from the Surveillance department on your lunch break to join her and your friends in the breakroom, but you couldn’t enjoy yourself like you usually would.

“Smooth and creamy, all the motherfuckin’ way,” M.M. said. Sitting across from him in the breakroom was Frenchie, pelting him with a roasted peanut.

“This is why you are an unsophisticated, bourgeois, fucking fuddy-duddy,” Frenchie remarked. He was also vaping, as Annie was trying to get him to stop smoking indoors. “Extra crunchy peanut butter is the only way to do business.”

“What’s the point? Just eat peanuts if you want it that crunchy,” M.M. countered. He blocked each roasted nut thrown at him and organized them in a perfect pile on the table.

“You know what? You’re right. Smooth and creamy is how I’ll eat out your mother’s sweet and savory vajine,” Frenchie teased.

M.M.’s deadpan face was priceless. But when a peanut projectile strayed and hit you in the cheek, you leveled Frenchie with a glare.

“Can you guys not act like children for five goddamn minutes?” you snapped.

His brows raised, along with his hands in surrender. M.M. and Annie looked at you in mild surprise, and the latter with concern after the guys eventually left.

“What’s going on with you? You’ve looked tense as hell all day,” she asked. You sighed, holding a hand to your brow.

“I know. I’m sorry,” you replied. She gave you a knowing look.

“Is…something going on?” she asked. “Is it Ben?”

Most of the S.A. was still wary of Ben, while M.M. tolerated him at best. (You understood how hard he was trying.)

You appreciated Annie though. She was a good friend, and along with Hughie, she’d been another who started to come around to the idea of Ben. Not only as he occasionally worked with the S.A., but to the man himself, after she’d seen the way he did his best to save you, Yvette, and her son Devon.

You nodded at her question. You couldn’t help the tears burgeoning in your eyes. Annie scooched her chair over so she could rub your back in comfort. You sniffed and tried not to break down here in the middle of the breakroom, over your sad ham sandwich.

“We had a fight,” you admitted. Annie’s gaze was tight with concern.

“Did he…hurt you?” she asked. Her brown eyes were as direct as her words, promising her protection as well as retribution, depending on how you answered.

Your glassy eyes widened. “No. He’s not like that, he…believe it or not, but he’s never hurt me, Annie. Not once.”

After a moment, she nodded. “Okay, good. Well, tell me what happened.”

You wanted to. But before you could, both of you got an incoming text in the team group chat. It was from Grace Mallory.

She had a new mission.

Grace asked you to join the team on your first field mission since you’d returned to work three months ago. She also called in Ben, as in her words, it was another “all hands on fucking deck” situation.

Ben and Butcher eyed one another with similar stoic frowns, before they proceeded to ignore each other. Despite how you felt about Ben right now, the brief exchange almost made you smirk.

Apparently the whole I saved you with my super blood thing was awkward for both of them. You knew Ben had seen it as a means to an end. You still didn’t know how Butcher felt about it, but it seemed as if a begrudging respect had formed between the two men.

Or at least, they were civil, anyway.

“All right,” Grace said, once she saw that everyone was in attendance. “Let’s begin.”

A supe named Sapphire had been giving the CIA trouble for years now. She was moving drugs from South America to the States, to the Middle East, whoever would deal with her. And she was smart. She had a network of spies that transcended continents, and so she had evaded every attempt at arrest.

She was also a powerful supe, with the ability to channel vaporizing energy not unlike Crimson Countess had. However, this supe could spear blue shards of light through her enemies as well. With her damn eyes.

Grace turned to you after she finished explaining the details of the mission.

“Sapphire’s internal security is advanced. Our system can’t penetrate her firewalls. You’ll need to get a hand on the mainframe from there, shut down her system. Then our Surveillance team can back you up here.”

You nodded, but in the corner of your eye, you noticed Ben frowning as he crossed his arms.

“What?” you asked.

“You’re out of practice,” he told you. “You really think you’re ready for this?”

“Why wouldn’t I be? I train every day,” you snapped back.

Ben’s expression fell into irritation. “Not the same, and you fucking know it.”

Butcher, Annie, and the others watched the exchange with mixed wariness and discomfort. Grace looked between you and Ben with curious, narrowed eyes.

“Is this going to be a problem, you two working together on this?” she asked.

You turned from Ben’s annoyed face and met Grace’s gaze directly.

“Not at all,” you said.

Sapphire had been spotted doing business in the Meat Packing District. By day, the building was a beef butchering factory. By night, it was apparently one of the most massive drug running operations in the city.

As such, her security team was extensive—at the front, the back, and the roof. So while Butcher, Kimiko, and Ben broke through the front, making a lot of noise and distraction, the rest of you went under.

Unfortunately, that meant the sewer. Annie lit the way through, while M.M. followed a set of schematics to find the right spot.

“It’s not my first time in the bowels of New York City, but please God, let it be the last,” Hughie quipped. You tried not to breathe the foul smell through your nose.

“Watch the fucking rat,” M.M. said with a grimace, before he set up the double-sided ladder he brought. He and Frenchie climbed either side of it up to the metal ceiling which, according to the building’s schematics, led directly beneath the factory basement.

They took up welding guns and masks to carve a large hole into the metal and cement above. And soon enough, they pushed up and slid over a large portion, creating a gap you could all crawl through.

M.M. helped Annie up first, and she shot a few star bolts at the three men inside, who had been smoking and eating deli sandwiches. Each of them went down, alive, but groaning in pain. That allowed the rest of you to climb up and into the basement.

“We’re in,” M.M. said into the Bluetooth communicator in his ear.

“We’re cutting through her goon squad,” Butcher said. “Sapphire’s here somewhere. I can smell a massive cunt already.”

“Gross. Thanks for that visual,” Annie remarked.

From there, you all took off toward the stairwell. It was your task to find the operation’s security control room. So Hughie and Frenchie went with you as backup, while M.M. and Annie went to join the fight and find Sapphire.

It took you a few tries to find the right room. Most of them were offices. One contained wagons of discarded meat parts (disgusting). But eventually, you found a large room filled with computer equipment and a huge wall monitor with several panels of camera feeds. You and Frenchie raised your guns and took out the team inside.

Then you and Hughie went to the controls. Frenchie watched the door while you worked to disable the firewall first. You instructed Hughie on how to knock out their communications as well. And within a few minutes, your work was done. You were able to make a call to the S.A. Surveillance team.

“Hey, friend!” a cheerful voice greeted you. You smiled; it was your coworker Jess, who you’d worked with for the past two years.

“Jess?”

“Yep! I’m helping out on this one. What do you need?”

“I shut down the firewall. I’m giving you the I.P. address now so you can connect.”

“…Okay, got it. I’m in. I can see all twenty cameras, and you! Hey, there.”

“All right, where’s Sapphire?” you asked.

“Looks like they haven’t found her yet,” Hughie said, pointing at the camera feed in the main room, filled with rows of conveyor belts, and a massive fight as Ben, Butcher, and the others made their way through the building.

“We’ll just have to help them clear each room,” you said. “Let’s go. Jess, keep an eye on us, but look out for Sapphire.”

“Will do. I’m patched into your comm now too,” she said. So you hung up your cell, and you left with Hughie and Frenchie.

You ran into more security when you left the room, more than the three of you could realistically handle as a fire fight began. You guys ran in the opposite direction, but while you veered right around the corner, Frenchie and Hughie ran left. Bullets tore in between, making sure that none of you could cross the hall to join back up.

“You guys keep going. I’ll find my own way out,” you called out to them. Neither of them liked that idea, but Frenchie nodded and pulled Hughie away when Sapphire’s security team closed in.

You kept running down the hall. You knew you were being chased. Several heavy footsteps thundered behind you.

“Jess, I need a way out of here,” you commed in.

“You’re on the second floor,” she said. “The closest stairwell is the one you’re running away from.”

“What’s the second closest?” You panted as you ran.

“Hmm, you can cut through room 234. The exit stairwell is right on the other side.”

“Is the room clear?” you asked.

After a moment, Jess answered. “Yep, it should be.”

"Should be?”you said dubiously.

“What the hell’s going on?” you heard Ben’s voice on the line. You heard the edge of his annoyance (and underlying worry), but you didn’t have time to talk to him right now.

“Looks clear on my end,” said Jess,“but this connection is a bit wonky.”

Damn it, Jess, you thought. When you reached room 234, the door was solid gray. There was no window to peek into, and you didn’t have time for caution, as a stray bullet nearly caught you in the head.

You ripped the door open and ran in, slamming the door shut behind you and locking it for good measure.

You turned around and stopped short. A gasp caught in your throat.

The room was huge, and it was filled wall-to-wall with white packages, of what you could only assume was cocaine. A few men were continuing to stack them. At the center of it all was a tall woman, rich tan skin, long black hair, wearing a deep blue pantsuit and killer heels. She looked like a boss ass bitch.

But unfortunately, she was also looking straight at you, raising a brow.

“Ah,” she said. A smile curved her lips, painted with a dark plum lipstick. “You’re one of the little bitches making a mess in my office.”

Her eyes glowed blue, and yours widened. You dove for the nearest shelter—a wall of cocaine parcels. White powder exploded and wafted in the air as you ducked and ran across the room (and tried not to inhale). You drew your gun and shot out the legs of her men underneath the long stretch of table, but you yelped as bullets continued to follow you.

“I found Sapphire! Need backup in 234!” you shouted into the comm.

But when a blast of blue energy rocked into the wall directly behind you, you screamed as you were thrown forward. You landed painfully on your side, with the wind knocked out of you.

After a moment, you drew breath into your lungs and were able to pick yourself up. The exit door was close, a mere few feet away, but the second you reached for it, you had to pull back as narrow blue shards of light pierced the door.

Sapphire was quickly approaching, just a yard or so away from grabbing you.

Instead of shooting your gun, you went for the taser at your belt and shot fast. Sapphire grabbed the end of the line like a fucking moron. Her blue eyes widened in outrage and pain when it shocked 50,000 volts of electricity through her body.

You took your chance, and you ripped the door open and fled. You just didn’t expect the bolt of energy that shot after you when you reached the stairs.

It didn’t hit you, but trying to dodge it made you lose your balance. You uttered a short scream as you were forced to jump the first flight of stairs.

You landed on the middle platform between the first and second floor. This time, you knew you twisted your ankle badly on the way down. You whimpered, holding your ankle and shin, but you knew you didn’t have time to waste.

It was a struggle to claw your way up to the guard rail. You could barely put pressure on your right foot, but you had no choice as you scrambled down the rest of the stairs. Already the door to the stairwell was blown open, and a pissed supe was on her way down behind you.

After shoving the door open on the first floor, you stumbled out and took another painful spill across the concrete floor. To your relief, M.M. picked you up by your arms.

The door behind you swung open, and before Sapphire could fire off a vaporizing blow, Ben raised his new titanium shield in front of you and M.M.

The blue energy bounced right off, and Ben used his shield to bat the supe right in the face—like swatting a fly. With a shriek, she was thrown hard against the wall.

Sapphire sunk to her knees, then the electric blue flickered out of her eyes as she fell unconscious to the floor.

When you all returned to Supe Affairs, Ben thundered down the hall towards the Surveillance department.

“Ben!” You hurried after him the best you could with a sprained ankle, bare-footed and wrapped, while M.M. and Hughie trailed behind. The others were busy getting Sapphire into custody.

Hughie was concerned for you though, while M.M. also wanted to know how you were going to try and reign in Soldier Boy.

“What the hell are you doing?” you called after Ben.

“I wanna know what goddamn moron cleared that fucking room,” he barked, but he didn’t slow down.

M.M. called your name from behind.

“Get your boyfriend in check,” he warned.

You sighed in irritation. At this point, you didn’t even know if he was your boyfriend.

But you struggled to reach him. You were practically hopping on one foot. The moment you tried to put any pressure on your right one, you faltered with a cry as you all but crashed against the wall to catch yourself. Hughie went to help you, grabbing your arm gently with a supportive hand on your back.

You didn’t see it, but that was when Ben stopped short. His jaw ticked. And he turned on his booted heel. When he saw you struggling to support yourself against the wall, he reluctantly went back. He knocked Hughie’s scrawny hands off you and wrapped an arm around your waist.

When he tried to just gather you into his arms to get the weight off your injured foot, you snapped at him.

“I can walk!” you said. “Let’s just go home please.”

His nostrils flared in irritation, but he helped you try to walk back toward the exit instead. You winced in pain with every small step.

Ben growled in annoyance. Fuck this.

He hefted you effortlessly into his arms. You gasped and clung to his shoulders, and afterwards, you glared at him.

“I said I can walk!” you insisted.

“Shut up,” he grated out, swiftly heading for the exit doors down the hall. M.M. and Hughie watched with wide eyes while you and Ben devolved into what you did best.

“Don’t tell me to shut up!” you raised your voice.

He glared at you. “You’re in rare fucking form right now.”

“You’re the one being an asshole!”

“And you’re being a disrespectful brat!”

You rolled your eyes as anger burned hot in your veins. “What-fucking-ever, grandpa.”

Ben’s teeth clicked and grinded together. It took everything he had within him not to toss you.

“You really wanna fucking get it, don’t you?”

“Suck my dick. How about that?” you sassed back, unfazed by his warning.

Ben bulldozed through the double doors with a swift kick that shook them on their hinges. The bickering continued long after you two exited the building.

Hughie just stared, mouth gaping, while M.M. crossed his arms.

“That is some volatile shit,” Hughie remarked.

M.M. scoffed, with a subtle shake of his head.

“Nah, man,” he said ruefully. “That’s true motherfuckin’ love.”

Meanwhile, in the car, Ben drove home to Scarsdale. You simmered in the passenger seat. He glanced at you.

“Are you gonna be a hissy bitch all night?” he asked. You glowered at him.

“You’re the fucking grouch,” you shot back. In times like these, you liked to fantasize. Sometimes you wished you could rip out his spine and play Jenga with the vertebrae.

“And you’re the one who nearly got yourself killed,” he retorted.

You took issue with this, your brows raising high.

“Excuse me? You’re really blaming me for what happened with Sapphire? You were ready to take out my friend for making an honest mistake.”

His gaze briefly left the road, turning to you in frustration. He didn't understand how you couldn't get it through your thick skull. You had been one shaky step shy of being fucking vaporized today.

No blood. No body. Just...nothing.

“Case in point, you’re the best in Surveillance," he said gruffly. "You don’t need to be in the field."

His compliment stopped you, warming you a little, but he was missing the point.

“I go where I’m needed, just like you,” you said. “You don’t get to tell me how, when, or where to do my job.”

Needless to say, it was tense for the rest of the way home.

Ben helped you inside, after which, you were determined to get to the bedroom by yourself. He watched you hop away from him with a frustrated shake of his head.

He sighed and started to peel off his gloves and untie his boots…but instead of leaving them by the door, like he usually would, he kept walking until he made it to the bedroom he shared with you. He sat on the edge of the bed and took his boots off there.

He watched you ignore him as you closed yourself into the bathroom.

You came out of the shower a little while later. Your hair was damp, but unwashed as you hadn’t been able to stand there for very long. The wrap on your ankle had gotten wet, so you grabbed the spare one that the paramedic had given you.

Ben didn’t look at you as he took his turn heading into the bathroom. After the door shut, your shoulders slumped with a sigh.

You tried to put on some shorts, but you quickly gave up and instead put on an overlarge shirt over your underwear. You remembered then that this shirt was an old one of Ben’s, and now a favorite of yours, because it still smelled like that earthy mix of his cologne and aftershave.

Frowning, you sucked in a deep breath. And you made a decision.

By the time Ben came back out with a towel wrapped around his hips, he found you still in the bedroom. Except you were packing a suitcase—the same one he’d brought to the safe house he’d shared with you for a month.

You were stuffing clothes into it from your side of the dresser. Something churned uncomfortably in his stomach, and he approached you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he demanded to know.

You glanced up at him, but continued packing.

“Well, you made yourself very clear this morning that we’re just roommates. So I’m going to the guest room.”

“All right, don’t get all fucking hormonal,” he said, reaching out with a hand to stop you. You snatched your hand away from him. His brows raised in disbelief.

When you tried to get past him on the way to your closet, he held fast to your arm. With an angry frown, he then grabbed your suitcase and spilled it over onto the bed. You didn’t need a fucking suitcase to move one room over. Not that he planned to let you go any-damn-where.

“Enough,” he said sharply.

You met his intense stare with your own, but your eyes were shining and red. In that moment, you both stilled. The silence was palpable. For you, it was heartbreaking.

“I can’t do this anymore, Ben,” you confessed. Tears welled up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall just yet. “I put my all into this, and I just…I can’t be with someone who won’t be honest with me.”

You started to grab your suitcase again, along with your discarded clothes. Ben stopped you.

“I said enough,” he snapped.

You then threw the heap of clothes to the floor, suitcase and all.

“Why?” you tearfully retorted. “Why should I listen to you?”

His deep green eyes searched yours. For what, you didn’t know.

Eventually, you started to see through the cracks of his anger.

“Because I fucking love you,” he said.

You blinked up at him, with hope stuck in your throat. But you were stubborn in your denial.

“You’re just saying that to get me off your back,” you argued. “Either you’ve just gotten used to having me around, or you just don’t feel like being alone. But you don’t really care about me.”

You knew you were saying words you didn’t mean.

You knew that wasn’t true…but you couldn’t help it.

You were more upset than angry now, seconds away from dissolving into pitiful tears. You were just stubborn enough to hold them at bay.

“Just shut up for one goddamn second,” Ben said. He held you by your shoulders, though his hands soon moved down to grip your arms. It wasn’t a painful hold, but it was firm, and quite possibly pleading.

Despite your better judgment, you gave him time to speak.

“You really think I’d stay here in this shithole if I didn’t want you?” he asked. “If I didn’t care about you?”

You unconsciously held your breath. For a long moment, he hesitated to continue.

Again, you waited for him.

Meanwhile, Ben knew he was being a coward. He’d been holding back. Not because he wasn’t serious about you, but because he’d been burned before.

He knew he’d spent his life being a fucking bastard, in most ways. He knew he’d been wrong, and hadn’t given two shits about it. But Crimson Countess…Tess…he’d been willing to settle down with her. He’d actually told her he loved her and hadn’t been totally lying through his teeth.

Yeah, he’d fucked around. Flirted with other women in front of her. He knew he was a hypocrite. Still, in whatever way he could at the time, he thought he’d loved her.

And she’d lied to him. She’d gone through the motions of being with him. For fame or fear or whatever her reasons had been, she went along with it. And then she’d sold him out, along with the rest of their team.

For nothing. Just to get him the fuck out of her life—out of the world.

So what was he supposed to do with you? Just let you walk the fuck in, give you the deepest parts of him? A dark fucking space that he’d never given to anyone.

Well, he knew now if he didn’t, you were going to leave. But he wasn’t willing to let go either.

So…he relented. For once in his life, he told the truth.

“I love you,” Ben admitted. “In my whole damn life…I think you’re the only one who’s made me feel it for real.”

Tears finally slipped down your cheeks. You reached out and grasped his wrist, mostly for stability as you took in his words. He took that hand, held it to his warm chest. Always warm.

“But one day, I’m still going to fucking lose you,” he said, looking down on you. “Then I’ll be right back where I started.”

Alone.

You looked up at him with a sad, rueful smile.

“Not exactly where you started,” you replied. He wasn’t the same man you met last year. You pressed your free hand to his cheek.

“Taking Compound V doesn’t guarantee I’ll come out like you, with a longer lifespan.”

“It’s something the CIA can work on,” Ben said.

“You want Dr. Baker to experiment on me?” you asked, quirking a brow. The CIA had recruited her, ironically enough.

Ben closed his eyes for a second, letting out a slight huff. “That’s not what I’m fucking saying.”

You nodded and soothed your fingers through his hair.

“Okay, we’ll have that conversation. I promise.” Then you smiled. “But let me just have this moment…my boyfriend loves me.”

You looked into his eyes and you knew he meant it. His hands moved to your waist, around to the small of your back. You clung to his shoulders and shifted off your aching ankle with a wince. Ben noticed, and he raised you up to him. It had the added benefit of letting you reach his face easier.

He guided you into a searing kiss. You responded in kind, delving into his hair again and opening your mouth to his demanding tongue. With the tips of your toes, you pushed up from the ground and he helped you wrap your legs around his waist.

The towel he wore was starting to slip, and you shoved it the rest of the way off with your foot, until he stood in the center of the bedroom in all his glory.

He smirked into your lips and walked you to the bed. But before he could lay you down, you broke the kiss and held his face.

“You really love me?” you asked, just to make sure. It was the part of you, perhaps still scarred deep down, that had to ask.

Ben chuckled. He rested his forehead against yours. “You’re mine, sweetheart. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You grinned, and you kissed him this time, only breaking when he lowered down to the bed. Once your back met the plush mattress, all bets were off. He wrenched your shirt up over your head, and you reached for him again.

Your lips drew a hot, wet path from his jawline to his neck, biting and sucking all along the way to that sensitive spot between his neck and shoulder. His hand clenched in your hair, a deep sound caught in his throat when he felt the sharp sting of your teeth, playfully biting, then soothing with your tongue.

Your nails bit into his skin, but merely felt like teasing down his back, making a shiver trill along his spine. He all but pressed you into the mattress as he made his own descent.

Your fingers trailed up and into his hair while his mouth worked its way down between your breasts, stopping to lavish attention on each one. You made sounds of pleasure when he took a hardened nipple between his lips, between his teeth, dragging deliciously over your skin.

Your thighs wrapped around his hips again, He bucked teasingly into your clothed core, making you moan when you felt his wet tip dampening your panties.

“Ben…”

His lips curved, but he didn’t answer you. His fingers were pressing into the flesh of your thigh as he continued to tease your breasts. You’d felt how hard he was already and frankly, you were surprised he was taking his time.

“Listen,” you panted in his ear. “You’ve gotta wrap it up this time. Do we even have condoms?”

You knew for a fact that Ben didn’t buy them.

But his brows furrowed. His mouth left your breast as he looked up at you.

“What?”

“I haven’t replaced my IUD yet,” you confessed. Its five-year lifespan had been up, and so you’d gotten the birth control device removed a few days ago.

Now, you watched in amusement at the way his lips curved into a pleased grin.

“No, don’t you even think about it,” you warned. Though you almost laughed at how excited he looked. “We’re not ready for that.”

“Why fucking not?” Ben asked. His pressed his length against your core more insistently. The idea of fucking you raw, spilling into you, putting his seed deep inside you without resistance, had his cock throbbing with anticipation.

“Ben!” You had to laugh. You two hadn’t even been living together that long, and you had just gotten on the same page after six months of trying to figure out what you were together.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want kids,” he said. And he began to ply you with tantalizing kisses along the column of your throat, down your neck, the scraping of teeth making you shudder in delight.

“I do,” you could admit. “But is right now really the best ti—”

He choked a moan out of you as his fingers pushed your underwear aside and spread your folds, then delved right in. Your core pulsed, hot and wet as his thick digits sunk deep inside you.

“God,” you uttered, gripping his hair tight. He stretched and explored your inner channel with two fingers, while his thumb found your clit with ease.

“When then?” he asked. But his hand was unrelenting, working you over until your toes curled and the coil in your lower belly began to tighten. You looked up at him helplessly.

“Can we talk about this later?” you keened. Ben smirked and suddenly withdrew his fingers from your dripping pussy. He snatched your underwear, ripping them down the middle and making you gasp.

“No time like the fucking present,” he insisted. He lined himself up to your entrance, but you stopped him with a warning look. You knew if you let him inside you now, he was going to try and get his way.

“Ben,” you warned.

He sighed and let you stop him, but then his teasing edge faded.

Ben pressed a hand to your cheek. When he leaned down to kiss you, you felt the need and wanting behind it.

He pulled away to meet your eyes. You softened looking up into his, because you understood what he wanted.

“We have time, baby,” you promised, stroking his chin. “We’ll have a family…just give us some time.”

He was disappointed…but he nodded. Sighing again through his nose, he clenched a hand into the now tangled mess of your hair.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Say you’re fucking mine.”

Your eyes widened. In all of this, you’d forgotten to be honest yourself.

“Of course I’m yours,” you said. “I love you, Ben. So much, I can hardly take it.”

He closed his eyes with furrowed brows. It had been a very long time since he’d heard those words. Maybe the first time someone had said them with any real sincerity, besides his mother.

You encouraged him to look at you, both with your voice and your hand gently touching his face. And when he opened his eyes, you marveled at the depths there.

Smiling, you guided him back to your lips. It was slow and sweet…until it wasn’t, deepening in passion and urgency again. Need burned inside you, so deep and strong that you couldn't take it anymore.

You slipped a hand between you to grasp his still hard cock. You caressed him a few times, letting your thumb circle around the sensitive head. Ben couldn’t help thrusting into your hand, releasing a grunt. His eyes briefly closed again as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck, down his chest.

“I need you,” you whispered against his skin. Ben nodded while you held his length poised at your entrance. He raised your hips, tucking your ankles over shoulders. For your injured one, he rubbed your calf.

“What a fuckin’ trooper,” he said with a smirk.

You smiled, but it soon fell into a moan as he began to push inside you. Every time, he stretched and filled you completely. Your inner walls wrapped around him and already fluttered with heat.

“Fuck, baby doll. Got me tight as a damn glove,” Ben remarked. You had to giggle, but that just squeezed him harder. When he began to move, it was all you could do to cling to his shoulders.

As basic as the position was, you liked being able to see his face. You knew when to spur him on, and when to just hold on for dear fucking life. But above all, he was a skilled man, and you enjoyed watching him work.

You were so consumed by it that when he came, it took both of you by surprise. He spilled into you hot and deep, but he still filled you with ragged thrusts, which hit that special place inside that made your entire body shudder with pleasure. You couldn’t help but come apart with him.

Your nails bit fruitlessly into his skin as your voice rose on a high moan. The two of you panted for breath, and he pulled out and let down your legs back to the bed. Once you felt the telltale dripping of his release slipping down from between your legs, your eyes widened.

Oh shit, you thought. “We forgot the condom.”

Ben stared down at you, first in confusion, then in surprise. And finally, with a broad, Cheshire-like grin.

You laid a hand over your eyes as you relaxed into the pillow behind your head, trying not to laugh.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you said.

“We? I was following your lead,” Ben said. He moved to lay beside you in full satisfaction, folding his hands over his chest. He looked like the cat that caught the horny-ass canary.

"Haven't you heard of, oh, I don't know, pulling out?" you quipped. Ben rose a brow at you, still with that smug look on his face.

"Not my philosophy, sweetheart," he said.

Your mouth dropped open incredulously. Your gaze narrowed, but looking into his gleaming eyes, you really just had to laugh. His smile grew.

Ugh. Whatever, you thought. For now, you closed your legs and moved over to rest your head on his shoulder. He welcomed you with an arm wrapping around your waist.

What’re the chances that I’m ovulating anyway? you thought.

After a beat, you huffed another laugh. With your luck, you’d definitely have to stop at a drugstore for a pregnancy test.

And yet, in times like these, you were happy that you caved when Ben insisted on installing a TV in the bedroom. After you both got cleaned up, it was nice to fall into bed like you used to and find something new to watch together.

There were so many things you wanted him to catch up on, and he was generally game for whatever you thought he might like.

Three episodes of The Office later though, you stopped laughing so much and fell into your thoughts. Ben noticed, tugging on a loose strand of your hair.

“What’s the matter?”

“You really think our apartment is a shithole?” you asked.

He shrugged. “I might’ve embellished.”

“Seriously. If you’re not comfortable here—”

“I’m comfortable,” he said, turning his gaze to you. “Why’re you asking me that now?”

“I don’t know,” you said. “I just want you to be happy here. I want this to feel like home for both of us, but not like, boring either.”

He smirked. “Hence the caravan of whores and blow.”

You shook your head with a laugh. But he still saw you trying to stem off that worry. That all this wasn’t enough for him.

Well, Ben could complain about being cramped in this three-bedroom apartment…but he knew that when he came home, he wouldn’t be alone.

He’d be able to see your stuff on the nightstand, by your side of the bed, your half of the closet, your sweet-smelling soaps and lotions in the bathroom. All of that was familiar to him now.

It was home, he supposed. And so were you.

The beginnings of a softer smile curved his lips, but he edged it into a smirk.

“You’ve got something they don’t,” he said.

“What’s that?” you asked, raising a brow.

“You try the ever-living fuck out of my patience,” he said, “unlike anyone on the planet.”

With a giggle, you rolled over onto his arm and chest, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Buuut…?”

He conceded with a nod, if also a roll of his eyes. His arm lifted to once again slip around your waist.

“But no matter how fucked up it got, you stayed.”

With me, his tone implied.

“That’s more than anyone else in my goddamn life,” he said.

And that made you tear up all over again.

“So you’re staying,” you clarified, only half-teasing.

It reminded you of when you’d sat tied to a chair, wondering why the hell Soldier Boy would want to let you live. You could’ve never known it then, but you’d stared straight into the face of your future.

You didn’t know if Ben was remembering the same thing, but he smiled a little, brushing away your tears with his thumb.

“I’m staying,” he replied. Your smile brightened, and you leaned up for a kiss.

“Then we’re square,” you whispered against his lips.

He chuckled and deepened the kiss. He turned off the TV, chucking the remote further down the bed and turned to trap you beneath him again.

“Nope.” You finished wiping your eyes and pushed against his chest. “You’re not finessing me twice. Go find a damn condom.”

He gave you a grumpy look. “Fucking killjoy.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you laughed. You reached up and took his face in your hands.

“I promised, didn’t I?” you reminded. “We’ll get there.”

His gaze searched yours.

“Soon, not someday,” he said. You nodded, soothing your thumb across his cheek.

“Soon,” you agreed. And you reminded him, even as your throat constricted once more with emotion. “Ben, I love you…God, I love you. And I’ve never wanted this with anyone but you.”

Ben paused, but after a moment, he nodded in acceptance. You were grateful for it. Even though you weren’t quite ready yet, he wasn’t the only one who wanted a family.

While your fractured past and upbringing made it hard for you to move past your fears, your insecurities, you knew that this man made you feel safe.

For the first time in your life, you also felt whole.

Soon enough, you’d be brave too.

AN: That's all, folks. Been a great ride...

Ha! Just kidding. I'm nowhere near done with these two, even with this long-ass epilogue lol.

But honestly, no matter what part of the journey you jumped into with this story, thank you so much for sticking with me until the end. It's truly been one of my favorite stories ever to write. And I'm so glad I got the chance to share it with you. 🥹💚🥹

Read More in the BMD-verse:

There are several more sequel stories listed under the Break Me Down Series Masterlist. Next up is a one-shot taking place a shortly after Part 17, and before this Epilogue:

Summary: You and Ben have tackled the insurmountable together, but no one said the recovery would be easy.

▶️ Next Story: In the Dark

Before you keep reading, please let me know what you thought of the BMD finale! 💚💚

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort

@xoxovienna @katherineann814 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow

@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @theonlymaninthesky @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2

@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92

#The Epilogue #the boys #soldier boy #soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys season 3 #soldier boy/ben x reader #the boys au #enemies to lovers #frenemies to lovers #private investigator!reader #the boys amazon #soldier boy smut #break me down #Part 18 #zepskies writes

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thisfanisgonesorry · 1 year ago

Text

keep talking — könig

got into cod because someone told me he was 6’9 and so i told them i wanna 69

tags: light angst, bros injured, smut, dubcon kinda, phone sex except its a walkie talkie. rushed ending lowkey, ambiguous relationship. ambiguous ending ooo. light blackmail, soldier!reader, y/n is watching better call saul (dont @ me), povs might be weird idk

⚠️

“König, how copy?”

Nothing. Literal radio silence.

“König, I’m talking to you. How copy?”

“I’m here.” He grunted after a long period of silence. “Bad copy.”

“I say again. Did you get caught in the crossfire?”

The battlefield surrounding König had bullet shells everywhere, he laid carefully in the ground, trying to hide his large body from any further incoming fire.

“I did.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“What are your injuries?”

“I’m fine.” He growled.

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know. Too much dust.”

“König, are you in a safe place? I’m gonna need you to stay there until it’s safe enough for someone to get you.”

“Affirmative.” He panted.

“I need you to say something, König.”

“Minimal damage, only flesh wounds. A few hits in the right leg.” He grunted in frustration. “I got my vest, I’m fine.”

He laid in the ditch, looking around the empty battlefield, only being able to make out clouds of smoke and dust as gunfire continued from the distance, the fight being gradually dragged away from him. He winced as the blood kept pouring out of his thigh.

He dug his fingers into one of the bullet holes in the pants, using it as a weak point to rip the fabric. His hands were too dirty to try and tend the wound himself, so he turned the leg of his pants into makeshift shorts; pulling the fabric down his leg and using the length of it to make a tourniquet for the wound.

“Come in, König.”

“Scheiße.. What?” He barked into the receiver. “I’m not dying, fräulein.”

There was a silence as he tried to shuffle his large body into the ditch, giving his leg room while trying to stay undetected.

“We can’t risk that.” I finally said from the other end.

“Then talk to me. I’m not dying. Don’t treat me like it.” He spoke sternly.

“What do you expect me to talk about?”

“Anything. Just don’t mention that I’m bleeding out.”

“The mission—”

“Not the mission.” He snapped again. “Your day or something.”

“Sorry, um..” I paused, lost on conversation.

There was a moment of silence and he groaned at the hesitance before the receiver burst to life again. He felt a pang of guilt as he palmed himself through his cargo pants. He’d been shot at enough times to learn that the fastest way to get rid of pain is to replace it with something better, and in situations where first aid was out of the question for the foreseeable future, this was all he had unless he decided to just put up with it.

“Okay.” I started. “I started watching a lawyer show. It’s really good.” I started rambling slightly about the show until I ran out of information that König would care for.

I tried to jump from topic to topic seamlessly but a one-sided conversation wasn’t easy to keep going.

“I don’t really have a lot of spare time, so I’m running out of things to talk about.” I commented, noticing a lack of response. “König?”

“I’m alive.” He spoke through shaking breaths.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm..” He nodded, despite me being unable to see him.

“I say again. Are you okay?”

“Gut. Ich bin prima.” He spoke. “Tut höllisch weh.” While I couldn’t make out what he was saying, his sarcasm and frustration was detectable from a mile away.

“English, König.”

“Hurts like hell.” He groaned out.

All of his actions could be explained one way or another, his ambiguous silence, his heavy breathing and grunting. From one end it seemed like a man in pain. On the other end of things, he had his head thrown back in the dirt, stroking himself slowly as the words filled his ears.

His breathing was ragged, hissing and panting as he tried to distract himself. He would manage to build his composure when he needed to talk through the comms, but besides that, he was a mess. Whining and grunting as he tried to focus on the sweet voice on the receiver instead of the stinging metal that was sinking into his skin.

He desperately jerked himself off, stroking his dick tenderly. “Keep talking.” He groaned. “Bitte, I’m bleeding everywhere. Hurts.”

“König..?” I began to feel suspicious at his pleas, it was so unlike him to be like this, he’d been shot before without acting this strange, he was swaying between aggressive and gentleness. “Are you..?”

“No.” He answered quickly, to the point where it raised more suspicion. He cringed at his own reaction, realising he sold himself out, and admitting it with his chest bare.

“König.” I said more sternly.

“Ich musste es tun, es tut so weh und deine stimme fühlt sich so gut an.” He groaned, using the wrong head to think, barely comprehensive as he rambled in a language I couldn’t even speak.

I took a deep inhale, his ramblings proving my point. “Say again in english please.”

“Yes.” He managed to get out.

“Yes, you’re jerking off?”

“Musste, kleine.” He panted, and while I still couldn’t make out his words, I understood that he was admitting to it, and by the sounds eliciting from his throat, it was clear that he wasn’t stopping. “Zu sagen dass es mir leid tut wäre eine lüge.”

“König.”

“Please.” He finally spoke out in english. “Please, keep talking.”

“What do you expect me to say?”

“Anything.” He groaned, and there was a moment of silence as we both sat in thought. His harsh demeanour melted quickly, he had no right of way to be a snappy colonel here as the need consumed him wholly.

“Do you expect me to talk dirty to you? Tell you that I bet you’re so hard and aching? That you’re probably leaking everywhere?”

“Scheiße, ja.” He nodded to the blankness of the battlefield, knowing that I couldn’t see his enthusiasm but wanting to express it anyway.

“And that’s all for me?”

“Ja, ja.” He panted out with need. “Need you.. Please?”

I sigh into the receiver and his breath catches in his throat, he gently massages his tip, enough to keep him going but not enough to build any pleasure. Guilt slowly began to consume him but he refused to let that be the other option. He didn’t want to sit in the dirt, bleeding out and crying out in pain instead of ecstasy.

“What do you want me to say?”

“What.. Do you want to say?” He responded carefully, keeping himself calm enough for this conversation to go smoothly. “Please, I’m.. Uh, werde abspritzen.. Orgasm.” He struggled out, his mind going blank.

“You have a lot of explaining to do later.”

“I know.” He groaned. “Tell me.”

I sucked my teeth. “I don’t know what to say to you, König. You want me to tell you how I want you buried deep in me?”

He let out a moan. “That.” He gritted.

“You’re fantasising about how good my pussy feels, right?”

“Ja, gute muschi.” He moaned, and soft slapping sounds began to be audible through the radio. I felt glad that no one else could listen into this line. He muttered incoherencies in English and German, it was hard to keep track of what he was trying to say.

The shame kept threatening to lay heavy on his conscience, though he managed to push it away every time it tried, but that didn’t mean it wouldn’t come back later.

“You sound close.”

“Am.” He swallowed thickly. “So sexy. So beautiful.”

“Mhm? Want me to say something about how I fuck myself in my quarters? Gotta keep myself quiet so the others don’t hear me through the shitty paper-thin walls?” I started. “Or how I’m tight because I haven’t got a boyfriend? My Colonel doesn't give me enough time off, y’know?”

The passive aggressiveness was something he made a mental note of, something to save for later to make up for his actions. Right now, he was focused on the orgasm threatening to rip through his body.

“Mhm, like that.” He whined, covering his mouth and his sounds becoming more muffled. “Scheiße—” The embarrassment in his voice lingered in the line for longer than his words did but it didn’t dissuade him. “Can explain this.. Later. Ah, please, right there.” He managed to curse out.

He panted and groaned, a mix of ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’ filled the air, surrounded by something or other in german. It was hard to tell what was happening through the walkie talkie, though before I could respond, his dick twitched in his hand, spilling cum from the tip, leaking over his hand and down onto his pants.

He threw his head back into the dirt, trying to regain himself, his afterglow of bliss successfully distracting him, but not enough to not worry about the growing guilt. “Sorry.” He mumbled.

“So.. You can explain why you were out of position or why you were jacking off?”

“Both.” He breathed. “I can do both. I’m sorry.”

“Evac van is on its way, it might take a bit to find you.” I tried to bite back a smile. “You should clean up.”

“I know.” He swallowed. “Thanks, uh.. I’m..”

He sighed, knowing better than to keep apologising, mindlessly wiping his hand on his pants, not caring too much of the stain and trying to reorganise himself. He crawled around the ditch, trying to make his position more obvious to the humvee, he could vaguely see it in the distance.

“Tell me you’re not mad, right?” He spoke through the radio, trying to walk towards a more visible vantage point where the enemy wouldn’t see him if there were any lingerers despite the fact that the fight was most certainly further down the open field at this point.

I laughed through the radio, and the cackle of life it brought to the abandoned field was uneasy as he slowly tried to move towards the van.

“No, not mad, but I definitely plan to use this against you in the near future.”

#cod #konig #smut #konig smut #konig x reader #konig x you #cod x reader #cod smut #call of duty smut #call of duty #call of duty x reader #konig x y/n

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1eoness · 1 year ago

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thanks for replying dear! also what pet names do you think leon would use for a so im so curious i keep thinking on babe and maybe even bunny for some reason ??? lol

HII ANON i have a long weekend and im taking a brief breather from writing today rn but i saw this so why not

other than your name rolling off leon's tongue affectionately? i think leon really really likes calling you names that make you feel cared or adored for :3

also i'm not sure if ur comfy w nsfw so ill put a seperate sectioning.

cw: just leon and the petnames he uses on gn! reader; with a VERY short nsfw snippet, only 17+ >:(

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵

other than your name rolling off leon's tongue affectionately? i think leon really really likes calling you names that make you feel cared or adored for :3 but he doesn't really use any uhm.. creative nicknames cus hes a fucking loser. but regardless he has his sentiment to them nd thats what matters hehe

sfw

"oh, sweetheart.." ♡ leon uses 'sweetheart' often when either of you feel vulnerable.

"oh—you okay, baby?" he murmurs before he stifled a laugh, seeing you accidentally hit your head against a pole. ♡ leon uses this in sudden or mild moments

you see leon immediately approach the foyer when he hears you're finally home. "why didn't you call me, my love?" he murmurs lowly before placing a kiss on your forehead, his hands coming to take your raincoat off. ♡ leon uses this as a greeting whenever he misses you or when he knows he'll miss you when you go out.

"...my sweet baby." he coos in a sleepy and inaudible whisper while he cradles your slumbering little head to his heart. �� leon mostly uses this when he remembers he has you all to himself! [sometimes it's 'sweet little girl/boy']

or sometimes leon just babbles with your face in his hands, kissing it all over while you activate his cute aggression. "you're always so good to me, bunny.." he murmurs incomprehensively atop the crown of your hair. and if you get all eager or shy u just make him melt!!

v nsfw! v (hehe.. may or may not be a snippet)

"l-leoon! ngghh... hngg..ah!~" you plant your mouth onto the soft fabric, leon's hand on the back of your head keeping you face-down while he pummels into you with reckless abandon.

he moans lowly as he drags his cock further in your clenching little hole, watching your sweetness pour while you cry helplessly into his comforters. "poor bunny, can't even think... uhh.. hmff.. f-fuuck..." leon coos with mock-sympathy, dragging a bellicose groan out of him— he pulls your hair back lightly, a gentle yet controlling grip; like he were pulling on a bunny's ears. he adjusts your hips up again, coercing a high-pitched whine out of you as he thrusts faster into where he knows you're sensitive. he wouldn't give his dumb little bunny the light of day, your blabbering voice now unmuffled and falling satisfactorily to his ears ♡

#leon kennedy fluff #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy hc #leon kennedy smut hc #leon kennedy fluff hc #leon kennedy smut #NOT A LOT OF OPTIONS IM SORRY IM FEELING UNCREATIVE TODAY #re2remake leon #re4remake leon #loen s kennededyyy!!!!

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honey-crypt · 4 months ago

Text

a/n: wrote this during whiteboard night with the elliott squad @fuerrziah @sonicsbigmassivepersonality @pxtofawn @razberry-cookie cuz i can’t do digital art (yet) soooo… enjoy!

word count: 1k

warnings: nsfw (minors dni), public sex, messy sex, drunk sex, mentions of cheating, unhealthy coping mechanisms (farmer uses drinking to cope with their breakup), elliott and the farmer ruin gus’s storage room, “oh! that escalated quickly!”

summary: you got your heart broken by your dumb ex-boyfriend and need relief. good thing elliott’s here to help you out!

★ frunk duck [drunk fuck] - elliott x farmer ★

You couldn't help it, though; you had just been dumped by your boyfriend Alex and you had to drink your sorrows away. Of course, the only place to do so in a small, buttfuck town like Pelican Town (other than enjoying a beer at home) was going to the Stardrop Saloon. Just a few drinks, you said, just a few drinks was all you needed to get that asshole off your mind.

Then you saw him, Elliott, sitting alone at the bar and nursing a pint in his hand. You approached the writer and took the bar stool next to him, “Hey,” you gave him a short greeting before waving Gus down and ordering your own beer. The redhead eyed you and offered a smile, “Hello. What brings you here at such a late hour, my friend?”

“Alex,” you grumbled. Gus set the beer in front of you and in a flash, you downed it and let out a low burp. Elliott raised his eyebrows at the scene, “Oh, dear. What did he do this time?”

“Fucked a random chick from ZuZu City when we were supposed to go out on our date,” you let out a stale laugh. You then beckoned Gus down and requested him to pour some shots. Despite the concerned look in his eyes, the bartender honored your request and placed five or so shot glasses down on the table, “Pick your poison.”

“Vodka,” you answered. Gus grabbed a bottle of chilled vodka from the rack and poured it into each shot glass, “Enjoy, let me know if you need anything, okay?” The saloon owner left to attend to other patrons. It was a surprisingly slow night for the saloon, only seven patrons beside you and Elliott inside.

“Wanna join me?” you held out a shot of vodka to Elliott. He stared at the shot and gently set his beer down on the wooden table, “I would be happy to. What shall we toast to?”

You raised your shot, “To not letting assholes walk all over us.”

Elliott raised his shot after you, “Cheers to that,” you clinked the other’s glass with your own and took the shot in one swift motion, the burn of the vodka and its chilly temperature coating your throat. Soon, one shot turned into two, then three, then so on until you could barely remember why you were drinking in the first place. You swung your bodyweight to the side and faced Elliott, his face red and eyes hazy from the alcohol.

“Ellieeeeee,” you leaned into the writer and muttered in his ear, “I have an idea…”

“Y- Yeah?” he hiccuped. You nodded, more so headbutting the poor fella, and giggled, “You- You should fuck me,” the redhead’s eyes widened at the proposition but smiled nonetheless, “Okay!” Elliott grabbed you by the hand and pulled you off the bar stool, walking you towards the backroom of the saloon.

Now, here you were, getting your guts stirred up like fresh spaghetti by Elliott’s thick, juicy cock. It was a prettier cock than Alex’s, longer and thicker, utterly delicious to suck on. The way he mewled and stifled back moans when you blew his dick was simply a sight to behold. He tasted sweet, from his lips to his weeping cock.

He then lubed your hole up with spit and a leftover lube packet he had in his coat. You didn’t ask where or why he had a travel size packet of lube in his coat, you were too busy getting yourself fucked dumb by a handsome, freckled man with an unnatural toned body for his lifestyle.

It was a treat to see such a gentleman give into his primal desires, his need to fuck and to breed any pretty holes he bore witness to. His cock was like a spear, stabbing you with a pleasurable pain. Your eyes lit up when Elliott made contact with your sweet spot, “There! There, right there!” you moaned to him. Like the obedient puppy he was, Elliott followed your direction and continued to abuse that one spot of yours, his cock pistoning in and out of your hole over and over and over and-

You clenched down on Elliott’s dick and held back a cry, as you climaxed. Elliott held onto you and covered your mouth while you rode out your orgasm, sober enough to know that any loud noise from the backroom would arouse suspicion.

You went limp in Elliott’s arm, too dumb to move or make a sound. Elliott took the chance to resume his motions, using you as a human fleshlight to chase his own climax. He quickly followed in suit, biting down on your shoulder to muffle his whimpering moans while he shot ropes of cum deep inside you.

Elliott and you remained still for a few minutes until the redhead’s cock went soft and he was able to pull himself out of you. Some cum spilled from your hole and joined the collection of fluids on the floor. Elliott hastily wiped the liquids away with his handkerchief and pocketed it back into his coat. He snapped his fingers in your face, trying to see if you were mentally there enough to get up and get dressed, but he only got soft babbles in return.

“Elliott, (Y/N)?” the two of you turned to face the owner of the voice. Gus stood in the doorway with his arms crossed in annoyance and disappointment, “Please tell me you got… no fluids on my produce,” the bartender entered the backroom and made a beeline for some of the boxes. Once Gus confirmed that the produce was fine, he stated, “You two are banned from the saloon for the next month.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” answered Elliott. He redressed you and threw your drunk, fucked dumb ass onto his back, “Bye, Gus.”

“Bye, Elliott. Bye, (Y/N),” the bartender bid you both farewell, as Elliott carried you out of the Stardrop Saloon. Guess you have to drink at home for the next month!

#honey crypt fics #stardew valley #sdv #stardew #sdv elliott #stardew valley elliott #stardew elliott #sdv elliott x farmer smut #stardew elliott x farmer smut #stardew valley elliott x farmer smut

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anchoeritic · 2 years ago

Note

OMG NEYTIRI IS MAMA.

anyways. can i request reader × neytiri just grinding on each other slowly after a long day? not having enough energy to anything except connect their tsaheylus and just get off on each other

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐦 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧

— neytiri x afab!reader

— warnings: eighteen plus content, minors do not interact. use of y/n, mentions of blood, pandoran war, gunshots, wounds, violence, casual intercourse.

“YOU OKAY, HONEY?” You brush away the fallen strands from Ney's face, tucking them behind her perked ears. Her response was only a sigh, the tiredness in her expressions explaining it.

Life wasn't easy on Pandora; rebuilding homes, gifting lost loved ones to Eywa, everything was rather complicated after the Pandoran war. Everything the Na'vi had once known, was lost.

“I wish I knew.” Grace is gone, Tsu'tey too. It hit everyone unexpectedly.

Years full of happy and spirit was quickly destroyed by the RDA with unexplainable warnings. Jake -- Toruk Makto, with the help of Neytiri, brought the clans together and fought them off 'til there was no more blood to shed.

Days would end the same now; spoken words to Eywa followed by Ney's sweet whispers to you, telling you how much she loves you.

There were no complaints, but you could tell she was hurting. Often times, she’d come back from ikran rides with swollen eyes like she had just finished crying. It was even harder punch to the gut when you realized you couldn’t change a thing to make her feel better.

“Ney, look at me,” your hands cup either side of her cheeks, holding her face close. The sight of pure exhaustion could be seen right through her pupils, the eye-bags only adding to the effect. “You can tell me you’re not okay.”

Emotions take time, and you’d give her the rest of eternity if she ever needed it.

“You’re hurting. I can see right through you, Ney. I know you’re trying to hide it — I’m not Jake, okay? I’m not a warrior, not even close,” she let out a breath, placing her hands right over yours, covering them entirely.

“I’m your mate…” you continued, “I love you.”

Love. Love wins all, they say. It was hard to believe at first until you almost lost your life to Quaritch’s men in front of Neytiri.

“Y/n!” Blood was pouring out from your side as you tried to move behind the thick trunk of a tree, using the bark as a shield. “Stay with me.” You had three bullets stuck inside, digging deeper into the hole.

“Look at me!” You felt as if your life was finally being given to Eywa; the striking light of your third rebirth seemed like your endgame.

You had no recollection of what happened the days after; waking up in a hammock with Neytiri fast asleep beside your bed, tears staining her blue cheeks.

You just knew you had her to thank for saving your life, and that led to the start of your love story with Ney.

Her next move was completely unexpected but you melted into it the second you realized.

A tender kiss was left on your lips after your words, the hot trickle of her tears steaming from her eyes down to your cheeks, yours being the next to stained.

“Nga yawne lu oer.” (I love you) You warmed into the kiss in less than a few seconds, pulling her face closer into yours to deepen it.

“You are my reason to continue, yawnetu.” (love)

It didn’t take long for your clothes to be taken off by each other, the process going by a lot faster than you thought. You two laid bare against one another, sharing the warmth of each body.

“Please, Ney…” your voice comes out as a whisper, the pleas of her name making her ears perk up in amusement.

“I hear you,” she presses a kiss to your temple before pulling her tsaheylu to her front to show to you. “Go ahead, honey.”

You nod your head, holding yours out, waiting for the two to connect into one; just like how you and Ney do. Beautiful pieces matched to be a puzzle.

Slowly but surely, the two came to be one. The feeling shot throughout your body like a fresh wave of water, the heavy tides of the river, you shivered just the same. It was like your first time all over again.

“Come closer, I won’t bite.” You giggle, wrapping your arms around your girlfriend. “Unless you want me to. You liked it quite a bit last time.”

Her breathy chuckle was follows shortly, the sound bouncing off the trees. “Shut up and kiss me.” She turns you back around, placing you beneath her once again.

You gasp at the sudden change, letting out a soft huff at her. “Fine, loser.”

A kiss was shared and then another, then a couple more than two. Your tongues were practically down each other’s throats, fighting for dominance.

“Let me feel you.” Moaning into her mouth, you wrap your legs around her torso, caging her into you. “Fuck, I need you.”

Her hips slowly started to grind against yours, the friction between your cores making both your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

The bumps against clits had you salivating, crying out for Ney every time it hit the right spots.

“Please, Ney,” you plead with soft eyes, “need to come, please.” She hummed against your lips, moving her hips in circular motions.

“Go ahead, my sweet girl.” She mumbled. “I know you can do it.” She pressed her forehead onto yours, gently nudging her nose with yours.

The last motion of her hips had your throbbing clit ready to hit its climax, standing at the edge, waiting for the final kiss of pleasure.

Like a flower waiting to blossom it’s first petal.

“Come for me, my petal.”

#neytiri #neytiri smut #neytiri x reader #avatar smut #avatar #jake sully smut #jake sully x reader #colonel quaritch smut #colonel quaritch x reader

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sannasruins · 2 years ago

Text

stained red

kirishima x reader

type: angst

warnings: major character death, fluff to pain, violence

a/n: a sad fic for my favorite boy, thought of this while doing my hair the other day, and thought about making it happy, decided against it lol. no happy endings here :)

word count: 2k

You had successfully infiltrated Kirishima’s room, your mission? Dyeing his hair.

He had approached you earlier that afternoon in class, eyes shifting back and forth, as if he was going to tell you a dark secret no one must hear. “Hey, y/n” he whispered once he reached your desk.

You looked up from your course work that you had previously been focused on, “Yeah? What’s up Kiri?”

“I need your help,” he parted his hair and leaned his head down so you could see the peaking of his dark roots, “helppppp” he whined out.

You laughed at his pleading, “Kirishima, you used to do this all by yourself, why do you need me to do it recently?”

“You just do it better.” He answered. You knew. On the days after he dyed his hair, his forehead, ears, and hands were stained a deep red, giving away his previous night’s activities. It never ended up stained when you did it, he had become spoiled by your steady and gentle hands.

“Okay,” you smiled at him, “I’ll be there tonight.”

He grinned his beautiful, sharp grin at you, unaware of the swarm of butterflies it released in your stomach every time he did.

You giggled at the sight before you in the mirror, Kirishima obediently sitting on the floor in front of your feet, a plastic bag with a hole cut in the middle for his head around his shoulders, his eyes crinkled with a smile as they met yours. With such a lovely sight in front of you, how could you not be absolutely enamored with him?

The gloves around your fingers crinkled as you messed with his hair, tilting his head forwards and backwards, left and right, making sure to not miss a single spot. Starting with the dye brush but soon giving up and resorting to using your hands to apply, it just worked better that way. It’s not like he was paying for a professional service; it was two teenagers in a dorm at night sneaking around. There was no pressure for it to be perfect, he didn’t mind if you messed up a little bit, having you do it was way more fun than him struggling to do it by himself. You didn’t notice at the time, but a small hole appeared in the glove, allowing some of the bright red dye to seep into your skin, staining it pink.

You put another plastic bag over his head, when he asked why the first time you did it, you said “it’s for you to cook.” You may not be a professional, but you know at least that, you then looked at him incredulously, “you never cooked?”. He shook his head no, then asked, “was I supposed to?”.

“I mean, you don’t have to, but it does something… I think.” You answered him. He gave you a doubtful look but allowed you to continue without questioning your ways anymore.

You both sat on his floor while you waited for the dye to do its thing, gloves discarded, and stain discovered much to your dismay. Shuffling a sack of cards you asked, “what do you want to play?”

4-0 was the score by the time your phone timer went off, notifying you it was time to rinse his hair. Kirishima was really bad at card games. And you were really good. “Okay!” you exclaimed, slapping your thighs, and getting up from your seated position, “come on, let’s go.”

He looked silly, leaning forward in an attempt to not get any of the red stained water on his skin as your started to rinse the dye from his hair. You cherished these next moments; it held a type of intimacy you thought you would never feel again. You put a glob of shampoo into his hair as he sat on the stool, his white shirt wet with red water, and gently massaged the product on his head, running your nails softly over his scalp as it bubbled pink between your fingers. You couldn’t see it but his eyes were softly closed and a relaxed smile graced his lips. When you were done with the shampoo, you poured the bucket of water next to you over his head, resulting in him turning around and scowling at you playfully, you grinned back at him, a silent laugh shaking your chest. You pushed his head to face forward again and squeezed conditioner into your palm, before starting to rub it into the ends of his fiery, wet hair. The room was silent, but it was nice, there was no need to fill the silence, it was safe, it was warm.

You saw his hair the next day, revitalized and looking as bright as ever. A beacon in the dark, for you at least. You passed smiles between on another throughout the day, and before you knew it, it was time for your afterschool intern training. Its what you had been looking forward to all day, as you and Kirishima were both interning under the Pro Hero: Fatgum, which meant you got to spend all afternoon walking around the city with him, talking and having fun. Maybe, you thought, you could get Taiyaki on the way home, you getting custard and him getting red bean, the hot steam from the pancake warming your face in the cool nights air.

It was a small time villain, someone you hadn’t ever heard the name of before, that you came across. He was rampaging through a residential part of town, and there were already a few civilians severely injured when you arrived. You weren’t worried though, his quirk wasn’t very powerful, and Kiri and you were heroes in training, a small fry like him shouldn’t be any problem. Nevertheless you called in to report the situation and request backup as you ran to the villain, who Kirishima was already engaged with.

You shouldn’t have taken the villain so lightly, he was a cornered beast, and you in your naivety you didn’t realize the lengths one would take to get themselves out of a corner, even if its one they put themselves in. It wasn’t Kirishima he went for, no, he was as strong as he was impenetrable, the villain targeted you instead.

He feigned a move, you lunged in, tired and read for the fight to be over, wondering when the backup was going to arrive. And like that, the villain was suddenly behind you and making a fatal move, your head turned as you saw him leap towards you. But in a flash of red, Kirishima Eijiro was between you two, and you felt your heart drop.

His body crumped, being hit with a move meant to kill from such a close distance. He was fine, he had to be fine though, he was semi hardened, that couldn’t have killed him, you tried to convince yourself. The villain was taken a back, you had to strike now before the window of vulnerability closed, you couldn’t be distracted.

After that first strong hit it didn’t take long for the villain to be subdued, and as you hit the final blow you saw your mentor, Fatgum, arrive. You met his eyes, silently giving him permission to take it from there as you fell to your knees, chest heaving as you tired to catch your breath.

A thought flashed in your mind. Kirishima.

You turned, still on your knees to see him lying on the pavement. Oh god, red, surrounded him, not the warm red of his hair but a deep, cold red, the very life of him pooling onto the dark cement around him. Was he breathing? You couldn’t tell. You crawled to him, unable to find the strength to stand up.

“Kiri? Hey Kiri can you hear me?” you asked, voice laden with desperation as you gently rolled him onto his back. His eyes were barely open, but they moved and focused on you. You smiled at him, tears pooling in your eyes.

“Hey y/n” he answered you, voice a gravely sound barely above a whisper, a sharp stabbing pain shot into your heart, choking you on your words. “Your- you’re uncomfortable aren’t you?” you asked, he just nodded back. “its okay, here,” you sat criss cross and moved his head into your lap, “lap pillow, that’s what all the boys are talking about these days right?” He smiled faintly at you, eyes fluttering open and close, “yeah, how lucky I am.”

You tapped his face lightly, it was becoming more and more difficult to keep any semblance of composure as you watched the pool of blood grow in size beneath him, “Eijiro, you gotta stay awake for me, you gotta, soon recovery girl is going to be here and she’ll make it all better okay? You just gotta stay awake a little longer,” you were pleading at that point, hot tears streaming down your face as you looked down at his face, his beautiful face that was slowly loosing its color, the warmth of his cheeks cooling.

“Can you,” he struggled to get his words out, “can you stroke my hair please y/n?”

You smiled, salty tears covered your lips, and you nodded, “Of course kiri.” Rubbing his head gently, fingers brushing through the same hair they were the night before, but now that clean red hair was matted with blood. You tired not to pull on any of the knots in his hair, you could brush them out later, when he was safe.

“And call me by my name,” it was getting harder and harder for him to get his words out, “my, my first name I mean”

“Eijiro.”

“Yeah.” He smiled and his eyes started to droop.

“No no no, Eijiro, please keep your eyes open, please please, just a little while longer okay? Helps going to be here soon.” Your tears were dripping onto his face, mixing into his own. You wiped them away with the pad of your thumb, your other hand still making its way over his hair. Over and over again. You could hear the sirens, they were getting close, help would be there soon, he just needed to hold out a little while longer.

“Hey y/n?” he asked, you were surprised at the sound of his voice, “you’re one of my best friends, thank you y/n.”

“Save your strength, we can talk later,” you told him, “they’re almost here, just a few more minutes.” You didn’t want him to thank you. It was your fault he was in this situation to begin with. If you hadn’t been so weak then this wouldn’t have happened, he wouldn’t have been hurt. It was your fault.

“I love you, thank you for,” he paused, taking a rattled breath, “thank you for being here with me, its not so scary with you.”

Those were the last words that Kirishima Eijiro ever said. When his body had lost all its warm, when you were sure he was gone, you screamed. A animalist sound that ripped its way out of your lungs, a sound that let everyone know, exactly what had just happened. A sound so filled with grief and anger that it was almost tangible.

You laid yourself over his body for a moment, hugging him close to you, his blood making its way into your clothes, into the cracks of your skin, under your fingernails, onto your lips. And sobs wracked your body, your entire being shaking with the power of your anguish.

They had to drag you away from his body, you were fighting them with all of what little strength you had left, begging, and pleading for them to let you say with him, and at that point you were ready to just die with him. You wanted to stay with him, it was your fault, he shouldn’t be alone, he’s going to be scared, you need to be with him.

When he was no longer in your sight, when they had loaded you into the back of an ambulance, because apparently you had been injured too, you looked down. That’s when you saw your hands.

Stained with the color of his hair dye. Stained with the color of his blood. Stained red.

#bnha x reader angst #boko no hero academia #my hero academia #mha x reader #mha kirishima #mha eijiro kirishima #eijirou x reader #kirishima x reader #kirishima angst #bnha x reader #x reader angst #kirishima x you #kirishima x y/n

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starboybutler · 6 months ago

Text

Lights Up (Ch.4)

summary: john tries to forget.

word count: 4029

warnings: ‼️ use of the word rape, drug use, vomiting, near-overdose, blood, violence ‼️

notes: this story got way darker than i intended. sorry guys ENJOYYY

chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | ao3 link

he wasn’t thinking straight when he waited outside their class the next day. his hands had been patched up, courtesy of curt, who scolded him something fierce despite sitting on his haunches for him. he got back late that night, still trembling with chafing anger. he didn’t tell curt the details of what he had witnessed. he didn’t feel like he’d be able to recall it without getting angry all over again. that, and he was sure had just heard something he wasn’t supposed to.

“christ, bucky, i thought i was supposed to be the troublemaker between the two of us.”

bucky huffed out a little laugh before his face quickly fell once more. he saw curt frown from his peripherals, making him sigh dejectedly and look solemnly at the shorter man.

“i’m fine, curt.”

it was a bald-faced lie, but he couldn’t stand it when curt was worried about him. curt was too young to be worried about a screw-up like him. he really felt that curt would be better off if he didn’t know him, at times.

“i dunno if i believe you.”

it was quiet after that.

the door to the classroom opened, and he stiffened immediately. students poured out one by one, until the last few trickled out.

no sign of gale.

he wouldn’t skip class. but, then again, what happened to him last night was traumatic. it wouldn’t be unheard of to miss a class.

the door creaked open once more. john perked up as he saw that blonde hair, but his heart sank as he saw the worn down state of him. hair pulled back in a messy ponytail instead of spilling over his shoulders, a tawdry sweatshirt with their college logo plastered across the chest, and equally disheveled sweatpants. his eyes looked dull, fixed on the ground as he pushed his way out of the classroom. john felt his throat tighten before he spoke.

“gale.”

his blue eyes met his, wide and startled, before they quickly clouded with something else entirely. john couldn’t quite tell what. he didn’t say anything as he maintained eye contact.

“i, uhm…” john began, wetting his lips. “just wanted to check up on you.”

“i’m not coming to your dorm.” the blonde said sharply, expression annoyed- lip quirked upwards in a sneer. john felt a pang of shame at the fact he assumed that’s what he stopped him for.

“no, i–” john stammered, before taking a deep breath and pausing to reorganize his thoughts. “I…wanted to check up on ya because…i saw what happened. last night,”

gale visibly stiffened, but remained silent. quiet anger burned under his pretty features.

“what, are you stalking me now?”

“i wasn’t stalking you– i was just out for a walk, and i heard somethin’ goin’ on, and i heard and saw it all– i was gonna step in but you handled it, so i wanted to see if you were okay and if there’s anything you need–”

“jesus christ,” gale hissed, anger very evident on his face now. “you see me almost get raped, and you just come up to me like you’re any better than that asshole that was trying to force his way into my pants?” a bitter laugh escaped him, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

“what the fuck is your issue? you gonna invite me over? use your fake-ass empathy to try and fuck me? is that it?”

john was speechless as gale ranted on, angry tears welling along pretty blonde eyelashes as he burned holes into john with his scornful gaze. “gale– that’s not–”

“no. i’m done entertaining your bullshit. i’m not going to fuck you. leave me the fuck alone.”

he walked off, scarily calm, leaving john to stand in a hallway full of judgemental stares from his peers. his heart felt like someone had an iron grip on it, squeezing it each time he tried to take a breath to calm himself.

he felt sick. ears ringing, he watched gale storm off, pretty face contorted like he was trying not to burst into tears right then and there.

—---------------

“i’m worried about you.”

curt kept his voice low, fingers carding gently through bucky’s hair as the taller man lay limp on his bed. he’s been like this for hours- utterly inconsolable, deathly silent, eyes dull. he doesn’t even remember the last time bucky’s been so worked up over a boy– or anyone for that matter. they lay like that for a long while, nothing but the idle sounds of their little dorm to keep them company.

“curtie, baby,” he spoke, finally, voice quiet. “am i a pervert?”

had john been in any other condition, he probably would have found the question laughable. but there was such a rawness in his voice now, such a vulnerability he hadn’t heard in a long while.

“do you think i’d still be your friend if you were?”

another long round of silence.

“no.”

“it’s been a week, johnny. i think maybe you need to put blondie outta your mind.” he said carefully. “you’ve never stressed over a guy this much. i gotta ask– what is it with him?”

“i wish i could tell you.” bucky mumbled, nuzzling up into curt’s hand. “i wanted– want him bad. too bad. wasn’t thinkin’. i guess i… dunno. came on too strong.” he sighs. “he thinks i’m a pervert, curtie.”

“forget about him.” curt says, scratching at his scalp gently as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small plastic baggie of little square tablets. “c’mon, let’s forget, yeah?”

john sat up, his lips parting as curt took one of the paper tablets out, allowing the shorter man to place it just on the tip of his awaiting tongue.

it melted quickly, making john sigh in relief as he laid his head down onto curt’s lap, waiting for the pretty colors he loved oh so much to start blooming behind his eyelids.

—----------------------

they ended up at a club not too far from campus, simply named ‘bliss’ . it was on the smaller side, littered with all kinds of college students from surrounding campuses, all drunk and stumbling around the stuffy lobby.

john found himself at a table, loose-limbed and dazed from the acid tablet curt had fed him so tenderly earlier. the strobe lights made a beautiful pattern before his eyes, flashing and blending together in the most mesmerizing way. everyone’s faces were distorting slightly, pinks and purples and blues everywhere.

“you gonna take a bump, pretty boy?”

john groggily raised his head to the voice, humming noncommittally and taking the small rolled up dollar bill that was shoved between his fingers. the world turned upside down as he hunched over, sniffing up one of the lines of fine, white powder that were strewn across the table. he hissed and sat back up quickly, head thrown back as he rubbed at his nose roughly with the back of his hand. it burned like hell.

cheers distantly filled his ears, whistles and catcalls alike as he handed off the rolled-up bill to someone else, his dizziness encompassing him in a hazy cloud when his head hit the soft cushion of the sofa below him.

he let his eyes fall shut, the rhythmic thrumming of the club music lulling him, slowing his racing thoughts. he hasn’t been this high in a good long while- he laid off getting crossfaded since the last time, when he ended up in an alleyway with his dick wet and his wallet gone. he had been talking to some chick the night prior, and it ended up fucking him over. he stuck to drinking after that.

he wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up overdosing tonight. he’s being careless– he knows this, and yet he just takes whatever is being given to him. he’ll do anything not to think right now- he doesn’t want to confront his feelings, or the fact that multiple people on campus might think he’s a predator.

…in a sense, maybe he is.

he’s always searching for someone– something. yearning for god knows what– he can never find what he wants. the sex, the drugs, the drinking– it never feels like its enough. he always years for something more. he always feels so painfully empty, devoid of emotions– other than lust and anger and hurt. he gets little rushed of happiness here and there, but he can never recreate the elation he feels when he’s truly happy.

like a dog chasing its own tail.

he stays like that, sprawled out on the couch for god knows how long- lost in the pretty, blooming colors behind his eyelids, exploding like fireworks and making a hell of a light show.

he briefly wondered what gale was doing as he laid there, fucked up on three different things at once. he was probably studying with croz, stll dressed in te same clothes from earlier today. maybe he was in his dorm, curled up and crying his pain away, snivelling and red-faced as the events of the night prior haunted him.

‘its all your fault, y’know that right?’

his eyes fluttered open, the club lights suddenly gone, leaving him in a vast emptiness, all alone. the couch was still beneath him, but it felt fuzzy, like it was a mirage. there was no one and nothing, truly nothing. a tall, deformed figure emerged from the shadows, eyes aglow with the most dazzling shade of blue he’s ever seen. despite the grogginess in his limbs, he instinctively flinched as the thing gazed at him.

“what?” buck sputtered, tongue feeling too heavy in his mouth as he tried to gather himself, to no avail. his body was still impossibly heavy, tingling and numb and all kinds of sensations he couldn’t stand. did he overdose? was he dead?

‘you coulda stepped in sooner. better yet, you could have never spoken to him. he’d be in a much better place right now if you hadn’t tried to get in his pants like a horny school boy.’

bucky grimaced, vision swirling violently as he met the creature’s unwavering gaze. “what– no– i mean yeah, i was an ass, but i didn’t try to rape him. that whole thing wasn’t my fault.”

a wave of violent pain overcame him as his head throbbed, the figure closing the distance between them slowly. it’s head was cocked to the side like a curious dog, but its gaze was far more malicious and hateful– pitiful, almost. he hated that look. he knew it entirely too well, the mix of emotions people gazed at him with when he was fucked out of his mind, or when he was having one of his ‘dramatic moments’. he had first gotten that look when he was in elementary school, sweat pooling on his skin as he stood before a teacher, getting scolded for putting his hands on another kid. it was at that very moment, there, that he was labelled as a troublemaker, a disruption to his classmates. he couldn’t do anything but conform to the role he had been given.

‘he was perfectly fine until you came along. you ruined him. he’ll never be the same again, all because of you.’

“i get it, i fucked up, okay?” john grit out, his head throbbing violently like it was stuffed with cotton, mouth completely dried up as he ran a heavy hand through his sweat-soaked hair. “i’m a fuckin’ no-good creep– i fuckin’ get it,” he gasped, his chest suddenly feeling as though there was someone sitting on top of him. “what do you want from me? i don’t–”

he felt like he was being throttled. his hand flew to his chest, clutching it in a desperate attempt to breathe, eyes wide and mouth agape, drool escaping from the corner of his mouth. he felt helpless, confused, scared– and there was no one around to help him. he felt like he was a dirtbag preteen again, kneeling on the concrete and staring daggers into the older kids that had cornered him. it was over a girl, it always fucking was, because from a young age, bucky chased after anyone he could possibly reach. its like he was hard-wired this way.

‘you know i’m telling the truth. you’re no good, john. you chase and chase and chase, with no regard for others. you leave a trail of broken hearts wherever you go. its time you see the consequences to your recklessness.’

a choking cry left him as he doubled over, hands sprawled on the cold, filthy ground, scrabling for purchase as he struggled for breath. he was gonna die. he was gonna die, here, with this thing looming over him, the image of gale’s terrified face making his face burn with guilt–

his eyes snapped open, and he was back in the club. he tried to gasp in relief, but all that came out was a strangled noise as he realized that bile was rapidly rising in his throat.

he doubled over and gagged harshly, vomit bubbling from his lips and onto the floor, all over his shoes. people around him gasped, some groaning that he ‘ruined the vibe’, but there were some kind souls present, rubbing his back and shoulders as he heaved for a few more seconds.

his eyes stayed fixed on the contents of his stomach, a sickly yellow color from the lack of food he’d eaten today. it was a foamy, bubbling mess, pooling around his boots as he tried to breathe normally. his mouth tasted disgustingly sour.

“are you okay?” a bystander asked, making bucky grimace and stand way faster than he should have. he was dizzy, head swimming as he wiped at his lips with a sticky, sweat-soaked arm.

“m’ fine.” he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to keep it together. he was about 95% he had just nearly overdosed. he needed to be anywhere but here right now. he pushed his way through the crowd, shoes still dripping with bile as he trudged his way to the door, panting and heaving like he’d run a mile. one of his hands shoved itself into his jeans pocket, fishing out his phone and immediately sending a text to curt.

bucky

‘wya?? we need 2 go rn’

curtie

‘I’m near the back. Wya?”

bucky

‘frony doors’

he waited a few beats, body tense and shaking as he leaned his forehead against the cool wood of the door. his body relaxed as he felt a familiar, small hand rest on his shoulder.

“bucky? you okay?”

he gleaned at curt– his worried little expression making his heart clench. he sat up, gazing at curt with dazed, lidded eyes and giving him an unconvincing little smile. “fine, curt. jus’ need to get the hell outta here.”

he slung an arm around curt, leaning onto him heavily as they stumbled their way out of the club. john immediately felt more at ease as the outdoor air hit his sweaty skin, quelling the heat he felt all over his damp body. curt had an arm slung around his waist, other hand grabbing at the arm slung over his tiny frame. his thumb was rubbing little circles into the small of his back, a gesture that made his heart soar. curt was always so goddamn thoughtful.

“you’re shakin’, johnny.” curt mumbled, looking up at his distant expression. “did ya overdo it tonight?”

“a lil bit, yeah,” he mumbled, letting his cheek rest atop curt’s head. “barfed all on my shoes.”

“christ,” he sighed, frowning and hiking john up so that he was standing on his own a little bit more. “no wonder you fuckin’ reek.”

“ hey! ”

john grimaced at the sudden loudness, hie cloudy eyes moving groggily in the direction of the exclamation. there were two guys, one with dark hair and ine blonde, both on the buff side, glowering at him.

“that’s the asshole, right? let’s kick his ass!”

in a blurry flash of various blooming colors, the men lunged at him, making him stagger back, startled. he fumbled a bit as he put his fists up, ready to block a hit or exchange blows if need be. curt, however, being the little firecracker he is– was alredt socking one of them straight in the jaw, sending spit flying onto the pavement. the other goon tackled him to the ground, successfully subduing curt for a split second as he reared back to punch in retaliation.

curt was quick, however, his arm shooting out and fingers curling around the perp’s wrist yanking him down and switching their positions with a deft quickness, striking him straight in the nose. bucky felt utterly useless watching him wail on this asshole, but he honestly didn’t think he could take a step forward without falling flat onto his face. curt wasn’t letting up on goon #2, striking him as he writhed underneath the shorter boy, trying to move away from the blows against him.

the other boy stumbled over to the two of them, grabbing at curt’s jacket and yanking him roughly, trying to dislodge him from his friend. john immediately sobered up, his body thrusting itself into the fight unceremoniously and throwing his full body weight onto the blonde one, wrestling with him until he was a good distance away from curt, who had beaten the dark-haired one unconscious. john grimaced and locked hands with the blonde, shoving as hard as his weakened limbs could manage.

a fist suddenly connected with his stomach, making him retch, eyes watering as he let go of him, clutching his stomach instead. there was nothing left in his stomach for him to throw up, so he sat there, dry-heaving and weakly grasping at the offender with one hand. he managed to get himself under control, hand buried into the fabric of the blonde’s shirt as he stood straight, reeling a fist back and punching him square in the temple.

the feind must’ve blacked out as soon as his fist connected, because his body fell limp onto the ground with a dull thud. bucky stood there, gasping for breath as he watched the boy lay there, breathing shallow.

curt gave his sleeve a tug, forehead beading with sweat from the exertion of the fight.

“let’s go.”

john mindlessly obeyed, stumbling behind curt and hissing as the throbbing in his head made itself known once more.

—-------------------------------------

it was late when they got back to their dorm, the moon shining into the room in a pale little band that spanned across the cheap flooring. curt sat john down as soon as they stepped foot into the room, getting him a glass of water, which he downed greedily.

now, they sat there with the first aid kit for a second night in a row, silence falling thickly over the two of them. john was honestly still too dazed to think clearly– the drugs, the thrumming pain radiating all throughout his body...he felt like shit. probably looked it, too.

“that was really dumb of you, i hope you know that.”

bucky hummed, brows furrowing together. “wh– they came at us curt. was i supposed to just let ‘em hit me?”

“not the fight,” curt mumbled, dabbing a cotton ball soaked in peroxide against the open wounds against his knuckles. “the drugs.”

“oh,” he hummed, rubbing at his temples, hissing as curt pressed at the raw wounds of his knuckles with the now red cotton. “yeah, well….i was havin’ a rough night. you should get it.”

he didn’t mean to say that last part out loud, but it was true. curt was reckless when it came to drugs and getting high, more often than not. the amount of times he had gotten so crossfaded that he ended up in an alleyway, not knowing his name, was insane. he understood curt’s concern, but he was in no place to talk.

the words must have struck a nerve, because curt’s jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with an emotion he couldn’t quite pinpoint. shit.

“i do– but i haven’ done that shit in forever, johnny.” he muttered, clearly hurt. “i thought you’d know better, with all the times you’ve had to shove your fingers down my throat back then.”

bucky grimaced, the memory making his stomach clench unpleasantly. the first time it had happened, they were both in high school, at a party with coke lines on nearly every table. he was off drinking, dancing with any cute girl or guy he could, before he heard a bloodcurdling scream from one of the bathrooms.

he rushed over, a bad feeling in his gut, and sure enough, curt was laying there– eyes clouded over and jaw slack. he’s never shoved his fingers down someone’s throat so quickly.

“you could have died, john.” curt mumbled, voice small and weak, just like when they were kids, cuddled up under a blanket together because curt was afraid of the dark. “and i wouldn’t have known fast enough to save you.”

tears carved a path down curt’s reddened cheeks, making john reach out to wipe them instinctively. the smaller boy leaned into the warmth of his palm, sniffling quietly and taking in the moment of tenderness.

“curt…”

“i love you, john. i really do. i dunno what’s up with you lately, but it’s scarin’ me.” he whispered, voice raw and tender. “if it’s gale, jus’-- forget about him, okay? it’ll jus’ be me ‘n you, like it always has been.”

john kept cradling his face, thumb stroking over his cheekbone gently as he cried. he pondered curt’s words as best he could with his foggy brain. was he jealous of gale? did he feel neglected from all the time he spent thinking about and fawning over the blonde?

why would curt care? no one could replace him– john told him that to his face multiple times before, and he’d be glad to tell him again. no one would come between their friendship.

unless curt didn’t want friendship? was john mistaking his affection for platonic love all these years– or was his drugged-up brain fucking with him?

only one way to find out.

“curtie, baby,” he slurred, making those baby blues gaze up at him widely. “c’mere,”

curt hauled himself up from his knees, bringing his face a little closer to john’s. there was a quiet moment between them, spent just looking into one another’s eyes, searching for god knows what. john cupped the side of curt’s face with a warm hand, reveling in the little hitch of breath the small action elicited. they were so close, in this moment, curt’s hands sprawled out on his thighs, breath coming from his lips in soft puffs, eyelashes fluttering as john leaned in.

he grunted in shock as he was suddenly pushed away, his eyes opening and looking at curt, who was staring at his lips with a guilty, hurt look.

“no.” he exhaled, voice shaky. “you’re not– you’re not in your right mind. you don’t know what you’re doin’.”

he stood up, grabbing the bloodied cotton balls and bottle of peroxide, swiftly turning away from bucky. john felt his heart lurch in his chest.

“get some sleep, bucky.” he mumbled, voice soft and shaky with emotion. “we’ll talk in the morning.”

john wanted to argue. he wanted to lunge forward and pull curt into his chest and not let him go– but exhaustion overtook his body, making his vision blackout, body falling back onto the mattress heavily. he fell into a dreamless slumber, body absolutely worn down from everything that happened in the past two days. he distantly thought about gale again, before his mind drifted back to curt. he recalled the words of that damned creature he saw in his near-overdose experience.

‘you leave a trail of broken hearts wherever you go.’

whatever that thing was it was right. first gale, now curt, his rock– who had been with him through thick and thin, better or worse– was probably crying in the bathroom because of him and his reckless decisions. maybe they’d be better off if he had overdosed tonight.

when he woke up, he was all alone.

---------------

taglist: @mooodyblue @lauvmyself @kaiistheguy @slowsweetlove

#mota #buck x bucky #clegan #gale cleven #john egan #curtis biddick #masters of the air #college au #lights up

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tragedygroupie · 1 year ago

Text

The Hills

old! nat x reader

my friends call her a black hole.

she is an irresistible force, compelling you towards your own destruction.

they see the worn leather, cracked and faded, they smell the cigarettes, pungent and overwhelming, they hear the shotgun crack and reload, and they think danger.

at least, the smart ones do.

she calls the shots, texting me at odd hours, the in between of late night and early morning, always phrasing it as a request, as if i could ever say no to her.

i drive to the hotel, and she is all over me. she is lean and wiry, her body hard. she tells me she likes me for my softness, for how my body gives under her touch. she does not give. not in that way.

“nat” i gasp as she sucks on my neck, right on the sensitive spot that is perpetually bruised from the sheer force of her mouth, and she shushes me, shushes me like a child and i acquiesce.

she maneuvers us to the bed and pulls me into her lap and every time she does this i feel a flash of fear, fear that i will crush her under my weight, that she will feel the solidness of my body on top of her and realize that this connection is not immaterial but real and she will push me off her and flee.

but then her hands are moving up my thighs, her fingers rubbing me through my panties and all the fear evaporates as i let out a tremulous moan.

she is not very vocal during any of this, she finds it too vulnerable, and the intimacy of our situation is already almost too much for her to bear.

so when she rubs me through my underwear, and my hips rock into her palm and my nails dig into the flesh of her back because i’m desperate for friction, she’s just murmuring in my ear.

“that feel good?”

she chuckles when i nod frantically, and when she pulls off my shirt and unhooks my bra i am practically putty in her hands, something to be molded and shaped however she sees fit.

she kisses down my body, from my neck to the golden trail between my breasts, and when she starts to suck on my left breast i whine, overwhelmed by the sensation.

she swirls her tongue around my nipple, her teeth are grazing my skin and i think in this moment that i could cum just like this, just from these ministrations, without her ever making direct contact with my clit.

this thought proves fleeting as she gets me underneath her, her mouth continuing to kiss down my body, sucking hickeys onto my thighs and hips while i whine and mewl, desperate for her to get to where i need her the most.

finally, she takes my thighs in her hands and starts raising them over her shoulders, giving her a better angle. i don’t look at her, don’t even breathe, just stare at the ceiling and wait for what comes next.

she parts me with her tongue, licking a fat stripe up up up until she reaches my clit.

“god, you taste really good” she murmurs.

she starts to suck on it and i bite my lip even harder, trying to stifle the moans that would otherwise be pouring out of me uninterrupted.

she slides a finger inside me and the dam breaks, i let out an embarrassingly loud moan and clap my hand over my mouth, praying to god no one else heard me.

she looks up at me and i could swear i see the faintest trace of a smile on her lips.

“you can be as loud as you want you know. nobody here gives a shit”

my cheeks go red as i remove my hand from my mouth, taking a shaky breath as she resumes.

she curls her finger inside me and i am close, i am so close and when she adds a second finger i come undone.

she continues fucking me through my orgasm, eating me out until i am twitching and my legs are shaking.

when she crawls out from underneath me i start to move towards her but she shakes her head.

“i’m okay for tonight.”

i look at her.

“are you sure?”

she nods.

i start to get dressed and she comes up behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist.

“aren’t you gonna stay the night?”

i sigh as she kisses my neck.

“what about kevyn?”

she snorts.

“what about him?”

i exhale as she pulls me closer, her arms never leaving my waist.

“it’s a long drive back, why don’t you just stay here?” she looks at me with those hazel eyes, those pretty eyes that i just wanna sink into and she knows she’s got me.

she smiles and pulls me into bed, her arms wrapped around me as she falls asleep.

what they don’t tell you about black holes, about those irresistible forces that compel you to self destruct, is that in their arms, you can feel so safe.

#yellowjackets #yellowjackets smut #natalie scatorccio #old! Nat #nat yellowjackets #nat Yellowjackets smut #natalie scatorccio smut

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dovithedarklord · 3 months ago

Text

Age of Monsters - Chapter Twenty

Pairing: OFC x Simon "Ghost" Riley, OFC x König

Tags: Slow Burn, Slow Build, Enemies to Lovers, Alternate Universe, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, POV First Person, Not Beta Read, Medical Inaccuracies, Military Inaccuracies, AFAB OC

Trigger Warning: The story will contain violance, blood and smut in detail. Please, keep that in mind!

⚠️MDNI⚠️

...................................

Author's Note

The mood is getting more and more tense, and Leona finds new motivation in this.

Hello! :D

After a long absence, I'm finally back, and I apologize in advance for the length, because I couldn't help myself and thought I'd be okay after such a break!

I have a couple of Trigger Warnings for this part: Violence, blood, mild body horror, death.

Have fun! :D

I.M.L. – Infected Mammalian Lifeorm

I.H.L. – Infected Humanoid Lifeorm

if you're interested you can find the story on AO3: chapter twenty

.....................................

The rhythmic patter of the rain is the only thing that interrupts the pregnant silence that fills the dining room, which, together with the tobacco smoke that settles in between the walls, covers our small group like a heavy blanket. And it could even be idyllic, the way the drops continuously pour down on the tiles of the dilapidated roof, bringing forth an almost tuneful melody from the structure of the building that has been wasting away here for decades, but I feel how the soft noise sharpens the thoughts buzzing in my head. Because now that I'm forced to do nothing by sitting idle in one place after the adrenaline rush of the past few days, there is nothing that can calm the rampage of chaos attacking my brain. Even though I'm surrounded by my small team, and even though I know that the task ahead of us should be the only thing occupying any capacity in my mind, I can't tear myself away from that vile, disgusting voice that whispers in the back of my skull. But what bothers me even more than the loss of control over my own mind is the fact that the damned little voice mutters more and more filthy things into my ear with each passing minute in that obnoxiously sweet tone, which is interwoven with that certain man's German accent, whose existence I try to deny with with tooth and nail. Because I feel pathetic just by allowing these whispers to step into the spotlight.

As a result of our small chat in the alley, I was very easily motivated to ignore the hooded man as a protest, because my realistic self quickly warned me that in light of the successful completion of my little private mission, I should focus every feverishly working cell of my brain on keeping an eye on much more important developments. And it wasn't hard for me to keep this up until now, because as soon as the team returned to the comfortable security of the safe house and Garrick set up his small station on the shabby dining room table,piled high with electronic devices necessary for monitoring, all my dangerous little friends and our nasty companions focused their attention to follow the exciting life of the Rat. But the initial enthusiasm slowly turned into frustration after the long uneventful dawn, in which everyone marked their time in silence, to see if that slow-witted thug would finally do something worthwhile apart from getting drunk and trying to get his shit together after my insidious attack. And while at other times it might not bother me that I can finally get a beauty rest and sit back without someone or something wanting to cut a new hole in my pretty body, this wretched waiting in one place finds new pastimes for my mind, which do not lift my already sour mood.

Although I try to resist the urge with every fiber of my being, as an involuntary reflex, my gaze finds the Hunter camped next to one of the windows turned milky white from decades of dirt, as if he were leading my eyes to him with his mere being on a string made of poison. And I feel the heat of contempt bubbling up in my stomach when I see how carelessly König studies the stormy gray outside. As if he had no problems in this world, and as if his cruel words, uttered between the dirty brick walls, had never left his foul mouth, and even I find it difficult to admit why this fills me with irrational hatred. Because if I admit that he was able to instill a burning anger in my veins, then I will give him the power to get under my skin, which he longs to achieve anyway. And although anger is still a safer feeling than despair, and my rational self knows that I should just shrug off the petty provocation, but the doubt that sprouted in my soul is not so easy to suppress, because its thread-like roots have already snaked around my insides. Maybe it's just a tiny seed of uncertainty that he planted in my subconscious with his evil, but it's an unchangeable fact that he successfully found that tiny little crack in my defenses, through which he forced this filthy insecurity into me. And I need all my confidence and coolness to reassure myself that there is nothing real behind what he is saying other than malice. Because even though he voiced what my whole being dreads, there is nothing to support that he is right. And to prove this simple truth, I have to use an infuriating amount of energy, which makes my nerves, overstretched by stress, strain further.

The longer I survey the man, as he examines the dance of the trees swaying in the wind with carefree disinterest, the more certain I become that even though it was clear from the beginning what kind of beast lurks behind his no less defenseless mask, we still don't know what he has in store for us. And I have to admit that he very skillfully hides the corrupt, manipulative abilities hidden in him, which no one would suspect are sitting under the flesh swelling with power. Someone else might consider him a brainless soldier, a trained dog who enthusiastically performs bloody little tricks for his current owner for a credit or two, but he can't fool me any longer. Because I have already witnessed how he finds and grasps that fragile little nerve, along which he incites hesitation and pain in his victim, almost enjoying how the delicious spark of agony comes to life in the eyes of the poor soul. I feel infinitely stupid when I realize that he found some grip even in my practiced, dark little soul. And that is why it seems much more reliable to go back to the old habits and analyze this garbage of a man, trying to hold on to my sanity, for I would rather flay my own skin with a butter knife than admit how close he came to success.

I would be lying if I said that I'm surprised when, slowly abandoning the admiration of the storm hailing outside, he turns his gaze to me, because he probably felt the stab of steady, pent-up ire pouring out of me before I tried to burn a hole in his face hidden under the fabric. And when those icy eyes settle on me, I feel how the slowly simmering anger rekindles under my skin, when I assess how cheerfully he peers down at me, as if in his self-absorbed serenity a sugary-sweet smile has unfolded on his self-satisfied face behind the textile. I have no doubt that this bastard is relishing the fact that he can finally get a tiny crumb of my attention, which he has worked so hard to gain with his spineless tactics, because he turns to face me with relaxed ease, leaning his waist against the window frame, openly glaring at me as if only the two of us would exist in the realm of the damp little room.

An outsider might believe that his actions are only driven by social awkwardness and that he doesn't perceive the outside world, but I know that this man is much smarter than that. The only reason he dares to amuse himself so clearly by studying the nervousness radiating from my body is that he wouldn't be afraid, even for a minute, to break the neck of anyone who would be brave enough to get in the way of his fun. And that’s what makes him worthy of earning my caution as well as my disdain, since even I can't predict when he will decide that he has had enough of harmless play and it's time to entertain himself in new ways. Although it is quite clear that he graces me with his generous interest, and this will keep him busy for a while, but this one uncertain factor can also be fatal during our mission. For we don't know when his intentions will change from mean-spirited taunting to something completely bloody. And it would be a very crazy idea to ignore this, since we already know that together with his little friend, they will only keep directing their energy toward teamwork for an indefinite period of time. Although I don't know what his purpose is in trying to throw me off, other than to lick his wounded ego, I'm sure that this is only a small taste of his storehouse of evils that my mind deems very likely to make an appearance later. And it's much easier to use this wariness as a reason why I need to fixate on him, instead of letting this ridiculous situation go and ignoring him as he would deserve.

The few seconds that pass with this silent fight seem like an eternity, and the longer I hold his gaze, the more small details I can capture swimming through those piercing eyes, like ragged fins emerging from the peacefully rippling waves of the sea. Underneath the cheerful sparkle glimmering in the blue pools, I see the same horrible curiosity that I encountered last night, which makes goosebumps rise on the back of my neck almost instinctively, as if some completely involuntary, visceral foreboding, encoded in my genes by human evolution, would revive in me. This makes me realize that now, even though from completely human features, the same danger is looking down on me, like the one whose drooling, hungry mouth triggered the escape reflex in my ancestors. Maybe this thought is far-fetched and ridiculously exaggerated, but I know a monster when I see one, and I know that one of their fucking textbook examples is staring at me right now.

And no matter how much I realize the idiotic way I'm entering another game, which he lures me into almost without much effort, the anger resonating in my skull does not allow me to give up my pride and back down. I’m only able to break away from him when the cry of furniture creaking under a heavy body cuts into the quiet stillness like a lightning strike, and the speed with which I spin my head towards the source of the sound is quite amusing. And when I find myself face to face with Riley, who is relaxing with an almost deceptive calmness on the chair opposite my battered armchair, I'm filled with relief and unease at the same time. Because although there is nothing threatening in the way he leans back and makes himself comfortable on the rickety seating, I can see his muscles tense with restrained irritation as he crosses his arms and runs his gaze over me. And as he assesses the remains of the caustic poison stuck to my face, which purses my lips into a tight line, I see how suspiciously his eyes narrow, as if he would, even without words, identify what kind of storm's icy wind is licking my insides. It doesn't take him more than a few seconds to find the cause of my agitation, for when he looks over to König, who is still lingering by the window with undisturbed delight, the dark shadow that crosses his features emerging from under the dark fabric is unmistakable. And for a fleeting second, I'm consumed by very real concern when the hands of the masked Hunter unfold from their shackles on his chest, and there is something quite aggressive in the small movement with which he bends forward and turns towards his hired colleague. As if he wants to use his body language to warn the other person that whatever he is up to, he would better forget even the thought of it before he is forced to use his fist to help him make up his mind.

But before the soon-to-be-bloody moment even has a chance to unfold, the temper of which slowly fills the body of my favorite Hunter with energy ready to attack, the malleable peace of the dining room is suddenly interrupted by the plaintive creak of a chair screeching back on the floor, when Garrick jumps up without any warning and leaves the statue-like position he has been occupying for hours. And the unexpected noise feels almost like miracle, because I'm not at all sure that these two males, bred to fight, could have been held back if they decided to take their silent argument further into the physical plane. And although I have an idea or two about the unspoken dialogue that took place between the two men in the last few minutes, I have no desire to further complicate the already complex events of my own life with this, when something much more important is unfolding on the impromptu surveillance station.

"I caught something!" Garrick breaks the silence of the helpless anticipation that has set in until now, and the intensity of the excitement in his voice suggests that whatever he hears in the headphones that are slowly becoming one with his head, must be very urgent, if it can tear him out of the dutiful diligence with which he has been hunched over his sea of gadgets since our return. And this is just enough of an invitation for everyone to leave their busy activity behind and move closer to the table, gathering around the Hunter with fervent curiosity, to see if the fruit of the long hours of waiting will finally ripen.

"Turn the volume up, Gaz!" Price requests, anchoring down behind my cheerleader boy, putting out the cigar he has been happily puffing in one of the rusty cans, and it is impressive that even in these early hours he has the presence of mind to bring subtlety to his tone, lacing the instruction with fatherly kindness even when the raspiness of impatience moves to his deep voice. And now I'm also cautiously approaching the little group, stepping next to Riley with seemingly careless naturalness, snuggled tightly into the protective blanket of his strong body from the stare of the cold blue eyes following me. Because even though I divert my attention to the software appearing on the computer screen, arranging all my facial muscles in forced indifference, I feel the hooded man's unwavering focus on me despite the slowly developing new excitement. The only reason I manage to regain control over my body's involuntary reactions and do not let the shiver that wakes up at the base of my spine escape, is because the inviting heat emanating from Riley lulls me into the belief, that I will be okay as long as he is around, with almost ludicrous simplicity. And I want to believe that this is true with every feeble cell of mine. Since no matter how much I rationalize every detail of the small incident, my efforts do not assuage either my anger or the alarm of my intuition.

The hissing noise that comes out of the computer speaker is almost deafening when Garrick complies with our captain's request and shares with us the wonderful experience he has had so far, and it takes a few uncertain seconds before it becomes clear that the rhythmic hum of a call filters through the screech of the ether. But perhaps it piques everyone's interest even more when the whistling ends and the connection initiated by our simple-minded little criminal is finally established. And I'm quite rightly filled with pride when that bastard's accent, imitating a true alpha male, is heard, because it proves that my seductive little disguise and my cunning tactics were so effective that my machinations, which I carried out with such great care on my lone mission, remained blissfully unnoticed. And I'd be lying if I said I doubted for a minute that I would succeed, because the two remaining brain cells in this scumbag's head are competing for third place, making him a pitifully easy target. And the delight I feel over the small triumph is able, even if only for a tiny bit, to raise my mood from its rather deplorable state.

"It's me." Our beloved underworld king introduces himself, and although I can hear the confidence in his voice filtering through the line, with which he convinces all his subordinates of his status as a big dog, the embarrassing defenselessness of his unconscious body lying on the couch is too vivid in my mind, and thanks to this I finally manage to overcome the haunting of my unpleasant experience caused by the mercenary. "The goods are ready, all that's missing is the buyer." The Rat begins the conduction of his little business transaction, and the sound of impatience that nestles in his speech does not escape my attention. It's as if he has an urgent need to sell the merchandise he has so skillfully acquired. Interesting.

"The plan has changed." The unknown stranger on the other end gives the short answer to our thug's suggestion, but all my overstimulated nerves focus on the analysis of this laughably short answer with great pleasure. The mysterious business partner is either aware that his friend is being eavesdropped, or he is a scumbag skilled enough to ignore all trust and use distortion, which dulls his voice to a deep, morbid rumble. And considering that even this stupid bastard doesn't know what kind of audience is following his chatter with keen ears and curious eyes, we can rightly conclude that the receiver is not a small-time big boy. But he is a veteran outlaw, to whose mystery the fact that the syllables roll off his tongue with a typical Russian hardness only adds another very interesting layer.

And it seems that I'm not the only one who gathered these observations, because I'm quite sure that the furrows of the deep wrinkles that appeared on Price's forehead also speak to the not-negligible twist that the faceless stranger delights us with. And considering that this adventure, woven from the beginning with secrets and lies, is now entertaining us with the umpteenth twist, I don't even find the dour gesture with which the captain places his gloved hands on the table and leans almost impossibly close to the computer screen so surprising. As if he is hoping that the bastard craving our serum will suddenly come to life in the pixels, and I can see the well-defined frustration with which his mouth curls down when he can't discover anything in the sea of graphics and inscriptions glowing with pale green.

"What the hell are you talking about?" The Rat snaps angrily, and it becomes clear from the honest, shocked emotion in his tone that he didn't expect from the conversation that the deal that had already been sealed would now take new directions. And the question arises in me again, that why is it so terribly important for him to sell the goods as soon as possible, as I find it hard to believe that the dust bunnies coughed up by his purse would be responsible for his rush. It's much more likely that he knows exactly what valuable and at the same time extremely dangerous material he has put his dirty little hands on, and now he is afraid that the rightful owners will show up before he can enjoy the pleasures offered by the earned credits. And although he reacts with the appropriate cowardice, the panic in which he sinks is justified, because, although unbeknownst to him, the hounds sent after him have been breathing down on his neck for a long time.

"The dogs know about the lab." Comes the rather straightforward information from the customer, and within the reverberation of the blurred voice is annoyance, and I don't have to strain my brain in order to understand that he is referring to our mission committed in great secrecy. Which raises several uncomfortable questions, none of which promises a particularly optimal answer. If this hidden nameless person knows about the existence of the lab and that we also visited its site turned into a bloodshed and a rotten cemetery, then it's quite reasonable to conclude that he learned about this market innovation much earlier than it would be comfortable to admit. And this, if nothing else, makes it certain that we are dealing with a professional with quite a cross-continental influence. "It's only a matter of time before they catch the smell."

"If the only problem is that you got cold feet, then you don't have to worry. They can't touch me." Our foolish bandit snorts, sputtering his hasty statement with scornful disdain, as if he was offended by the mere assumption that anyone could get close to his important person, bypassing his scheming mind and outsmarting his men watching in every corner. And despite the seriousness of the situation, I'm unable to contain the spread of the pitiful little curve on my lips, because it's really cute how he believes all this grandiose nonsense about himself. Even though I was able to sweep him off his feet with my seductive body too easily for him to realize what kind of trap he walked into when he dared to stay in the same space with me.

"This is where you are wrong, my friend." The Rat's business partner warns, and I can hear the patronizing tone from the words resonating through the speakers with perfect sharpness. And perhaps, contrary to my previous assumption, the reason why this miserable swindler wants to get rid of his product so quickly is because he has entered into a partnership with a client whose identity also poses a threat to him. It would become understandable why he tries so vehemently to radiate dominance, because it is conceivable that the failure of his little deal could easily coincide with the end of his miserable life. "The dogs have already left their cages and will follow your stench all the way to your hole." He adds, and there is something viscerally condescending in the way he formulates this information with a well-articulated slowness, as if he would only talk to a braindead idiot, to whom the message won't get through otherwise. But beyond the dynamics of the small duo, what he expresses seems much more interesting, because it creates an incredulous surprise in the small dining room in an instant, and helps Garrick turn up the volume on the cheerful broadcast with a genuinely confused expression, as if he just wants to check that it's not is his imagination toying with him. But judging by the dark clouds passing over Price's eyes, it's safe to say that it wasn't just the show playing tricks on us. Whoever this stranger is, he knows we are looking for the serum and he is also aware that they didn't manage to cool the trail enough so that we couldn't start on it. Damn it.

"Don't fuck with me! If they were here, I'd already know about it!" The Rat scorns, and his sullen outrage is quite authentic, which makes him look like a grumpy kindergartener, despite almost spitting the retort. But it's understandable why he takes this comment so much to heart, because it doesn't reflect well on a good trader if the interested parties are unsure of his business skills. It must be said that he really didn't make it easy, to get to his little person, reeking of arrogance, but it wasn't nearly as impossible as he would like to make it out to be. And I only wildly hope that this firm denial will also convince the buyer that even though the enemy has already started following the path strewn with bloody crumbs they left behind, there is no chance of them posing a real risk. Because if the unknown man knows that we are here, then, to say it in a very delicate and feminine way, we are fucked.

"I'm amused by your stupidity, but it won't be like that for long." The faceless partner warns our business mogul, and it's impossible to miss the ringing, which makes the light pity suddenly turn into something very dangerous. And I can almost feel how our Rat realizes that he is in deep shit, because the air that he sucks in with such tense nervousness filters through the computer with a soft rustle. Look at that. "The lap of whores lulls one's vigilance. Especially yours." The anonymous explains, and even this one remark can calm the shouts of the thousand warning voices flashing in my brain. Since it's now quite clear that someone is watching the Rat at least as keenly as he does with every corner of the colony, but for now there's no reason to worry. It must be an insider who felt like singing for a little pocket money, because if it wasn't the case, and an outsider tried to monitor the activities of our criminal friend, they would know about us too. Because no matter how imperceptible we are, if someone had seriously wanted to put their foot on the Rat's neck to feel how his last breath leaves his stupid mouth, then they would have noticed what kind of unusual movement suddenly arose around him. And for now, the rather cautious customer only knows how he was drugged and robbed by a light-fingered whore. And we don't need anything more than that at the moment. "We cannot allow mistakes. You leave with the serum before the lap dogs get to you."

"It's fucking dangerous to travel with that stuff!" Our thug is actually getting nervous now, and he is not saying anything stupid with his irritated statement, because he actually has buried a time bomb in a hidden corner of his underground lair. Of course, not because it's an unstable compound, with a chance of turning catastrophic with varying odds, this dull-witted man can't grasp that with his pea-sized brain. Rather, he is slowly scared shitless because his primitive mind realizes that if the „dogs" get hold of him, they will leave such a mark on his twisted body that even his mother won't be able to recognize him at the end of it. "This increases the costs." The Rat adds this little nothing, and the bold businessman finally emerges, because even though he realizes how unpleasant a situation he is in with his disgruntled customer, he still has the courage to bargain. But he is better off doing it, just in case he has a few good seconds to enjoy those precious credits before one of my bloodthirsty friends snaps his spine like a toothpick. Because it is true that he is a vermin, but he also deserves one last happy moment before his anatomy is rearranged by one of the Hunters.

"You don't have to worry about that." The buyer reassures our worried friend after a torturous second's pause, and I can hear the amused sneer that settles into his accent. And this quite rightly gives me the idea that the unknown man doesn’t have any problems with the unexpected increase in his expenses mainly because he does not intend to let the Rat live until he takes his well-deserved payment. The only surprising thing about this is that this possibility hasn't yet occurred to our criminal of modest intellect. "You hand the serum to us with the help of an intermediary. The meeting will be near Colony No. 50. I will send the coordinates later. But remember." The man interrupts the Rat's beginning joy, and even my hardened soul is penetrated by the ruthless edge that creeps into the voice resonating from the speakers, and this helps me to turn very serious. Since it becomes obvious that he has been letting the illegal businessman talk back for his own amusement, but now it's time to show this trash where his place is. And the heavy silence on the Rat's end doesn't mean anything good at all, because it indicates how dangerous this nameless man can be if he can make a blabbermouth like him shut up. "Be good, because if you lead the dogs this far, I'll feed your guts to them."

However, before the Rat even has a chance to respond to this kind and polite warning, the receiver disconnects the line, and suddenly the crackle caused by the disconnected call takes the place of the strange conversation. Despite the sound of static echoing through the torn walls of the quiet dining room, no one moves to silence the hurtful screeching, because all eyes are on the monitor, as if we were hypnotized by its faintly flickering lights. And I can almost hear the hard work of the gears turning in their head, because this short exchange raised just enough questions in my sharp little brain to immerse myself in their deliberation without comment. It's already quite clear that the Rat is only an insignificant, small link in the process during which the serum traveled to this point. Which basically wouldn't be such an issue if he weren't doing business with a person who might have known about the substance's existence before we even had the chance to deal with its consequences during our urban adventure. And if this is true, then fate crosses our path with a person who is influential enough to have his ears reach even into the holes carefully hidden by governments. And this poses an enormous problem simply because it redefines our little mission. Because no one goes through all that effort to leave that damn thing gathering dust on a shelf. The kind of person has their heart set on the destructive chemical who wants to test its effectiveness himself, turning the stage of the remaining world into a playground teeming with death. Fuck.

"What do the Russians want with the serum?" Garrick asks one of the burning questions, waking up from digesting the new information, and even though his dark brows meet with gloomy confusion on his forehead, it's the shadow of concern that creeps into his eyes as he turns to our captain in search of answers. Although this isn't the first time I have seen this doubtful expression on his handsome face, it takes on a whole new meaning when, instead of confidence, Price's features are lined with grim folds as he fixes his gaze on the screen with an almost unblinking rigidity. And there is something quite unsettling in his aura, which fills me with instinctive suspicion, because I have never seen those cold lights swim through his bright eyes. Like a cool breeze that brings a storm, that has the potential to become a hurricane and wipe off the face of the earth whatever it comes in front of it.

"That's a very good question." MacTavish joins in, and the wariness that weaves through his answer makes his voice rough, and my foreboding is further deepened by the restrained temper with which he folds his arms in front of his chest, as if this is the only way he is able to tie himself to his peacefulness, because otherwise, he would allow the pull of frustration creeping into his muscles to take control. And although their restlessness is not completely unjustified in light of the new events, and that makes even Riley's energy, who straightens up wordlessly next to me, starts to pulse almost menacingly, making me quite a bit unsettled too. Because it seems as though the earlier banter on the phone revealed something to them that my clever little senses didn't pick up on, and that makes me frustrated enough. And in some inexplicable way, the thought arises in me that it's the rather Russian flavor of our new friend that was able to move this sinister mood into them so enthusiastically.

"Whatever they need it for, it can't get to them." König takes the floor, defining our next task, and no matter how much I find this bastard repulsive, and no matter how persistently I keep my gaze on Price to avoid his, I have to agree with him. Whatever made the aura of my friends rougher than it needed to be, if we don't want the Rat to pass the souvenir to its eager customer, then we have to act fast. For the precious time is running out more and more surely, bringing us closer to another global catastrophe. And this isn't the kind of adventure that my biorhythm would like to deal with.

"We have to catch the bastard before he can get off." Horangi also chimes in, supporting his partner's motion, and contrary to the aggressive promise inherent in his announcement, he strolls next to the table with careless calmness, treating the issue as an almost foregone conclusion. The matter-of-fact behavior of the two mercenaries is quite understandable, since the logical thing on their part is to put an end to the trivial case as soon as possible, just as their master ordered them to do.

"We let him go." Price finally returns to us, and with this uttered sentence he manages to get everyone's undivided attention, and although my risky friends are bewildered for a fleeting moment at their leader's suggestion, but in the end, they settle remarkably quickly into the idea, even if his statement finds quite obvious objections from our hired helpers. And I just lean my hips against the hard edge of the table with interest, and run my eyes through the determination on the face of the bearded Hunter, because although I don't think his proposal is very rational, I still feel that some very compelling reason led him to this discovery, and my feverishly working mind hungrily searches for answers. Because all this time we were trying to recover the fruits of the brave experiment as quickly as possible, but now we would deliberately let it slip out of our hands. What are you up to, Captain?

"Which part of the serum cannot get to them are you not able to understand?" The Korean man raises the rather legitimate doubt, and there is something quite phlegmatic in his voice, as if he would be questioning the integrity of his older colleague's intellect. And although every corner of his face is covered by the mask and sunglasses that shields him, I can still almost see how the Hunter's eyebrows rise with an indignant arch to the middle of his forehead.

"Killing two birds with one stone." MacTavish concludes, nodding in agreement and accepting the proposal outlined by his captain, demonstrating yet again that he has been ready to throw himself into the thick of the action for a long time. And considering how long the energy has been building up in him, for the release of which no suitable subject has been found so far, I can understand why he accepts the changes on the agenda so soon. Because the further development of the mission contains the possibility that several fools will fall into his hands at the same time, to whom he can show how much he was filled with joy by the developments of the last few weeks.

"It's none of our business. We came for the serum." König argues, and now there is no trace of the carefree laziness with which he wasted oxygen here until now. Even though I haven't known him for a long time, I also identify the sternness that now paints a hardness into his tone, and from which the fiery, aggressive energy rolls off him in steady waves, when he takes a seemingly innocent step forward, as if he just wanted to make us aware that his power is tipping the scales in his favor. And this is just enough for Riley to turn to face his hooded colleague with a much less elegant move, engaging in a stare-down with him quite openly, and from that, within a minute, the tense atmosphere creeps in between the dust particles in the air, the force of which almost starts to sting my skin.

"The serum is just a weapon." The masked Hunter informs, and his baritone plunges into such dangerous depths that even I haven't had the chance to experience, and which warns that he takes the challenge that his paid colleague issues to him quite seriously. Because by directly confronting the captain, König succeeds in persuading my brutal friend to put his already hard-to-control good nature aside. And while it's terribly sexy, as Riley rolls his broad shoulders back, like a magnificent predator ready to pounce, but this beauty also hides the possibility of disaster. And as much as this fucker deserves someone to kick his ass, we are wasting valuable time with this bickering. "If he loses this, he tries somethin' else. That's the problem."

And despite the compelling argument, a silent duel begins between the two men, and for a few torturous seconds only the drumming of the falling raindrops disrupts the quietness, which is filled with suffocating heat, as the two Hunters hold each other's harsh gaze, freezing into an almost terrifying immobility. As though they are both waiting to see who will cross that invisible line first, which gives them enough reason to attack, and I quickly realize that this vexation is not only rooted in the present disagreement, but seems to be a continuation of the clash which the call had so beneficially put an end to before. Guided by this, I very easily decide to take action, because no matter how charming it is to see my favorite Hunter so worked up, I wouldn't like to suffer the fistfight that these two tough guys could arrange between each other. And it's just a minor detail that even though Riley's virtue doesn't need any protecting, but my self-respect needs the wretched mercenary to see I can stand up to him.

I leave my resting spot with forced comfortableness, and I stroll next to Riley, and the small movement with which his body tenses up ready for attack, when I graze his shoulders with my fingers in an invisible movement while I step in front of him, does not escape my attention. However, as fast as the instinctive reaction appears, the aggression dissipates from his limbs as quickly as he recognizes that my humble person has intervened in the settlement of their silent conflict before they have too many opportunities to live it out. And it fills me with undisguised satisfaction, as the pulsation of the energy, sharpened for attack, nestled between the muscle fibers, relaxes in the wake of my touch. Although I don't check the masked man's response to my brave little intervention, because instead, I fix my eyes on the hooded butcher with my head raised high, but I can feel the interest his gaze warms the skin of my face with.

"If the buyer really knew about the lab, then he already learned about the serum during the development phase. The information is no longer very secret. Even if he doesn't get the serum, there's no guarantee he won't snatch the notes about the formula and try to make a batch for himself." I also sketch out the chain of my clever observations, which makes the captain's impromptu action plan a move with realistic probability. If we now capture the Rat, who doesn't turn up at the meeting because of this, then the customer will vanish into thin air, and without his precious toy, there is a chance that he will be so grumpy enough to try to cook up the stuff for himself. And that is bad news for us, because we will only know about it when the worst has already happened. "I guess Shepherd wants to tie up as many loose ends as possible." I insert this small remark at the end, and the sarcasm, the sting of which I planted into my clever little speech, is quite intentional.

For this is the detail with which I remind him that at whose financial request they joined our trip, and I'm well aware that the colony leader has set very strict conditions for obtaining the treats. This whole unfortunate accident has to be kept under wraps, otherwise, the old shit's skin will be spread as a tablecloth by his followers. And the reaction caused by my impudence fills me with morbid joy, even though I know we will also be among these loose ends when our whole journey full of complications is over. But despite the rather ominous outlook, my stubbornness prevails, and despite those icy eyes staring at me with an almost inscrutable emptiness, which causes the spasm of unpleasant foreboding to move into the depths of my stomach, when I feel Riley's chest against my back for a fraction of a second, then my anxiety eases. Because my masked pretty boy towers over me with a determined grimness like a protective shadow. And this helps to dissipate the tiny, restless grip that arises inside me, when something uncomfortably soft comes to life in the eyes of the hired Hunter, which makes me feel more like a prey, in whose drawn-out claws he delights only with pitying fondness. You scum…

"Seems like we're traveling then." Horangi concludes, thereby breaking the very risky situation on the verge of escalation, and he settles into the new concept with a rather casual attitude, despite the fact that minutes ago he was very enthusiastically thumping his chest for the opposite. It seems that this is just enough of a signal for König that the time for dick-measuring is over, because as energetically as he entered the discussion, he leaves the cockiness behind with such ease and retreats to his previous place by the window. There is something contrived in the way he leans his tall figure against the wall with a comfortable confidence, because I can see the remnants of the almost invisible dark shadow rising in his eyes, with which he surveys our little duo with Riley before turning his distinguished attention to his partner. And I don't like the tenth of a second he devoted to us at all, because I know he will find ammunition for his provocation in this minuscule interaction.

"Yes." Price states the final decision, and even though he got exactly what he wanted, I notice the troubled lines on his forehead as he lingers on the hooded mercenary for another fleeting moment. And perhaps now he too feels the death sentence that Shepherd passed on us, because if these men had really joined our risky endeavor to serve our needs, then it wouldn't occur to them to openly reveal to us that they aren’t afraid to forcefully explain the reason for their displeasure. "And there is someone there who can help us." The bearded Hunter finally diverts attention from the very threatening atmosphere, and although the frown doesn't leave his face, the furrows of his stern expression are softened by the faint smile he conjures to his lips when he mentions our next destination.

"It's been a while since we've seen the commander!" Garrick agrees, and there is something nostalgic in his voice, the warmth of which also puts a tenderness into his eyes, thereby greatly piquing my curiosity at the mention of our unknown helper. Whoever it is, they share enough common experiences with the two men to put them in a better mood, and that's enough proof for me to know that we are going to be in good hands.

I have a feeling that we will need all the support, because even if our criminal's meeting didn't suggest extra caution, the behavior of our comrades hired by the colony leader will help us to be careful. And as I turn around and take in the rigid stoniness in Riley's eyes, I know that I’m not the only one who hears that the clock has started ticking, counting down to the inevitable moment when these two butchers turn on us. Because we can already count on it to happen.

The sun licks my naked arms with an almost scorching heat, as if someone would have poured hot, liquid iron over my skin, but somehow my biorhythm prefers this temperature to a sauna in the middle of a jungle. But, as I follow my little team off the plane, I can feel my cerebrospinal fluid slowly boiling under my hair, which is warmed up by the golden rays, therefore, before I get heatstroke after the first five minutes spent on the soft lap of the desert, I hastily wrap the scarf that has been resting around my neck until now around my head, from the threads of which the fading imprint of Riley's scent snakes into my nose. My eyes almost automatically find the masked Hunter, whose not-so-friendly aura has gradually become more sour since the tense meeting in the dining room. A grim stiffness settles in his movements as he passes through the cloud of fine sand kicked up by the plane, marching next to the captain towards our reception committee waiting for us in the distance, and although I know that he keeps his temper in check, I can see the annoyance that brings heaviness into his steps emanating with a steady pulsation from his whole being. Like a pot left on the stove, the lid of which begins to dance slowly from the steam of the boiling water below, getting closer every minute to that inevitable point, when the pressure brusts the seemingly steady control. It's also not particularly difficult to notice that his menacing friends share this dangerous mood, close to snapping, with varying intensity. And I have to force the urge to sneak a glance at the catalyst of the whole problem, who follows us with an almost irritating ease and confident arrogance, as if he were doing us a favor by accompanying us to our new delightful quest. And it's just the icing on top of the whole nerve-wracking situation that I would have to be much more stupid not to be able to detect König's stare, which is focused on the back of my head with such intent, as if he would hope to penetrate the tissues and bones to gain insight into my brain. You would love that, wouldn't you, you scumbag?

"Farrah!" I hear Price's baritone, and the excitement resonating in it effectively diverts my attention from the very dangerous tangent into which I almost manage to dive as a result of the hooded butcher's persistent probing. Although my mind fights valiantly to ignore the stimuli caused by the man, he finds me with those icy irises with such unabashed devotion every second, as if my being itself possessed some special gravitational pull he couldn't resist. Of course, I'm not so delusional as to believe that my attractive person is responsible for his attention, but his behavior is irritating enough that the knowledge that he is watching sits in the back of my skull like a ducking, nasty fly. And I wade forward through the dusty yard of the base with the greatest possible joy, because the crunch of dry soil slipping under my boots is a more pleasant experience than the stinging of the tiny little ants coming to life under my skin from his eyes, which I would prefer to get rid of by scratching bloody every square centimeter of my body touched by his disgusting gaze.

As we get closer and I finally have the opportunity to take a better look at the strangers who greet us, my mind can finally detaches itself from the disturbing factors, and my brain settles into the analysis of my environment with such a routine that it fills me with an almost impossible bliss, because it reassures me that the emotional roller coaster of the last few days has not managed to destroy my sanity. And now I can also discover the undisguised warmth with which the captain looks down on that woman, who peers up at the taller man with a small, albeit happy smile on her full lips, wrapping her fingers around the extended right hand of the bearded Hunter so naturally, as if it were already a routine ritual between the two of them.

There is no sensuality in the whole interaction, just something organic, which makes it seem as though they weren’t meeting for the first time. And considering that Garrick and our leader were sitting on pins and needles waiting for Nik to finally put down the metal monster, I can easily conclude that behind them lies a perhaps bumpy, but no less camaraderie-filled past and a friendship forged in the blood of mutants. Because no matter how harmless this woman may seem, I can feel the typical assertive strength that only Hunters can radiate so authentically. And it's not because of her gender that it seems quite strange that she's standing in front of us wrapped in combat gear, but because this system isn't very kind to the female Hunters either, and they are mostly locked in a golden cage, waiting for the miracle when they will spawn another killing machine. This woman is still free, and I have a strong suspicion that Price has a very active hand in this.

"You finally visit me, old man!" Our new companion returns the enthusiastic greeting of our captain, and raises her head in such a cheeky way that the confidence that any earthly mortal would expect from her considering her profession is mixed into it. Yet I can see that it wasn't the unquestioning and fearful respect of her kind that made her attitude so steadfast, but something much more painful, because I catch the tiny, dark mark that stretches like a faint blotch on her neck. Because the signature emblems of another colony's seal may be mixed into the complicated tattoo, but only those Hunters who have once been selected for the noble task of helping their species survive by turning into broodmares receive such an honorable branding. And one of the disgraces of the fallen world is the fact that in many places they tried to continue the ridiculous breeding programs even after the first research results came out proving that it's impossible to hope that genetics will play a part in efficient reproduction and babies that can be turned into small human weapons can be produced on an assembly line. And although time has already helped it to fade a bit, no one can ever really wash off that mark once someone forces it on them.

"I'd never miss it." Price squeezes the woman's hand one last time, and the paternal love emanating from his tone makes me think that maybe it was our boss who helped her escape from the breeding center, where she was presumably dragged to. It would explain why she joined our adventure almost without question, because only concrete and mainly mutual trust can make this outcome so smooth. "I'd have been happier if we met again under different circumstances." He explains almost apologetically, and it's real regret that paints his deep voice with sadness for a fleeting moment, and it's quite heart-warming to see our battle-hardened, fearsome leader become so lamblike in front of an old acquaintance. It amuses even my ruthless little soul.

"This is not bad either. Finally something exciting is happening." Farah settles the concerns of the bearded Hunter rather easily, and then turns her dark eyes to the other members of our team who have arrived, widening the cheerful curve of her mouth a little further when she sees Garrick, who stands next to Price. "I see you brought the whole team." She notes with a quick nod to MacTavish and Riley, who return the gesture, and with this, I manage to narrow down the details of the possible past party, in which, according to this, only Price and Garrick participated. It seems they may have crossed paths before the destruction of Colony No. 9, because I doubt Shepherd would have ever given his blessing for his precious people to take a trip to a colony in the Middle East to help someone whom our dear colony leader would think that she is only fulfilling her duty given by God and genetics. Even if they are forced to do so.

"A family getaway." Garrick also joins in the greeting, and despite how tense our journey has been until now, he now jumps into the chit-chat with an almost joyful mood, and I suspect that an old friend is successfully softening the unpleasant experience that our mercenary comrades were able to cause him. Because my two cheerleaders are good at defusing situations that are about to turn sour with their unmatched social skills, but locked in a flying can, their dazzling abilities are also affected by the heavy air that settled on us up to this point.

"One hell of a vacation for sure!" Another unknown voice chimes in, and when I discover a man hurrying closer from one of the run-down hangars sprawled across the base's broad courtyard, I feel the unexpected force of surprise wash over me. And it's not the prosthetic leg, glistening with a metallic shine under his left knee that shocks me, but the characteristic American accent that weaves through the short sentence with which he rushes right into the middle of our meeting. And my confusion only deepens when, on one of his forearms emerging from the t-shirt, among the swirling tattoos, I discover the official sign of the Healers, which was once worn on an armband to mark the proud helpers of the Hunters, until traffickers began to take advantage of this kind assist to identify their prey. But the fact that this man carries it fearlessly is proof that he is trained enough not to worry about when a criminal will take a liking to him. It could be something very interesting that has led him to wander here, because the colonies like to cling to every member of our species with tooth and nail, so the chance that he accidentally ended up on another continent is zero. How strange.

"Alex!" Garrick turns to the newly arriving stranger, and the enthusiasm with which he pats the man on the shoulder as soon as he comes within arm's length is quite charming, and something quite friendly mixes into the movement, which shows that whatever brought these rascals together, they had a part in it together, and this sealed this unbridled cheerfulness. And curiosity begins to consume me quite instinctively, because the desire for knowledge nestling in my consciousness wants to acquire the details of the juicy story immediately and primarily now. And I don't miss the surprised glint in the bright eyes of the Healer named Alex, when he looks over Garrick's shoulder and finds me, and realizes what an interesting colleague found its way into his presence. And as the corner of my mouth stretches into the beginning of a sassy little smile, then the surprise is replaced by something quite light-hearted, as if, in addition to being able to greet a fellow specimen of his species, he has acquired something very amusing in this revelation.

"There are a few new faces." Farah scans the remaining members of our small party, and fine wrinkles imbued with caution gather between her arched eyebrows, as she finds the two hired bloodhounds behind us, who, although wrapped in total silence, are waiting for the start of our new complicated operation, but their presence is just sinister enough to paint hardness on her beautiful face. I'm sure that it's even easier for her to categorize the current state of the power levels, and even though it's quite difficult to determine at first glance how much power lies in female Hunters, no matter how deadly, she is also well aware that an unknown SSS-class bastard is only good news if she is sure that he is on her side. And there is no doubt that she deduces what she wants to know when Price follows her gaze to find the source of her concern, because although it's only a moment, but the wariness appears on the man's face, which was planted into his head by the argument that unfolded in the safe house. But then, as quickly as this small uncertainty arose, the captain banishes the last shadows of stoniness from his features with an almost surreal ease, and he takes a quick step back to place one heavy hand on my shoulder, drawing everyone's undivided focus to me.

"Fortunately." Price says, and I'm ashamed of the speed with which all my nerves tune to the man, because I feel that small, suffocating grip that awakens the soft pressure of fear in me. Although my face is motionless and I'm able to raise one of my eyebrows with the cynicism that suits me, I can feel how the doubt starts to murmur from my subconscious with disgusting, slimy words, hinting that maybe now he will say something that proves König's predictions. And I know how fucking pathetic it is that I'm so frantically seeking validation for something that was only conceived in the mind of a manipulative bastard rotting with malice. "We're here now because of Woods." He adds, sort of as a confirmation, and it's ridiculous how easily the bony fingers of paranoia let go of my insides as I hear the unmistakable acknowledgment in his voice. And although the warm sparks rising in his bright eyes drive away the pain of the needle-like stabbing in my chest, I'm still filled with rage that I let that credit-controlled scumbag get into my head at all. Because I didn't spend years building my unbreakable walls so that someone could penetrate them so effortlessly with one comment.

"I always welcome strong fighters." Farah now greets me as well, and I can see how her gaze lingers on my vertical pupils. And the ease with which she overcomes the new information, when recognition lights up in her eyes, is quite refreshing, because she merely exchanged a curious, silent glance with the captain, and then returns to the subject, for which we have now climbed into that metal rattletrap one too many times. I could question this little interaction, but I suspect it would just create more puzzles that my overworked brain doesn't need in the least. "We don't have much time. Your guest has already arrived." She shares this important detail with us, thereby officially starting the next, hopefully last, stage of our mission. And although we deliberately left a gaping escape route for our criminal to lull his feeble mind into a suitably comfortable obliviousness, if this is true, this dirtbag moves even faster than expected.

"Then we have to get goin' before they get to the meetin' place!" MacTavish gets to the point, and takes an impatient step forward, full of action-ready energy, as if he is prepared to cross the desert on his feet in order to finally indulge in the excitement that every cell in him craves. It can't be denied that it would be good for him to finally blow off the steam by showing the foolish criminals some tough love, because he has worked enough overtime to keep his bosom friend's mental peace in recent hours. The Scottish Hunter clung to Riley's side with such immovable tenacity and entertained him with his comments as devotedly as if he had become his nanny. And it undoubtedly worked, because he was able to divert the masked man's attention, at least for the few hours he spent on the plane, from the very justified idea of murder, the threat of which he had been radiating towards his hooded colleague since the dining room incident.

"Don't worry about that. We're all set!" Alex immediately dispels all doubts, and as he, with careless elegance, gestures with his head towards the small group of off-road vehicles gathered beyond the wire fence, then the small grin of satisfaction mixed with violence visibly spreads across the stubble covered face of the Hunter with the mohawk. And it doesn't surprise me in the least that they were already ready for our arrival, because Price let them know quite emphatically that we were chasing a prey that we let loose on purpose, since with a tracker locked in the greasy embrace of his belly, he wouldn't be able to disappear from our sight even if the earth would swallow him whole.

"We're splitting up. According to the information, the meeting will take place at an abandoned village. We have a chance to remain unnoticed." Farah begins her quick briefing, and she pulls out her communicator to call up a map, on which, despite the Arabic inscriptions, I recognize the meeting point marked by the coordinates given by the mysterious customer. "They don't know the field, we have the advantage, we can fence them in." She continues, and with her fingers briefly traces around the spot of the sparse settlement dotted with square-shaped buildings bordered by a red glowing circle, as if illustrating the authenticity of her statement. And it's certain now that the Russian didn't leave the details of their whereabouts to chance, because the blind date takes place on the border of the red zone and the uncontrolled region, where no one accidentally strays to, so they can make their dangerous deal with the greatest peace of mind. Of course, this raises the question in my mind that just what kind of mediator our Russian friends have acquired since it’s certain that he has put his greasy fingers on one who feels so at home in the area that he is brave enough to share their impromptu desert picnic with mutants in the case of a more unlucky lineup. Because this can only be done by someone who is very aware of the risks and therefore confident enough to venture among the monsters. And this sufficiently raises my suspicion that our targets are not as lost as we would like to believe.

"Let's do that." Price agrees to the plan, and then, immediately seizing the further development of our mission, turns to us, throwing himself into the assignment of tasks. "Each of us leads a team. Cut off all their escape routes." He looks at the people involved one by one, and he doesn't need to go into further explanation to elicit a dutiful nod from the members of my team. And I only catch it on my periphery as the two mercenaries finally grace us with their presence, and I find it quite interesting that despite their previous cockiness, they cooperate without much opposition. Although this shouldn't be a particularly noteworthy fact in light of the fact that's why Shepherd included them in our brave expedition, but after their previous performance, I'm no longer sure which movements are part of the charade.

"They won't have time to escape." Riley notes, and a deadly promise resonates in his deep voice, as he straightens his back with his hands wrapped around his assault rifle, and I can deduce from this that if it's only up to his unique abilities, then none of the participants of the business meeting will leave, and certainly not on their own feet. Because if I have to judge only from the cold edge shining in his dark eyes, then I know that if necessary, he will tear off all their limbs with his bare hands, because we will only need their mouths for the talking. And I still can't get rid of the trembling desire from the pit of my stomach, which slowly awakens in me with restless pulsing at the man's determined little expression, because I already know how willing he can become under my hands. And despite the seriousness of the situation, my mind readily digs up this memory, and I can't say that I'm against it.

"Woods, you go with Alex and they take the observation position." Price directs his further instructions to me and my new colleague, thus breaking my mischievous musings, and I follow his gloved finger with my eyes on the map glowing in blue to the object that looks like a tiny rocky hillside, which, towering over the houses, stretches out on the edge of the village, perhaps extending for kilometers into the distance, delimiting the area that was once bursting with life like a natural wall. And I wouldn't be able to explain why the fact that how self-evidently simply the way the plan takes shape makes me uneasy. Everything develops with almost miraculous smoothness, and the paranoid voice in my head tells me that there is no chance that it will be that trouble-free. "You'll be our eyes." He adds, and from the trusting undertone in his voice I manage to banish doubt to a dark little corner of my skull, because although karma usually plays with the integrity of my nerves and body, maybe thanks to our captain's rock-solid determination, for once I can believe that fate won’t make sport of unreasonably shoveling more crap to our misfortune.

"Sure thing." I accept the task imposed on me, and I don't like to admit what kind of pleasant warmth awakens in my chest because of the glimmer of approval that comes to life in the man's light eyes, as he surveys me one last time, perhaps searching for hesitancy. But now that he has given me a job, I can finally silence the cruel maelstrom of thoughts in my head, and although I'm aware of what kind of fair I'm taking my skin to again, it seems more fun and lighthearted than fighting with vile voices that want to drive me crazy. And perhaps my old self would have found it pitiful how easily I slip into the fulfillment of orders which clearly include the opportunity to kick the bucket, however, now the impulse to confirm to myself that the doubt I had was nothing but a lie conceived on the breeding ground of ill-will is too strong in me.

"Let's get going!" Alex takes the lead, springing into action with practice, and I, breaking away from studying the captain's face, nod in agreement and follow my new companion, who, driven by his purposeful momentum, sets off towards the battered hangar from which he originally emerged from. And I can still feel the careful probing of our leader on my back, causing the restless waves of bubbling energy sprouting inside me to travel through my veins and infuse my muscles, flooding my every cell with such a determined desire to prove myself, the heat of which drives me forward almost automatically, as if the intense tension that had settled into me with a dull hum had never existed. With each step, chaos clears from in my brain, limiting its capacity to only one purpose, and even though I'm accompanied to the huge metal building by the hustle and bustle of the soldiers in the heart of the base and the wild buzzing of the machines, as if some cool calmness had taken root in me for the first time in days. Finally, the miserable voices are silenced, and the qualms are quiet, because I have the job in hand, with which the disgusting fear in my subconscious is trampled by the sweet sense of duty. And despite the prosaic wording, it really fills me with joy that my brain, which is always capable of overthinking, is finally occupied by heat and danger instead of uncertain assumptions.

"Woods!" My march is interrupted by the shout of a raspy voice, and even out of a thousand, I would recognize the strong accent that gives the man's voice an almost playful tone. I just stop and turn around, looking for my friend with the mohawk with questioning interest, who, with a wide grin on his face, grasps the straps of his tactical west and puffs his chest as if he would want to give me the best wishes of the century one last time. "Try to keep your head on your neck!" MacTavish exclaims brightly, but my ears can hear the ring of concern that lurks between the words, making him sound more like a frightened hen releasing her chicks into the wild for the first time. The whole picture is so surreal, but at the same time disgustingly nice, that it makes my chest tighten with a reflexive force, leaving nothing but the desire to see this look settle on me at the end of this misery once more.

"I'll try my best!" I reply with an almost self-evident simplicity, and the mischievous smile on my lips is able to mask the overflowing sentimentality, which the excitement conveyed by my Scottish fanboy towards my physical integrity brought out of me. Every part of me protests against letting even a tiny fragment of the doubts that rage inside me filter through the unwavering resolve, for I'm well aware that my keen-eyed friend would recognize it, and there is no need, in the midst of another excursion into the wilderness, to be distracted by my ridiculous angst. But my confidence seems to somewhat reassure him, because after a last amused shake of his head, he turns back to their little meeting, where Price is well into handing out further details of the mission.

And this should serve as a clear sign that it's time for me to move on to my own business, but like an ingrained reflex, I look for Riley, and the air almost gets stuck in my lungs when I find him. Because instead of being true to his devoted nature and hanging on every word our leader utters, his dark eyes fixate on me motionlessly, and my heart skips a beat with an excited tremble as our eyes meet. Although the way he stares at me unblinking might instill fear in others, I can see softness slipping through those chocolate-colored irises for a fleeting moment, and the movement with which he nods towards me catches me completely unprepared, because in this small act a thousand and one meanings are hidden. And I spent my time analyzing every detail of his body language so many times that I now understand the invisible lines of unspoken request gathering around the skin painted in black. He doesn't have to put it into words that I should take care of myself, because it flows from every single pore, and that's enough to make my stomach tremble. But I long ago abandoned the compulsion to deny myself this weakness. For once, despite my pride, I let some of my careful lytucked away feelings slip through my neatly crafted disguise, and there is a sincere softness in the faint curve with which my lips arch upwards as a farewell, and this is perhaps the gentlest expression I have allowed myself to have in a very long time. And something completely surprised crosses his features, as cautiously as if it were merely a drunken fantasy, but I don't wait for his answer to unfold, instead, pulling myself together, I turn back to work, and hurry after Alex, who has long since impatiently thrown himself into the preparations for our departure by the hangar’s wall.

Although I already have more than a decade of experience in it, I amaze even myself how simply I push the upheaval caused by my just-conceived emotions to the depths of my consciousness and sharpen my focus, when Alex surprises me with an exotic bite to crown our joint mission. Because it may not be the first time I set my eyes on iron horse on wheels, but it's not an everyday sight to come across something that has been transformed with such great care to survive in the middle of no man's land. And even though this piece has already been worn down by the relentless heat and drought, it was undoubtedly developed to be fast enough when targeted by a mutant, and easy enough to handle when eliminating a few persistent beasts even while driving. A key to survival made of solid steel, which hides a whole myriad of dangerous tools in the saddlebags attached to it, and although I only identify the sound alarm held by one of the straps, I know that everything we will need resides in the bottomless depths of the bags.

"Have you ever sat on a beauty like this?" Alex turns to me, with one gloved hand patting the engine's tank, scaly from chipped paint, caressing the thick barrel of the machine gun mounted on its side with gentle affection, as if he just wanted to coax a purr out of it. It is also clear from this passing gesture that this isn't the first time he hops on this monster and throws himself into the middle of adventures, which only reinforces the fact that it has been a very long time since he hasn't limited his talent to just perform the sacred task of the Healers. And judging by the awe-filled looks he gave Farah during our little introduction, it's likely that he is able to live such a happy and free life with the help of the special treatment he received by her. It seems I'm not the only one who has been allowed to run amok on such a loose leash by her bloody friends. Very interesting.

"A few times." I finally respond briefly, and I don't have to linger particularly long at the brief doubt on the man's face to know that my brevity didn't really win his favor. But he doesn't have to worry, because even though my abilities leave something to be desired in this area, I had the good fortune to meet such a handsome dinner candidate in my tender youth, whose privileged parents shove a motorcycle under his ass, something that the common people would never have access to. And I amused myself with him just long enough to enchant him with my charming nature, and to let me sit on his scared little toy, so I had the opportunity to have fun on a similar, albeit less dangerous, machine. "Enough to handle the trip well, if that's your concern." I finally elaborate lightly, and it seems that my laxness convinces him that there won't be any problems, not even a single one, because he pulls his mouth framed by a light beard into such a jolly grin, as if his previous concerns have never even existed.

"That's the spirit!" Alex concludes the very quick discourse of the initial difficulties, and making himself comfortable on the vehicle with routine movements, breathing life into the heavy metal in seconds, pats the seat behind him with such self-evident naturalness, like it wasn't a few minutes ago that fate brought us together. "Jump on! We'll get off somewhere else!" He explains raising his voice, shouting through the slowly increasing noise, which is mixed with the rumble of cars in the distance and the blare of incoherent instructions, muting the engine's roar to a steady hum. I automatically look for the members of my small team, who load into the prepared vehicles with such splendid swiftness, as if they wouldn’t jump into the action based on a plan thrown together in a matter of minutes. And I'm no longer surprised by how instinctually I discover the masked Hunter, whose burly figure makes the gadgets developed for the harsh terrain seem like a toy for small children. But I only allow myself a few passing seconds of observation, and I quickly break away from watching, so that instead I can comply with Alex's invitation to step closer to the deadly machine, and throw my legs over it to position myself behind the man, looking for the grab bars next to the seat and the placement in which I'm most likely to remain unharmed during our little adventure.

He peeks behind his shoulder to check if I'm ready to go, and when he is satisfied with what he sees, he kicks back the stand and starts off with such rapidity that my fingers clench on the iron with a startled jerk, trying not to leave the deck before we can start any meaningful work. Even if he realizes what kind of surprise he has given me, he doesn't react, but directs all his attention to the road and the goal, and zigzags through the yard of the base, and the outlines of the base's battered buildings turn into blots melting into each other due to the speed. He bursts through the gate bisecting the fence without hesitation, and before I have a chance to assess whether my dangerous friends have left, we are already far away on the broken concrete road, leaving behind a dry, veil-like mass of dust. But I don't blame my dear colleague for being in a hurry, because I'm aware of how important it is to get to the meeting place before our Rat, who came on vacation with the expensive souvenir, and if the information is true, then with every wasted minute we risk that, instead of our company, the scumbag passes the goods in intimate solitude, giving us in turn the fabulous opportunity to writing our very piteous will. This is the last chance for the serum's journey to finally find a dead end, and in this case safety is a negligible detail, which seems like a distant concern with each passing meter. Especially for two people, one of whom partially, the other fully would be able to mend themselves without any problems, if they were to fly away from the seat like a flag.

As we drive through the barren, lonely wilderness, all other thoughts disappear from my mind, and although I can only look around squinting, instead of the progress of the engine racing at a presumably merciless pace, I direct my attention to my surroundings slowly flowing together. Despite the fact that on my previous trips I was lucky enough to admire how nature takes control again in the wake of abandonment, I still feel an elemental discomfort in my belly, for the more we travel, the greater the emptiness becomes. Sometimes I see a building turned into a pile of stones sliding past, but nothing else dominates the landscape, only desolation, as if no one ever had lived here before the appearance of the first horrible creatures, only the armies of dry twigs emerging from the ground. Although, according to the history books, due to the climate and the characteristics of the area, the virus spread significantly more slowly among the mammals here, leaving a few years of fleeting peace until that miserable pathogen really reared its ugly head here as well, and only the stumps of forgotten vehicles painted red by corrosion here and there indicate that mayhem was still able to catch people by surprise. I only need to see pieces of a torn rag swaying under the debris that has been lying there for decades to know that there were people who couldn’t escape in time. And I don't allow my brain to muse on who the piece of textile that looks like a dress once belonged to, because it's unnecessary to deal with this now. Grieving won't help the dead.

It seems like a blink of an eye until we reach the point where Alex takes a sharp turn off the road that has led us so far, and as we dash onto our dirt path bumpy from pebbles, giving up my previous holding position, I cling to the man's tactical vest, looking for a grip among the many pockets and straps, before the wild shaking throws me down. He doesn't seem to be particularly bothered by my groping, because he cuts through the terrain studded with coniferous, bush-like vegetation with an undisturbed aim, and I have no doubt that even though this dry wasteland stretches behind god's back, what gives him confidence is that he already knows all its cruel nooks and crannies. Almost unexpectedly, the bleak plain transforms into a winding labyrinth of rocky hills and cliffs, as if the sculptural formations covered with orange sand, carved out by the wind and heat over thousands of years, have appeared from thin air, turning the bare landscape into a lifeless garden. Perhaps under other circumstances I could enjoy this and admire the handiwork of nature, but now the knowledge that our final destination is slowly approaching is too strong, as the steep stony peaks, dotted with narrow valleys and gorges, begin to resemble the hologram image that Farah showed us on the map.

Although all ridges look the same to me, my new companion recognizes the one with the trail running along it like a thin capillary, that winds its way up to the top of the hill, and the motorcycle obeys its owner's command without protest as we enter the route that marks the last part of our journey. And I lean closer to my guide, clutching the rough textile stuck under my fingers tighter, because the higher we climb, the more dangerous the landscape below us seems, dwarfing into a distant but all the more deadly abyss as we finally get closer to the top. And as soon as we reach the final target, Alex stops his devilish machine without hesitation, and bracing the machine on its stand, he leaps off after my hands release their grasp on his vest with effortless elegance. He scans the area with automatic movements, and when he finds nothing but a couple of hungry birds circling above and a boulder resting lifelessly in front of us, he turns back, extending one of his gloved hands toward me, readily helping me down from the robust vehicle. And while I give my body, shaken by the trip, a few fleeting seconds of a quick breather to find its balance again, he cautiously sneaks closer to the balcony-like edge of our observation point, occupying the position for which we dragged our asses on this exotic getaway without further delay.

Although he doesn't voice his request, I take this as a signal to act, and following the example of my companion, I crawl behind one of the weather-beaten stones, and the pieces of soil, drifting under my knee, crumble with a muffled crunch, as I duck down and hide behind my cover coated in copper-colored sand. Without the caress of the wind, the air, warmed up by the blinding rays of the sun, surrounds me with an almost cruel heat, and I can feel the tiny beads of sweat escaping from my pores. As I place my hands on the rough surface of my hideout in search of support, the coarse dust particles sticking to my palms almost burn my skin, but defying the stimuli that bombard my senses, I take out my binoculars, to occupy my nervous system with the task set ahead of us instead of immersing myself in sensory hell. Looking through the device, the first thing I do is look for our little group, because I'm sure they could have set off not long after us, and considering the detour we took when we went around the chain-like plateaus, they must also be close. But I can't find anything, only the rickety remains of abandoned houses, which stand out from the parched earth with a lonely silence, like desiccated skeletons left to rot in the sun. And when I take in one of the buildings that still reminds me of its late self, I truly feel as if the entire landscape would be permeated by the acidic smell of death, as I find the small bicycle lying on its side in front of the door, opened wide like a screaming mouth. Because I painfully quickly recognize the tiny bones lying under the rusted frame and the gaping teeth-like holes on the tiny skull, and my jaw clenches with an almost aching strain from the discovery. I had no illusions about what kind of graveyard this damned virus had turned the world into, but ever since I left the protective walls of the colony, I have been doing nothing but enjoying the blood-soaked mementos of its massacre. And no matter how dark my soul may be, it's starting to get a little too much even for me.

I have to distract myself from the disturbing sight almost by force, and steeling myself, I continue the search for my murderous buddies, and it takes a few minutes before I discover uncertain shadows moving in the gutted interior of the houses. At first, it seems like a vision created by the heat, but when I see Price slinking along the worn walls, and behind him his men follow like ducklings, I already know that the movements that come to life among the ruins are not just a figment of my imagination. And although I have no idea when or how they got here, but a fair amount of appreciation awakens in me for my friends, because they crept here with such invisibility that defies the laws of physics and logic.

I only hear the softly rumbled instructions in my ears, according to which the members of the raid take their place on the stage of the rundown village, and the line-up, which was thrown together so hastily, takes shape with an almost dream-like ease. And when the last confirmation is heard over the crackle of the radio, and everyone turns their undivided attention from their assigned position towards the concrete road that bisects the desolate land, then the tension in me loosens enough so I can continue my careful exploration of the field. And as my gaze glides across the abandoned empty space, and the more details my brain takes in, the stronger the uncomfortable, almost intrusive foreboding in my consciousness becomes, which washes over me like a visceral reflex, as I'm again confronted with the fact of how terribly trouble-free the events are. Because this location seems almost like a gift from heaven, it creates such ideal conditions for us to carry out the mission. The only worn road that leads here can be easily blocked, and the tumbledown buildings, despite their condition, provide easy shelter for anything that feels like snooping on some unsuspecting fools. The rocky cliff line below me, littered with tons of stone piles, blocks one of the very important lines of escape, and unless they grow wings, they can only cross through the narrow gorges, which the strangers here only find by wasting precious minutes, during which they become even easier targets. On the other side, the barren sea of sand strewn with petrified dunes, which stretches to the horizon, hides nothing but certain death, because there is no outcome where being lost in the desert won’t result in dehydration or being preyed upon by monsters for whom it seems like a good option to flee there from danger. This place may have been cruel even before the virus appeared, but now it harbors threats that no sane person would willingly flirt with.

And it's possible that it was for these reasons that our outlaw friends believed that this would be the most ideal setting for the date, but I have the suspicious question of why they would agree to offer up themselves on a tray so defenselessly to carry out something in which millions of credits and a chemical weapon with unparalleled potential change hands. Because they should know that this is just as advantageous a location for them as it is for the bloodhounds, whom they know are in their heels. The Russian was aware that we had sniffed out the clues they had left us with such magnanimous foolishness, and it was quite clear from the telephone discussion that he didn't want to allow this critical deal to fail. Then why are they meeting here? Why risk the I.M.L.s and the enemy breathing down their necks finding them in such ridiculously open terrain? And I can't silence the inkling in my head, which screams that there is something very important that we are not aware of, and that is why we are skimming over it in such a way that will lead us to our demise without knowing it.

No matter how strongly the doom-mongering takes hold in my head, the humming of the engine and the noise of the screeching wheels distract my attention from the pessimistic thoughts zigzagging between the hard walls of my skull much more effectively, for the arrival of our guests put an end to the tense waiting. A couple of surprisingly luxurious-looking cars rush in from the side of the road that we also used, as if they were late, and they stop with sloppy elegance on the pothole-littered, heated concrete, blocking it almost entirely. And I recognize the signiture of the Rat even without him dragging out his pitiful ass stuffed with illegal money, because only a halfwit like him can gallop into the wilderness reeking of death with such luxurious machines. However, they don't wait alone for long, because the vehicles worth hundreds of thousands of credits don't even have time to catch a breath after the fatigue of the long journey, because, from the nothingness stretching in the distance, the other interested party of the sale and purchase arrives, beating a cloud of dust, who, unlike our gangster, he stomps into the intimate scene of the date with battered, but all the more practical cars. But instead of being filled with pity that these fools run into the well-prepared surprise so unsuspectingly, I feel the already uncomfortable, tight squeeze in the depths of my stomach penetrate deeper into delicate tissues and pull my insides together with an almost violent sinisterness, as if an invisible hand was closing around my torso, slowly forcing the air out of me. Because I don't understand why the buyer's man came from the beast-infested, endless barren land of the uncontrolled region, when this unforgiving terrain is not worth the unnecessary risk even for a cunning criminal like that. The meeting place is also quite dangerous enough, why would they wait in the middle of the desert, exposing themselves to the elements and the hungry mouths of mutants? Something is not right…

"They’re here." Alex announces into the radio, and the lightness disappears from his tone, instead, it is permeated with the seriousness worthy of the mission, which makes his whole body almost transfixed. I don't know when he got his gun, but through its scope, he scans the gathering below with the same thoroughness as a hungry hawk waiting for its dinner to emerge from the undergrowth for a careless moment. And out of the corner of my eye, I catch the gloomy, tension-filled movement, with which he shifts with a low curse, looking for better support on the uneven surface of the rock. "There are a couple of familiar faces." He remarks, and I curiously begin to search for the one he refers to from the crowd of strangers pouring out of the cars.

Of course, I immediately catch the Rat, who impatiently moves forward, slaloming between the cracks, stomping in his shoes distasteful from the overpriced tastelessness, and I don’t have to be within hearing distance to know with what irritated vehemence his words of greeting leave his mouth. Because indignity sits on his slimy face, as if the fact that he had to personally appear in this shithole is at least insulting to him, and no doubt he believes this in his big ego-fueled, but all the more stunted, brain. I soon tire of the stomach-turning sight of his pitiful idiot, and I move on to the stranger whom Alex could have talked about. The man halts in front of his business partner with an almost unsettling calmness, and I don't think my eyes are playing tricks on me when I see the condescending smile spreading across his clean-shaven face, with which he accepts his colleague's whining. The Rat dangles a briefcase towards him, and his nonchalance doesn't seem nearly as relaxed as he would like it to appear, because I see the twitch that runs through his hand when his partner takes the bag from him and opens it, nodding in satisfaction. And when I observe the unknown guy, nothing resurfaces from my memories, but he straightens his back out with a determined stance and beckons to the menacing soldiers lined up behind him, like a self-proclaimed boss. There is a routine in this movement, from which it is very easy to conclude that he didn't just start playing the leader yesterday. And the small fact catches my eyes, with which I realize that the men in black uniforms gathering around him aren't local tough guys, and his features seem so far from Russian, that the unpleasant suggestion that he might be a local bad boy only borrowing these goons takes shape in me. That would explain why I hear Farah's voice slurring angry words in Arabic drifting from the ether, and why Alex's mouth draws in a dour line, as if he were tasting bile on his tongue. And it would also make sense why the newcomer is so confident in an obviously deadly neighborhood, which is not ideal, but not necessarily tragic news for us. Because we have lured them into a trap that they have no idea about.

"Let's welcome them then." My analysis is interrupted by Price's voice crackling through the radio, and only an army of 'Roger's' resounding in chorus accepts his proposal, so that, after a few hesitant seconds, the guns that have been waiting for their prey go off suddenly, filling the crumbling walls of the buildings with the sound of thunderous echoes. And as a few fools from the group of illegal visitors fall to the ground, they realize what kind of trick they have walked into with such stupid confidence, and they scatter apart like frightened little birds, and they themselves draw their guns and start firing at the invisible enemy. But they don't have to rely on guesswork for long to find out where the attack is coming from, because my dangerous little buddies rush forward with terrifying speed, and only screams of pain indicate when they start working on the bandits that have appeared. In the blink of an eye, the previously undisturbed stillness turns into the scene of a wild battle, and I feel the force with which all my nerves tense up, concentrating on the happenings, sharpening my attention almost like a razor's edge, with which I follow how my friends trample over their opponents almost like bulldozers. However, even despite the power of surprise, the visible dominance, and the professional execution, the restless, disgusting feeling that screams louder and louder that something is wrong continues to rage inside me. It's too simple, it can't be this…

At first, the swarming reminiscent of an furious anthill swimming in a far corner of my field of vision seems like a mere mirage-like blob, which reaches my mind through my senses, and I reflexively turn my gaze there, because my consciousness, stimulated by stress, immediately understands that something is wrong. And I need a few moments before I can identify, through binoculars, the cloud of sand emerging from the belly of nothingness stretching out on the horizon, which is heading towards us at an increasingly certain tempo, like an angry desert storm, which picks up the suffocating grains of dust with its raging wind to bury its defenseless victims beneath. The closer the kicked-up yellow haze gets, the more distinctly I recognize the outlines of an off-road vehicle in it, and my eyebrows meet in confusion at the image. But the shocked horror turns in my stomach like rusty nails when I see the twisted, ape-like heads and bodies interwoven with ball-like bumps peak through from the cohesive grainy fog, which, like an unstoppable horde, rush towards the battle raging below, like an unrelenting flood of bizarre creatures. And my hands almost unconsciously reach for the radio, searching for the wretched button with such hasty urgency, which the honest terror rising in my veins makes so clumsy.

"I.M.L.s are coming! I repeat! Mutants are coming from the desert!" I yell, and the fear-infused urge with which I scream into the poor device seems foreign even to my ears, and in my peripheral vision, I see how confusedly Alex directs the scope resting on his gun towards the far-reaching wasteland. And before I have a chance to give further warnings, that characteristic screeching sound reaches my ears, and I suddenly understand what this is all about. Because the whistle of the sound alarm cuts into my consciousness with such ear-splitting force that it would be impossible for me not to notice, and the shock spreads through my veins like tiny needle-like ice crystals, as I realize that we were the ones who unknowingly ran into a trap all along. Because the strange man knew the terrain, and now he might be leading here the inhabitants of a nest that our helpers here didn't even know about, and as a result, the beasts are now pouring towards us like an angry flood.

And there is no time for my senses to catch up with the events, because these bloodthirsty creatures arrive here before my comrades fighting below can come up with a plan, and when they see the size of the impending threat, it's too late. The car is moving closer, and as König steps forward with a large piece of debris in his hand, I only see a shadow dashing in the direction of the machine, which smashes its windshield with such force that the air is filled with a shower of shattered glass shards like glitter, causing the vehicle sway uncontrollably and crash into one of the decaying buildings. The deteriorating wall collapses like a house of cards, and when the bare brick of the ruined house covers the wrecked car amidst loud bangs, the scream of the alarm finally stops, but it doesn't matter anymore. Because one of the first specimens of the behemoth monsters is already charging forward and throws itself at the criminals frozen in stupor, and tears one of them in two with horrifying ease, the wet crunch of which travels all the way to my ear canal despite the distance.

"Take cover! Everyone take cover!" Price's scream penetrates the shock in my head, and I recognize almost in daze that I'm hearing the desperate command directly from the man's throat, not from the radio, and this makes a gnawing dread creep up my throat. However, even though they retreat with their men to the protection of battered structures, the damned beasts are already there, and they throw themselves into the thugs lined up on the road, gaping like fish, as if they had arrived for a buffet dinner. And perhaps it could be a twist of fate that one of the demonic beings rushing in immediately finds the Rat, who, frightened by this, pushes one of his little servants in front of him amidst terrified shrieks. But it's futile, because the mutant swings one of its arms covered with spotted hair, sweeping the man away as if he were nothing more than an annoying fly to be swatted away. And even though the criminal hesitantly grabs the pistol hanging from his belt and starts to fire, his resistance only irritates it even more. With a merciless roar, the perhaps baboon-like lifeform leaps to its feet, its milky white eyes full of pure bloodthirsty madness, and its mouth studded with dagger-like teeth distorts into an even angrier snarl by the metal of the bullets piercing its body. It throws itself at the Rat with such unexpected swiftness that he probably cannot even process it, and his miserable life ends before he has a chance to make one last desperate attack, for his skull bursts open like a ripe grape, as the monster, opening its jaws, tears at its victim's head.

As surely as the plan was progressing, the events of the mission, which have been going on undisturbed until now, are now plunging into untraceable chaos with such rate, and I only fix my eyes on the fight that turns into bloodshed rapidly paralized. It doesn't make sense to me either how the splitting numbness of panic fills every fiber of me, as if the connection between my brain and my limbs has been severed, and nothing can penetrate except fear, which makes my hands tremble along with my ever-increasing heart rate. It seems like a nightmarish image, how the wrathful roar of the mutants cuts through every corner of the empty landscape, and it's like a never-ending sea that engulfs my friends who are fighting a hopeless battle, and I feel the eerie memory of the last situation similar to this bubbling up in my head. For the same desperate story is unfolding now, in which no matter how one hellish creature is taken down, another scum comes in its place, as if a new one would be born out of nowhere, when the predecessor is defeated by the soldiers with great difficulty. And although Riley and König throw themselves into the thick of the fight with an agreement that belies the tension between them, and I see the merciless power with which the hooded Hunter degrades the monsters that come before him to pulp with the terrible hammer in his hand, and I also take in the way the masked man tears off the jaw of the deformed mammal that is attacking him with his bare hands, there is no end in sight to the grotesque army. There's a whole nest of bastards here, and we are too few to even survive.

Maybe this was precisely the goal, because it reaches even my stunned brain circuits, as the unknown buyer's contact emerges from the disorder with the briefcase almost unnoticed, and he creeps along, hiding behind the battered walls, with such insidious stealth like a shadow, and my friends are too busy trying to stay alive to even have a chance to see what he is up to. This fucking piece of shit was preparing for this all along because he knew there was a chance we would show up. The Russian handed him the info, and he composed such a complex trap for us that we had no chance of producing a counter-response to. He designed the fair to end up in murder from the beginning, perhaps hoping that if he disguised the events as an accident, he could skip off with the serum, and thus his client would end up empty-handed and none the wiser. How fucking smart…

The lightness with which the stranger glides towards the car waiting at the bottom of one of the protruding rock walls seems unfair, which might have appeared when everyone was distracted by the new threat that made its entrance. However, it seems that I'm not the only one who notices his attempt to leave in a hurry, for Garrick, with a grace that would put even a cheetah to shame, springs up from behind the shack that has served as his cover until now, and his eyes flash in ruby as he sprints towards the guy who is about to run off. But before he can reach the damned scumbag, an I.M.L. prowls at him with an angry howl and knock him off his feet with such unbridled vehemence that he lands on the ground with an almost painful thump. My heart hammers in my chest in alarm, and I barely feel the startled gasp that escapes from my mouth when I see the creature's wildly snapping mouth charge toward Garrick's face. Maybe he owes the speed with which his hand rips the knife hanging on his waist from its holster to the reflex built into muscle memory over the years, and lightning-fast is the metallic flash with which the blade glints in the blinding sunlight as it strikes. And he buries it into the creature's eye socket with such force that the blood gushes out like a red waterfall from behind the pearly eyes, and everything is covered by the slimy stream as the knife moves down relentlessly and cuts across the creature's broad chest, as if it were just slicing through a soft fruit. Even though the Hunter pushes the deformed vermin off him when its lifeless weight falls on him, by then the bald man has already climbed into the car, and maybe I'm the only one imagining that triumphant grin on his face, with which he sets off with his prize. Although Garrick darts after the customer who is about to take flight almost without thinking, the enemy sniffs out this small excitement in a fraction of a second, and a couple of horrible brutes start after him, lest the snack might disappear before they have a chance to taste it.

It reaches me as a muffled murmur, as my colleague camped next to me starts to shoot wildly at the beasts rampaging on the increasingly obscure battlefield, because the petrifying astonishment gets replaced by something very hot much more strongly, which rushes through my body like lava, filling my cells with almost mad energy. As I see how my team is cornered by these fucking creatures, my body finally comes to its senses and is able to accept the urgency of the thoughts born by my brain. Even I'm impressed by the determination that takes hold of me, and I'm not entirely aware of the cold determination with which I stand up, as if my limbs were moved by some invisible force, when what I have to do falls into place in my skull. Because there is no scenario in which I will let this happen. There is no monster, no power that can stop me from protecting my newly acquired family and make me helplessly watch as they are gutted.

It's just a matter of a minute, and Alex doesn't have time to wake up and process what I'm up to, because I dash towards the motorcycle we left behind, and jump on it with such a cat-like, airy movement that he only notices that something is happening when his vehicle comes to life with a loud purr. And even with the adrenaline drilling its way down to my bones, I realize how remarkable is the quickness with which my mind conjures up long-forgotten skills, because there is no doubt that is what makes me so confident as I drive away with the two-wheeled metal horse without any hesitation. I see the horrified disbelief on the man's face as a passing detail, and even though my ears understand that he is shouting after me, every single nerve cell of mine is already focused on action, and everything else is dwarfed into insignificant nothingness. And as I storm down the steep, rocky hillside, only one solid goal takes shape in my head. I will save them. And there is no person, entity, or power that can stop me.

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