#his glasses are taped to his face cause he lost his nose rip

[iowkey-ioki]

Rotten boyy

[gardens-light]

Captured

A weapon’s demonstration goes wrong, resulting in Tony Stark getting kidnapped and held hostage by an criminal organization, only known as ‘The Ten Rings.’ With his captures demanding that Tony builds a weapon of mass destruction. It’s up to Tony and his unlikely friends to survive and find a way out...

Content- Spoilers for the first film of ‘Iron Man.’ ( I know it’s old and most people have seen it, but thought to add it anyway.) Y/C= Your Country. Course Language.

Part 2

Word count: 7,342. (It is quite long. But hopefully impactful. If you think this should be cut into a mini-series, please let me know. Any and all feedback is appreciated.)

A low groan echoing throughout the cave caught your attention. Your gaze briefly leaving the pages of your book, as Yinsen looked at Stark's reflection through a broken mirror shard.

"He's awake." 

"Of course he's awake" you replied with a sarcastic tone. Turning your attention back on the pages of your book. 

"How much do you wanna bet he'll ask countless of questions?"

A small smile came to your friend's face as he carefully shaved his jaw. 

Tony's eyes blinked multiple times as he tried to gather his bearings. Laying down upon the army cot bed. His fingers tracing over his nostrils, feeling the tube which caused his discomfort. A groan and a few coughs escaped him, as he pulled the tube from his nose. Tony's face twisted in disgust, as he felt the thin plastic crawl up his windpipe with each tug. Ripping off the masking tape which held it against the bridge of his nose. His eyes darted around. Trying to find some form of familiarity. 

Patting around on the make shift table beside him, knocking off a small cup of water onto the earthy floor. Turning onto his side, Tony caught a glimpse of Yinsen. Happily humming to himself as he continued to shave with a blunt razor. Then scanning over to you, silently minding your own business, as your mind got lost in the pages of a fantasy book. Yinsen saw Tony attempting to roll of the army bed through the mirror.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." 

Hesitating for a brief moment, Tony heeded Yensin's warning. Rolling onto his back and turning his head slightly to the right, fear crept up his back as the sight of a car battery stood near him. With wide eyes and panicky breath, Tony's hands ran down the wires which connected to the battery. His shocked gaze looking down at himself, frantically pulling and ripping the bandages that covered his chest. Tony's eyes widened even more, fear shining through his dark eyes, as dread filled his body. An unsteady breath slipped through, as a medium sized ring pierced through his dirty flesh. Inside the ring was a magnet staring up at him. 

Tony laid in the cot for several more minutes, allowing the dread and disbelieve wash over him. Your eyes flickered off the pages for a brief moment, cautiously watching Stark with a studious stare, as he made his way towards you. Only the sound of Yensin's whistling tune echoed throughout the cave, disturbing the small silence. The fire danced in the reflection of his oval glasses, as he stirred the soup. Tony sat across from you, slouching against a rock and placing the car battery onto the floor. 

"What the hell did you do to me?" Tony's shaky tone questioned. His eyes still shining with fear, as he examined the magnet sticking out of the middle of his chest. 

Yinsen chuckled, "what did I do? What i did was to save your life." 

Placing your book aside, and accepting a bowl of soup that Yensin handed to you. You both exchanged smiles, as he continued. 

"I removed all the shrapnel as I could. But unfortunately, there's still a lot left, and it's headed into your atrial septum. Here wanna see?" 

With his free hand, Yensin's reached out towards a dusty table upon his right. Picking up a small glass vile, showing Tony the small fragments of metal shrapnel. Tony carefully accepted the vile, his eyes briefly flickering to you, as you watched the pair of them. 

"It's a souvenir. Take a look" Yinsen's kind and polite tone continued. "I've seen many wounds like that in my village. We call them, 'The Walking Dead.' Because it takes about a week, for the barbs to enter the vital organs-" 

"What is this?" Tony's flat voice cut him off. 

You rolled your eyes, "that's an electromagnet." 

You assumed Tony referred to the magnet within his chest. The billionaire's cautious stare turned to you. Watching you place your empty bowl near Yinsen, and poking the fire with a scrap metal pole. 

"It's hooked up to a car battery." Your voice was flat and unsympathetic. "And it's keeping the shrapnel from entering your heart. You have Yenshin to thank for that." 

Tony's posture shifted uncomfortably, as Yenshin tried to comfort him with a warm smile. He saw Tony's eyes shift to the camera above. 

"That's right. Smile." 

Yenshin chuckled to himself. "We met once, y'know? At a technical conference in Bern-" 

"I don't remember." 

Tony saw you and Yensin flash another smile at one another. A small chuckle left you, as Yenshin continued his little ramble. 

"Oh no, you wouldn't. If I had been that drunk, I wouldn't have been able to stand. Much less give a lecture on integrated circuits-" 

"Where are we?-" 

The sound of a heavy lock unlocking cut off Tony's question. He saw you and Yenshin quickly shift into a surrendering pose, standing upon your feet and placing your hands behind your head. You tried to control your breathing, as Yensin fussed over Tony. Getting him to stand and follow your lead, as the large metal doors- the only entrance and exit to the cave begun to open.

Heavy armed men entered the cave. Some wearing army camo, while others wore layers of tattered clothing, which protected their bodies from the harsh elements of the outside world. Tony struggled onto his feet, as Yensin yanked him up. Tony's wide eyed stare shifted from person to person.  

"Those are my guns. How did they get my guns?-" 

"Shut up!" You hissed through your teeth. "Just shut up, and do as we do!" 

A shaky breath left your parted lips. Attempting to remain calm, as multiple men, armed with heavy duty guns with 'Stark Industries' written along the barrels. Your heart dropped to the pit of your stomach, as their weapons faced you three. Trigger happy fingers ready to pull at a moments notice. Emerging from the group, a rather tall man walked into the space. Black hair shaved down into a buzz cut, while grey hairs highlighted his full facial hair.

Heavy jacket and trousers, patterned in green army camo framed his pudgy frame. He approached your space, speaking in Arabic and once finished gesturing towards Yensin to translate. 

“Welcome Tony Stark. The most famous mass murderer in the history of America.”

The pudgy individual beamed a cheerful smile, as he spoke a quick sentence before gesturing to himself.

“He’s honoured.” Yenshin quickly translated, before the man continued his ramblings. “He wants you to build a missile. The ‘Jericho Missile’ that you demonstrated.”

He handed Yensin a photograph of a heavy duty machine, which held three large missiles. Your stomach twisted in an uncomfortable knot, swallowing your nerves. As you were aware of the weapon’s capability.

“This one” Yensin simply spoke. Showing Tony the photograph.

You saw the billionaire's features twist in disgust. His brows knitted together. Yensin's Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, swallowing his nerves. As he hesitated to translate Tony’s sentence in Arabic. 

“He refuses...”

Obviously disgusted and not amused by Tony’s reply. An angry expression flashed across the man’s face, as he yelled demands at two of the nearest men. They lowered their weapons, grabbing Tony’s biceps in vice like grip, and dragging him aside. The two restrained him, as the pudgy man grabbed a fistful of Tony’s hair, forcing his head into a sink filled with water. 

You turned your head, closing your eyes. Trying to block out Tony’s gargled screams and yells, as their leader yelled his demands at Tony. After a few moments, the bearded individual placed a straw bag over Tony’s head. The two men who held his biceps, forcefully moved him out of the cave. Turning his attention onto you and Yensin, gesturing you two to follow...

The sunray’s blinded your eyes as you exited the cave, the desert heat and harsh wind was cruel to your sensitive skin. The bag was roughly pulled from Tony’s head, the sudden daylight hurting his eyes. As he was shoved forward down the sandy path. Once Tony’s vision cleared, his eyes widened in shock as he walked down the path, taking in the sight of the high sandy dunes and rocky terrain. The camp littered with his weapons, all heavy duty and military graded. 

Tony held the car battery under one arm, with you and Yensin beside him. As the man from before, begun to speak and gesture towards the camp.

“He wants to know what you think.” Yensin’s voice was low as he turned towards Tony. 

A frown formed upon Tony’s lips, his brows knitting together. “I think he has a lot of my weapons.”

Yensin and the man spoke in Arabic, the convocation going back and forth. Only being interrupted by Yensin’s translation to Tony.

“He says, they have everything you need to build the Jericho missile.” Yensin explained. “He wants you to make a list of materials, and to start working immediately. Once you’re finished, he’ll set you free.”

Tony pulled a fake smile, shaking the man’s hand. “No he wont.”

“No... he wont.” You and Yensin agreed...

Night fell, along with a cold harsh wind swept across the camp. Although the fire pit within the cave kept most of the cold out, the chill could still be felt in other areas. The three of you huddled around the fire, you saw Tony’s lifeless eyes watch the flames flicker and dance. As Yensin tried to talk sense into him. 

“Look what you saw today. That is your legacy, Stark. Your life’s work, in the hands of those murders-”

“He doesn't care, Yensin.” You sighed. “He’s just waiting for his military buddies to come find him. Well guess what Stark, they won’t find you in these mountains-”

“Our survival depends on him-”

“Exactly! And look how well it’s turned out so far!” you snapped. Throwing your cup aside, causing water to splash everywhere. Tony watched you leave and approached one of the army, cot beds. Yensin sighed as he continued. 

“Look... is this how you want to go out, Stark? Is this the last act of defiance of the ‘great’ Tony Stark? Or are you doing to do something about it?-”

“Why should I do anything?” Tony voice was low. No life or confidence within his voice. Just a hopeless flat tone, “They’re going to kill me, you, her, either way. And if they don’t, I’ll probably be dead within a week.”

“Well then... this is an important week for you...”

The next day was a full hustle. Men and women came in and out of the cave, all carrying tools, equipment, machines- anything and everything Tony said to them. You directed some of the groups, and helped place certain items, as Yensin stood beside Tony. Translating everything he said into Arabic. 

“How many languages do you speak?” Tony asked Yensin, as he took apart one of the missiles that casually stood on a wooden table in the centre of the cave.

“A lot” Yensin’s voice simply replied. “Y/N can speak many languages too- but even with both of our knowledge, it’s apparently not enough for this place.”

Tony’s eyes flickered towards you, as you sat upon the end of the table. His eyes dropped back down to his work, Yensin continued talking.

“Here they speak Arabic, Urdu, Dari, Pashto, Mongolian, Farsi, Russian-”

“Who are these people?”

“’They’ are your loyal customers, sir” your sarcastic tone filled the air, as Tony took out the inside of the missile. “They call themselves ‘The Ten Rings’” 

Tony scoffed at the name, causing you to frown. 

You watched him to continue working on the missile. Taking things apart, carelessly chucking unwanted bits over his shoulder, using second hand and scary looking D.I.Y power tools. You and Yensin looked at each other, both speechlessly acknowledging Tony’s arrogant behaviour. 

“I’ve told you. He doesn’t give a shit” You muttered, still sitting on the edge of the table. A spanner casually twirling around in your fingers. 

“We need to be hopeful, and work as a team.” 

You scoffed at your friend’s words. “Team? Haha, yeah right. That playboy knows nothing about teamwork.”

You raised an eyebrow, as Yensin silently gesturing for you to watch his lead, as he approached Tony’s side, whom still tinkered with odd bits and pieces. 

“Y’know we might be more productive, if you include us in the planning process.”

But all Yensin got was a simple, “uh-huh” from the billionaire. 

Your friend’s worried eyes met your ‘I-Told-You-So-Expression’, before Tony took the tip of the missile off and removing the inside. Tossing a wheel of glass and plastic bits over his shoulder, missing you by inches. Yensin looked up at Tony, as he held a small fragment of what looked like a regular metal shard. 

“This is palladium. 0.15 grams. We need at least 1.6 grams, so why don’t you go and break down the other eleven?” 

“Would it hurt you to say ‘please’?” 

Tony looked over his shoulder at you. A sigh leaving his mouth, before turning back to his secret project. “Could you please, break down the other eleven?” 

Yensin left Tony’s side and silently gestured you to follow him. Tony heard the low bickering between you and Yensin, as he turned his back and continued on with his work.

Hours rolled by, watching Tony and Yensin work together to build whatever it was Tony had plans for- but one thing you did know. It wasn’t anything related to the missile...

Sitting upon the army cot bed, your attention left the pages of your book. Watching Yensin carefully hold a smouldering cup, with a pair of iron looking tongs. 

“Careful. Careful. We’ve only got one shot at this.” Tony’s rasp voice begun to sound a little more polite. Causing your friend to smile. 

“Relax. I have steady hands.” Yensin assured, “why do you think you’re still alive?” 

Tony returned his smile, as Yensin carefully poured the melted palladium into a circular mould. “Sorry but... what’s your names again?”

“My name is Yensin. And behind us is, Y/N.”

“Yensin... Y/N... nice to meet you.”

Tony looked up at you, seeing your slight smile that teased the corners of your mouth. “Nice to meet you too...”

The chill wind that crept through the crack of the metal door, hinted that night has fallen outside. A yawn escaped from Tony, as he stretched his body. Leaning back against the wooden chair. A little sneeze from you disturbed the still air, causing him to look over his shoulder. He guessed that it must be the late hours of the night, since Yensin was already asleep in one of the cot beds. 

The flickering of the lights in the cave, broke your attention from your book. Looking around, your curious gaze fell upon Tony. A gentle blue glow from the work bench showed his weak smile, you watched his muscles loosen and relax. As his posture slouched in the chair, his head only perking up when he noticed you approaching him. 

“That... doesn’t look like a Jericho missile.”

“That’s because it’s a miniaturized arc reactor.” Tony softly explained, as he stretched his back. “I’ve got a big one powering my factory at home. Hopefully this should keep the shrapnel out of my heart.”

“Something like this could generate anything.” Your bewildered gaze met Tony’s calm expression. “But what?”

He pulled a sly smile, a smile you’ve grown to know that he was planning something.

“If my math is correct. And it always is. Three gigajoules per second.”

Your eyes widened, jaw almost hitting the floor. “That could run your heart for fifty lifetimes.” Your tone filled with disbelief.

He bit is bottom lip, “or something big for fifteen minutes.”

You raised an eyebrow as Tony collected scraps of tracing paper. And laid them on top of one another. “This is our ticket out of here.”

Carefully looking at the designs, your soft confused gaze glancing over the pages. “What is it?”

“Flatten them out and look.” Straightening out the pieces of paper, Tony relieved the design of a rough suit made of sheets of metal. Labelled with parts, weapons, measurements, and how many pieces this thing was going to have. Covering an individual from head to toe. 

“Impressive...”

Tony sighed, “well... I guess that’s enough for one day... afternoon... whatever time it is.”  

A small chuckle left you, as you made your way back to the firepit. Getting ready to settle on the floor again. 

“Trouble in paradise?”    

You raised an eyebrow at Tony’s teasing tone. A small chuckle left him, as he attempted to explain himself. 

“You’re not with Yensin tonight. So... I assumed-”

Your cough suddenly startled him, as you broke into giggles of disbelief. 

“Me and Yensin? No! No! Please never assume anything!-”

“Oh... but you two seem so close.” Tony spoke, raising an eyebrow.

“I’m no closer to him than you are” you said between giggles. Your laughter slowly dying down. “He’s just a good friend. Saved me from these assholes.”

“How? Where you from?”

“I’m from Y/C. Plucked from my home, and brought here. I met Yensin here” you gestured at the cave. “Our captures demanding us to read, translate and locate things. As we... helped them prepare things for your capture.”

You pulled an apologetic expression. Tony pulled a weak smile. 

“It’s alright.” He assured. “It was going to happen sooner or later... so ugh... How did Yensin save you?”

“I tried to sabotage one of their weapon crates. Got caught, and was close to having a bullet in my head. Yensin jumped in front of me, begged them to spare me. Promising that my knowledge is irreplaceable, and rivals his own.”

“Does it?”

You returned his warm smile, “no, of course not. I don’t know anymore or less than him. We’re both linguists.”

Tony nodded in agreement, as he reached out for a cup of water. Taking a few sips, before speaking. 

“So... where do you sleep? I’ve noticed there’s only two beds.”

You pointed at the ground. Tony pulled a disbelief look. 

“On the floor?” 

“It’s not that bad.” You assured, “I used to go camping when I was younger. It kinda feels like that.”

Tony straightened his posture, while rubbing the back of his neck. Clearing his throat before speaking, “we could... y’know, share a bed.”

You raised an eyebrow, “what?-”

“Well, now I know that a lady is sleeping on the floor. What kind of gentleman would I be if I allowed that to continue?”

You snorted at his remark. “A gentleman? Stark, please. We both know you’re many things. But certainly not a gentleman-”

“Why can’t I be? Because the media claims I’m not? Those are nothing but rumours- I assure you”

You watched him raise onto his feet. Holding out a hand to you, “let’s go to bed. I would like to show you how much of a gentleman, I can be.”

Despite how much you wanted to, you couldn’t deny that Tony had quite the charm. Even with his untidy hair, and roughly trimmed beared, the billionaire had something that was... chivalry about him. You tried to hide the shy smile that tugged on the corners of your mouth, trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered within your stomach. As Tony lead you to the bed, you tried to get your hand out of his grip, as nerves filled you like a shy teenager.

Only releasing you as Tony approached the bed. Both of you silently laughed and exchanged smiles, as the gentle snores from Yensin filled the air. Lowering himself to the cot, and patting the small space beside him. You carefully climbed into the cot, both laying on your sides, facing one another. Tony held out an arm, for you to lay your head in the crook of his shoulder. Your face cuddling into his chest, as yours and his free arm wrapped around each others waist. Your legs entangling with his.

“Comfy?” 

“Uh-huh...”

Tony rested his chin gently against the top of your head. Closing his eyes, and listening to the sounds of your steady breathing...

Your eyes fluttered open a small sound of chatter awoke you. As you stretched, realizing that Tony wasn’t in the bed with you anymore. Laying upon your back, giving your limbs a final stretch, before rolling out of the cot and onto your feet. Tony’s kind eyes looked up at you, returning his smile as your sleepy gaze watched him and Yensin play chess out of nuts and bolts. 

“Hey, look who’s up.” Yensin kindly greeted, as Tony passed you a cup of weak, black coffee. 

You simply smiled, giving Tony a silent nod of gratitude, before sitting on the floor beside the board. Watching them deeply think about their next moves, as the pair continued their convocation.

“You still haven’t told me where you’re from.” Tony softly spoke. Moving the his bishop, taking Yensin’s pawn. 

You looked up at him, realizing it was information you wasn’t aware of either.

“I’m from a small town called, Gulmira.” Yensin simply answered, smiling both at you and Tony. “It’s actually a nice place.” 

“Got a family?”

“Yes. And I will see them again, when I leave here.”

Your smile widened, assuming Tony already filled him in about the plan of the iron suit. Yensin asked Tony the same question, but you watched the billionaire’s features soften. Only able to pull a weak smile, as he replied with, “no.”

Your heart sunk a little, seeing the realization and hurt upon Tony’s face. 

“So you’re a man who has everything... and yet nothing?-”

“I don’t have anyone either.” You quickly butted in, attempting to pull an convincing smile to the pair of them. “But it’s alright. Cause I’ll be leaving here with two friends."

"Oh! And Stark, your arc reactor! It’s in your chest!” He returned your warm smile, seeing your gentle gaze fall onto his clothed chest. The arc’s soft blue glow shining through the tattered fabric of his shirt. 

“Yeah... Yensin put it in this morning. Works like a charm.” 

Yensin raised an eyebrow, as you and Tony reached out for one another. Holding hands in silence, as you gazed into each others eyes...

Over the period of days, or possibly weeks- perhaps longer. The three of you worked together, you and Yensin carefully followed Tony’s designs of bringing the suit to life. Your waking hours consisted of welding, soldering wires, cutting scrap pieces of metal.

During the time you didn’t notice Yensin smiling at you and Tony, laughter and playful banters were often exchanged between the pair of you. He wouldn’t admit the flirtatious comments he’d hear in the middle of the night, as you and Tony cuddled. It seemed like only he was aware of what was blooming between the pair of you...

But despite finally finding hope and light in this dark situation, you couldn’t help but not be able to shake of the feeling of dread. This sinking feeling would kill the butterflies in your stomach, allowing an uncomfortable feeling creep up your spine and over your shoulders. You often expressed this ‘gut feeling’ to Tony, but he always cupped your face, soothing your thoughts and always ending in pulling you in for a tight hug. Patting your head, and planting a soft kiss on top of your head, in an attempt to calm your nerves. 

But as predicted, the aching hunch relieved itself... 

Faminular shouts demanded your attention from the other side of the metal door. While Yensin and Tony looked at one another with puzzled expressions, your breathing slowed to a shallow pace. Uncertainty and dread crawled up your back, as the heavy locks of the door unlocked and pushed open.

The boys imedictly stopped their wielding, and placed their hands behind their head. An muscle memory imbedded into your body at this point. Your posture switching from relaxed and working, to stiff and vulnerable.

The usual group of heavily armed individuals entered the cave. Their leader from before- the man of buzz cut hair and thick dark beard, which was highlighted with gray strains, lead the group. But it was the person behind him which caused your breathing to hitch a little. His dark eyes scanned the room carefully, painfully watching the three of you for a solid moment, before his eyes moved from one to the other.

Although his relaxed fingers fumbled and played with the onyx ring, upon his middle finger. His posture still was strong and course, clearly showing what he held that the other didn't... Authority.

"Relax."

His voice certainly wasn't the tone that someone would of used. It was more like a 'soft' command, rather than a suggestion.

The three of you slowly lowered your hands, your limbs returning to your side, as the bald individual wandered over to Tony. The billionaire's cautious gaze locked onto his, as his fingers brushed the tattered fabric of Tony's button down shirt aside. The gentle blue glow of the arc reactor dimly lit the greed, which hid in his dark eyes. Tony kept his breathing calm and regular, despite staring down at the individual.

"The bow and arrow, once was the pinnacle of weapons technology." He casually stepped away from Tony, his gaze hovering from Tony and now onto you. A sly smile came to his lips, as his gaze saw the slight tremble in your body, your posture shifting. A sickening knot twisted in your stomach, as you knew he was enjoyed this reaction from you.

As he walked away, after allowing his stare to uncomfortably linger over you for another minute. Tony slowly reached out for your hand, his fingers attempting to intertwine with yours.

"Don't." You hissed through your teeth, "that's Razar... he's the one in charge of this whole shit show..."

Razar's sly smile staid upon his lips, well aware of your muttered whisper, but not caring. He merely continued his rambles, while examining the contents of a nearby desk.

"It allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific, to the Ukraine. Creating an empire twice the size of Alexander the Great" his head cocked to the side, as a slight curious tone slipped into his last sentence. "And four times the size of the Roman Empire."

Tony's worried expression flashed between Razar and Yensin, as he casually looked at designs upon bits of tracing paper. Yensin tried to calm his friend's nerves, silently gesturing to remain calm.

"But today... whoever holds the latest Stark weapons rules these lands."

Your fingers tightened around Tony's hand, as Razar looked over his shoulder, his intimidating gaze narrowing on Yensin. "And soon... it be my turn..."

his body shifted and faced Yensin, his speech switching dialect as his gaze flickered between you and Tony, before fully landing onto Yensin. You heard his voice attempt to remain calm as he spoke.

"Translate for me, Honey."

How Tony could keep his composure throughout this ordeal never ceased to surprise you.

"Um... they're speaking in Urdu, give me a moment" you listened carefully, trying to find a way to sum up the conversation between Razar and Yensin. "Um, he's... questioning Yensin. Something about is this how he repays him, after allowing him and me to live."

You watched the two interact with one another, Yensin keeping his calm mannerism, while Razar verbally interrogated him. The knot in the pit of your stomach twisted more, almost causing pain in your gut. Your voice trembling as you whispered, "he has a suspicion that we've been up to something..."

Your voice trailed off into silence, eyes widening in fear. As you watched two men follow Razar's orders, forcing Yensin onto his knees and turning his head to the side, as he rested against the cold anvil. Your breath getting stuck in your throat, as Razar reached for a pair of iron tongs. Reaching into the freshly lit furness, and picking up a piece of coal which had a molten glow.

A small gasp left your mouth, as fear crept up your back. Tony kept a firm grip upon your hand, slightly tugging you back into position whenever he felt you slowly ease forward. Your heart leapt into your throat, as Razar walked over towards Yensin. His cruel tone demanding your friend to open his mouth, as well as commanding the truth from him.

Any other person would of buckled and trembled under this kind of pressure. Tell tale signs of lies and secrets would of leaked out of them, but not Yensin. He remained calm and firm, as though he had nothing to lose...

Before you could leap into Yensin defence, Tony gently pushed you behind him as he stepped forward.

"What do you want? A delivery date?-"

Tony's questions came to an abrupt halt, as guns immediately pointed in his direction. Words of warning were shouted as he sighed in frustration. Razar's questioning glare flickered up to Tony, reading the billionaire's collected expression.

"I need him. Good assistant." was the simple sentence that came from Tony.

Razar's glare flickered from Tony to you, and back again. After what felt like an eternity, the molten coal was dropped onto the anvil, the iron tongs carelessly tossed aside. Yensin closed his eyes, as a shaky breath left his trembling lips.

Razar eyed Tony as he slowly approached him, "you have until tomorrow to assemble my missile."

The moment the metal doors closed, you broke from your statue like posture. Rushing towards Yensin, falling to your knees and flung your arms around him, pulling him close to you, resting your forehead against his shoulder.

"I'm alright. I'm alright." Yensin trembling voice tried to assure you, as a weak smile formed across his face. A smile he always pulled for you whenever you needed comfort.

Yensin slowly raised onto his feet, while helping you back onto yours. It felt strange- almost alien like how the pair simply shook off the dread and immediately got back to work. It reminded you how an ant clonally worked, only stopping their work briefly whenever an inconvenience interrupted them, only to go back to what they were doing before with hive mind like directions and command...

It was the early hours of the sunrise. Sitting at the end of the table, your legs shifting and twitching, your worried eyes watching intensively, as Tony begun to wrap white electrical tape around his hands. Easily using the entire length of the small roll, as he wrapped it evenly around his palms, knuckles and small spaces between his fingers.

The boys had their game faces on, minds clear and focused. Communicating clearly with one another, as Yensin helped Tony get into the thick layers of the protective clothing. The heavy fire-proof jacket of leather, and welding gloves covering his board torso. Tony stepped into the suit of cast iron, and scrap metal sheets. His arc reactor glowed brightly through the hole of the centerpiece.

Although you remained quiet, not daring to break their concentration. But your body shuffled and fidgeted in and out of positions. Nerves entangled your body like the wires of Tony's iron suit. Your breath shaky and uneven, as you continued to fail to hold yourself together.

"Okay? Can you move?"

Tony went through each limb movement, as Yensin tested and adjusted certain pieces, while a large metal frame held Tony and the iron suit in place.

"Okay. Good." Yensin quickly adjusted and tightened a few nuts and bolts of the suit. "Y/N, say it again."

"Forty-one steps straight ahead. Then sixteen steps- that's from the door." Uncertainty and worry rolled off the edges of your mono-toned voice. Your worried eyes staring blankly at the earthly floor, as you continued, "fork right. Thirty-three steps, turn right-"

Unfamiliar voices snapped you out of your panicky daze, as commands started shouting from the other side of the metal door.

"Yensin! Yensin! Stark!"

"Say something. Say something back to them." Tony's voice was the only thing that remained consistently calm.

"Th-They're speaking Hungarian. I-I don't-" your voice trembled through your quivering lips. Your legs bouncing uncontrollably, as you tried to rattle your suddenly blank mind.

"Then speak Hungarian."

Yensin licked his lips, attempting to keep himself calm as he tried to speak back in the foreign language. Arguments from the men and Yensin went back and forth, only stopping when the heavy locks of the metal door begun to shift and creek.

Boom! Crash!

The sudden explosion blew the doors off their hinges, mercilessly sending the two unknown individuals backwards and being crushed by fallen debris and lose rocks.

"How did that work?" Tony asked.

Yensin quickly looked over his shoulder, as your worried expression silently gasped at the sight before you.

"Oh my goodness" Yensin muttered. "It worked alright."

Tony pulled a cocky smile, "that's what I do."

"Okay, okay. Let me finish this.-"

"Initialize the power sequence."

Yensin quickly adjusted his glasses, facing the laptop which was upon the table behind him. Your violent shaking caused the table to wobble, making it hard for Yensin to press the keys. It seemed like out of all the months you three had spent together, now was the only moment where you all felt the same dread.

"Now!"

"Tell me! Tell me!" Yensin called over his shoulder at Tony,

"Function eleven. Tell me when you see a progress bar."

Becoming too frigidity, you got up onto your feet. Your body weight shifting from one foot to another, only stopping whenever you grew bored of staying in one spot and begun pacing.

A progress bar appeared upon the screen, the black void only filled with green coding which made no sense to you whatsoever.

"It should be up right now." Tony hurried voice spoke.

"Yes. Yes-"

"Talk to me Yensin. Tell me when you see it." Tony spoke.

"I have it!-"

"Control 'I.' Then 'Enter.'-"

Yensin followed Tony's instruction as he pressed the keys.

"Good! Come over here and button me up."

Turning away from the laptop, Yensin quickly attended to the small finishing touches of the suit. Tony's eyes flashed up at you, noticing your pace quicken, as thundering footsteps and loud voices echoed from the cave's entrance to the outside. His attention went back to Yensin.

"Every other hex bolt." He kindly directed, "nothing pretty. Just get it done."

"They're coming!" your panicky tone shouted. Hands ran through your hair, "they're coming!."

After attending to the last bolt, Yensin spun around and gazed at the laptop screen. His heart sinking as the process bar snailed to it's halfway point.

"Make sure the checkpoints are clear before you follow me out, okay?" Tony questioned.

"We need more time" Yensin's eyes looked up at you. Your eyes widening as it appeared you knew what he was thinking. Before you could protest, he quickly faced Tony. "Hey... I'm gonna go and buy you some time."

Tony's expression finally changed from calm to worried, his eyes shining with fear. "Stick to the plan!"

Ignoring Tony's shouts, Yensin approached you, placing a gentle hand upon your shoulder. "Everything's going to be alright-"

"Stick to the plan!" you protested.

But Yensin only flashed you a half smile, before running towards the exit. Picking up a gun from the floor, who onced belonged to the fallen individuals. Yensin ran into the rocky tunnel, aimlessly firing the weapon into the air, his yelling voice bouncing off the cave walls.

Turning his attention onto you, Tony saw you standing beside the table. Your gaze still staring in the direction of Yensin.

"Y/N. Y/N, look at me." Despite hearing the slight worry and concern hidden within his tone. Tony tried to continue speaking in his calm and collected voice. He had to call your name two more times, to finally grab hold of your undivided attention.

"I know what you're contemplating about, don't do it. I need you here, my darling. I need you to stick to the plan."

The echoing of running, yelling voices and gunshots stole you attention again. Causing your heart to race a little more within your chest, as you realized the sounds where coming closer. Reality soon snapped you out of your frozen state of mind, as you quickly approached Tony's side. Tightening up a few bolts, before hiding behind him...

Peeping over Tony's shoulder, you held your breath, as you watched three heavy armed men enter the cave. Their fearful and questioning eyes looking at the large metal doors upon the floor, witnessing the damage that Tony's homemade bomb caused. One of them carefully stumbled forward, bravely walking a little further in front of the others. The dimly lit lights within the cave shined a weak glow, nearly the whole area you've been living in being reduced the stuttle darkness.

You quickly ducked back behind Tony's still posture, as the man scanned around his surroundings with a small torch. His eyes finally falling onto the iron suit which enclosed Tony, all you could see was the individual's eyes widen in shock, before Tony harshly wacked him. Causing the unsuspected man to fly backwards, his comrades quickly opened fire.

Flashes from the guns firing aimlessly lit up small portions of the cave. Bullets flying into the rocky walls and ceilings, ricocheting off the dodgy tables and chairs. Causing papers to fly everywhere, and leaving dents into the off cuts of odd bits of scrap metal.

The gunfire only lasted for a few quick moments, before hearing the clicks of an empty barrel. Being untied from the frame which held him, and finally being able to move, Tony approached the men with thundering feet and knocking them to the ground.

"Grab one of their guns! Stay behind me!"

As I grabbed the riffle from the ground, more gunfire ahead of the rocky tunnel within the cave erupted. More bullets ricochet off Tony's iron suit, acting as a perfect human shield as he marched forward. With me blindly aiming the weapon in hand, returning the gunfire at our captures.

Our yelling voices being drowned out by the chaos. One foolishly ran towards Tony, firing his weapon blindly in multiple directions, but only to be swiftly taken out by a swing of Tony's fist. The rest quickly scampered to their feet, running further up the rocky tunnel which lead to our exit. I staid behind Tony, trying to steady my nerves the best I can, as I returned the open fire. Only stopping to pick up another weapon from the ground, once the barrel was empty. Just for me to continue the gory onsort.

Half way through the tunnel, the retreating men begun to push two heavy metal doors close. Trapping one of their comrades with us, but also blocking our path.

Tony slowly stopped, as the individual yelled in a foreign language and attempting to prize the doors open by scratching at the surface. Carefully stepping to the side, aiming the barrel of the gun at the individual's head.

"Save your bullets." Tony calmly spoke. "Plus, we need a little more force to open the door."

Retreating back to my previous position behind Tony, he shoved the man out of the way. Leaving him to cower upon the floor, while Tony pushed the closing of the doors. With the combined weight of the iron suit, you'd think that it slowed down his movements- indeed it did, but only to a certain point. Tony was still able to land pretty heavy and harsh hits upon the door, my wide eyed stare watched speechlessly as the metal of the door slowly buckled and bent under Tony's will.

With a few more heavy hits, the metal doors came flying off their hinges. The men began to run further up the tunnel, continuing their yells and shouts. Aimlessly opening fire at anything in our direction. As I opened fire on our captors, within my peripheral vision. Tony's attempt of backhanding someone caught my attention, but his swing was blindly swung, causing him to get his arm stuck in a small chunk of the cave wall.

I called out to him, over the sound of bullets and voices. But they drowned me out, leaving me no option to open fire at the individual that tried to carefully move towards an unsuspected Tony. The billionaire only caught the last moments, of the man falling to his knees as my bullet pierced his skull.

"Nice shot!-"

"Watch out next time-"

I didn't need to see his cocky smile., beneath that helmet. I could hear it within his voice.

Acknowledging our next move with a simple nod, Tony and I pressed onwards. The hint of the dry desert air filled me with hope, knowing we were so close to coming to the end of this God-forsaken underground prison.

As we turned the corner, the heat of the sun shined into the mouth of the cave. Revealing the sight of Yensin, slouching against bags of sand and dirt. Blood stained his once friendly face, as opened wounds marked his skin.

"Yensin!-"

"Watch out!-" I could barely hear his warning, as pain struggled his vocal cords.

"Y/N!" Tony pulled me backwards, as an miniature rocket came flying towards us. Tony quickly pulled me close against him, shielding me from the blast, as he raised his right arm returning the shot at a pissed off Razar.

Razar's body ragdolled against the cave wall behind him, as I pushed myself away from Tony's embrace. Running towards a fatally wounded Yensin.

"Y.N... Stark..."

My eyes ran over his body, it seemed like blood was coming from everywhere. Staining his trousers and shirt, a mixture of deep and surface wounds littered his hands and throat. I poorly attempted to pull a weak smile, gently placing my weapon to the ground at Yensin's feet. As my trembling hands cupped his face.

"Come on, we gotta go."

Tony's heavy, clangy footsteps thundered over to my side.

"Move for me. Come on. We got a plan, we're gonna stick to it." Tony said, as he lifted up the faceplate of his helmet.

I speechless nodded, as my hands left Yensin's face and reached for his bloody hand. Trying to gently pull him back up onto his feet.

"This was always the plan..." his voice was shallow and quiet.

Hearing the pain within his voice brang tears to the corners of my eyes.

"No" my voice protested. "Like Tony said! We have a plan, come on! Let's go-"

"She's right. You gotta get up and see your family. Come on, Yensin. You can do it."

"M-My family... is dead..." Yensin struggled to breath his words. "I'm going to see them now, Stark...It's ok..."

I tried to fight the tears in my eyes, as Yensin's weak yet gentle gaze. "It's ok..."

But we promised! I screamed in my thoughts. We promised to leave together!

"I can't leave you..." my voice almost cracked as I choked on my words. "You can't expect me to leave you, not here. Not in a place like this. I owe you so much! You can't go Yensin." I cradled his hand against my cheek.

"You owe me nothing, Y/N... knowing you and Stark has made my life meaningful... it's ok my dear, I want this..."

His watery gaze met Tony's once again.

"Thank you for saving me. Thank you for saving us." Tony's gentle voice thanked.

"Don't... Don't waste your life, Stark... You and Y/N, don't waste your lifes."

Tears streamed down my cheek, as the light in Yensin's eyes began to slowly dim. Placing his hands onto his chest, I felt the last shallow breath of lungs. My heart sank as I watched his eyes roll shut, and Yensin's body go limp...

He was with his family now...

"Come on..." Tony's voice gently tugged for my attention. His hand rest upon my shoulder, "we gotta move. There's still quite a long road ahead of us... it's not over yet."

[deputygonebye]

@divinityrisen || Continued from here.

Born from a breakfast of stale pizza, what was once frozen inside of a grocery fridge and then discovered within an abandoned homestead, barely warmed when left over muted flame, the vomit that Glenn spilled was unnatural. Diluted from the few sips of water he was able to drink - a communal container that was less than a gallon, not enough to go around the camp - a mangled mess of white and red, flecks of green and globs of brown. Drenched in sweat, little comfort was found in the cushion of grass beneath the knees, Glenn hunched over nearest the weeds, an empty stomach made more so. Shaking, skin turned to an odd shade of pale, eyes watered and dark. A vision that brought about thoughts so terrible; the phantom of death, the fight that couldn't be beaten. Modern medicine and miracles damned, stock was nothing more than the promise of Aspirin and burn cream, stashed in the only cabinet of Dale's RV not hung to the wall by hopes and used duct tape. Small relief, modest to the agony so felt by Glenn, last seen covered head to toe in spare blankets, his lawn chair before the firepit a mediocre throne, Shane couldn't stand it.

Blade and gun carried, favored pistol holstered to his hip, he went off in search. For the sake of Glenn and the others, the need of their stock to be replenished and the promise of having more than not. A supply run that would be done alone - a burden carried unattended, sacrifice from the soldier onto his people, the family and friends who depended upon him. An entire world and more placed on tired shoulders. Better to have he than they, the rest of the group who survived Atlanta considered safe. Sheltered from the misery, if only for the bit of daylight that remained, the Walkers at rest for their hunt. Lost in the sleep that didn't need for the eyes to shut; the slow limp from span of time into the next, the endless cycle that was life forever. Storms within their irises, colors once so bright now dull, only those that didn't travel in packs would be found. Lone wolves; corpses without their hordes, snapping and biting into the open air, the flies that buzzed about or the birds that fluttered too close, banished even in demise.

Familiar road walked along, Shane continued until he came to face the carcass of a once thriving town. A skeleton that stood unmoved - doors and glass windows caved in - wood splintered, concrete busted, flower pots turned over and the beautiful buds trampled, petals scattered and ripped. Where kinfolk used to abide, cuddled close beside the fireplace in the living room, the grocery store just around the corner or the library only a block away. Heart and soul nestled beyond the city lights, the glamour and the frills, before a small market did Shane end. Fliers still plastered to the front door - opening and closing hours, special deals and coupons - tarnished by the elements, the faint sign of hands and nails that fought to get inside, dried blood and grime stained. Fingers to the handle about to pull, the sound of a crash stopped Shane in an instant, made him noiseless, breath stalled from the nose and released in stiff stream. All senses attuned, voices overheard gave cause for the quickness of his feet. A dash toward a used car lot, across the street from the quaint and humble market, behind the bumper of an old Jeep Patriot, billet silver in the body, total black in the tires.

Pistol taken into hold, a blur of blonde hair and scared expression captured Shane's attention the second it passed him. Waves of gold that moved to the strength of the wind, the thump of feet onto pavement and desire to be unseen. Panicked, annoyance outlined in the lines of her features, young but made older due to circumstance, her own weapon grabbed for with intention so well understood. Unprepared to welcome final moments, stubborn to accept fate, the hand not stationed to his gun was raised by Shane. Palm brought up, to the skies and all the angels above, defensive and in the tone of surrender. A flag of white waved in the breeze. Under the oath of his own choosing, vow that was far from what was so screamed by others, men of elder and youth alike.

Shane whispered, pitched at the end, the silence so loud. "Am I right to assume you ain't with them?"

Startled from the echo of gunshots, the reverb of slugs, the grind of jagged shale underfoot, Shane steadied himself, propped his stance.

"Listen to me, I ain't gonna hurt you, okay? But if you wanna make it out alive, you're gonna have to trust me. Start comin' to me this way, real slow. Keep your weight even - don't run. Come to the other side of me and stay down until I say so. I'll cover you. Bastards, they must've flanked every exit of this damn lot!"

Shane encouraged, a command rather than something sweeter, tender but roughly shared, "hey! Come on. Get over here!"

[morganaspendragonss]

turn to dust all that i adore

whoops it’s a 2b spec fic based on two seconds in a promo love that

title from things we lost in the fire by bastille

ao3 | 2.3k | 2b spoilers

The fire continues raging whenever TK closes his eyes, and he doesn’t know if it’s better or worse than the sight that greets him when his eyes are open. He wishes he could wipe that awful night from his memory completely and go back to where they were just a few days ago, happy and safe and in their home. They don’t even have that anymore, the house little more than ash, and TK would be okay with that - they could rebuild from that - if Carlos weren’t so silent and still in front of him. 

The fire was three days ago; TK hasn’t seen Carlos awake in four. He’d been in the middle of a 24-hour shift when the call came through, bickering with Nancy about the merits of various sitcoms, Captain Vega probably rolling her eyes in the back as they returned to the station. 

Nancy had quietly offered to drive when they found out the address, but TK had shaken his head. His hands were tight on the steering wheel, and he’d pressed down a little harder than necessary on the accelerator, praying he’d be able to get there fast enough. The house was a lost cause, if what dispatch said was true, but if he could save Carlos, then that would be enough.

He’d failed - of course he had. An explosion had ripped through the building just as they’d pulled up, the glass shattering as flames leapt from their bedroom window. TK had felt a cold dread settle inside him, and his worst fears had been confirmed when the team emerged with Carlos limp in their arms.

He’s alive, but the damage had been done. Too much smoke inhalation and multiple horrific burns left him hanging by a thread; it’s a miracle, really, that the heart monitor is still beeping out a steady rhythm. TK can’t be thankful, though, not when he knows everything could turn on its head in an instant. Not when they’ve already lost so much.

A soft knock on the door grabs TK’s attention. He looks up to see his dad standing there, a sad smile on his face and a plastic-wrapped sandwich in hand. TK twists his face into a grimace and returns to watching the bed.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Son -”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You’ve been saying that for days,” his dad points out, walking over and pointedly laying the sandwich in TK’s lap. “Starving yourself isn’t going to make him wake up any faster.”

TK barely spares the sandwich a cursory glance. “Nor is forcing myself to eat.”

His dad sighs, crossing the room and grabbing the extra chair. He sets it down next to TK’s and, though he doesn’t look, TK knows he’s being subjected to one of his ‘dad looks’.

“TK, you’ve barely left the hospital since it happened,” he says. “I know it’s hard right now, but you can always come back and stay with me. You still have a home.”

“Not without him, I don’t.”

He hears his dad’s sharp intake of breath, feels his hand running through his hair, but TK’s detached from it all. He studies Carlos’s face, every part familiar to him, but so strange and foreign now. Carlos has never been a restless sleeper - that’s all TK - but there’s usually some movement. A crease appearing between his brows as his face scrunches up, his muscles shifting as he pulls TK closer, his nose gently nuzzling the back of TK’s neck. This still version of him isn’t Carlos. This isn’t the man TK loves.

But it’s close as he’s going to get until Carlos comes back to him, and TK can’t stand the thought of leaving him. In all the months they’ve been dating, they’ve rarely spent a night apart, and most of those were either on shift or still in their bed, with a pillow that smelt like the other and the promise of seeing each other again soon. Going back to his dad’s house would only be bearable if Carlos were with him, but that’s not possible, so neither is leaving.

“TK, I -”

“If you’re just here to give me this,” he interrupts, waving the sandwich in his dad’s direction, “then, thanks, but you should probably go now. His parents are coming in a bit and the hospital barely lets three of us be in here as it is.”

His dad recoils, wounded, but doesn’t budge, much to TK’s irritation. He’s really not in the mood for any more meaningless talk or thinly veiled attempts to get him to eat or sleep.

“Dad, please.”

“I was contacted by the PD this morning,” his dad says instead. TK’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “They found out what caused the fire.”

TK waits, but his dad suddenly becomes very reticent, his eyes flicking between TK and the bed. Clearly, this wasn’t something as simple as the electrics blowing or the washing machine malfunctioning; it’s worse, and TK’s breath seems to stick in his lungs.

“Dad?” he croaks.

Their eyes finally meet, his dad’s face arranged into a sympathetic grimace. “It was arson.”

Time stops.

“What?” TK breathes, shaking his head. Arson. Someone burned their home down and almost killed Carlos, on purpose. And for what? To kill them? The only reason TK wasn’t caught up in it too, after all, is because he was fortunate enough to be on shift that night. “Do they know who?”

“I’m sorry,” his dad says, voice full of regret. “It’s been happening all over the city, no leads so far.”

TK sits back in his chair, a white-hot spark of anger flashing through him as he once more takes in the many bandages on Carlos’s body. He wonders if this was how Judd felt those weeks ago when he found out the guy who’d run them off the bridge was also in the hospital, because TK would very much like to go out and find the people who did this. He wants them to pay for what they’ve done to the love of his life.

As is sensing where his mind has gone, his dad starts rubbing gentle circles on his back, though it doesn’t calm TK like it usually does.

“I think I’ll stay here until his parents show up,” he says. “If that’s alright?”

It’s a non-question; his tone makes it clear that he’s not going anywhere no matter what, but TK doesn’t have it in him to put up even a token argument. He simply nods wearily, and settles in for another day of waiting - another day without his boyfriend’s comforting presence at his side.

*

A week after the fire, he’s told he can go back to the house, if he wants. He doesn’t, really, but he goes anyway, knowing that Carlos will have questions when he wakes up, and maybe he’ll be able to salvage something.

Probably not, but it’s never been the stuff that’s mattered to him. It’s been what the loss of it all represents, the memories that now exist only in his head and in the ashes.

TK stares up at the blackened husk of their home, something keeping him rooted in the middle of the street. Police tape is still up and there’s an officer waiting to escort him in when he’s ready, but TK just… He doesn’t know if he can do this.

“TK?”

He jumps at the unexpected voice, turning to see Carlos’s neighbour from two doors down, Molly, her daughter trailing behind her. TK doesn’t know many of the people around here, but Molly and her husband are often to be found playing with Lilia on the porch, and they always make a point of greeting them. Carlos has even babysat for them a few times, though TK’s rarely there for that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” she says, smiling apologetically. “How are you doing?”

He shrugs. “I’m okay,” he replies, and Molly seems to understand what that really means. “Carlos is still in hospital, but we’re, um. We’re hoping he’ll wake up soon.”

She nods, glancing at the house. “It’s terrible, what happened. You’ve got somewhere to stay, right?”

“I’ve only just moved out of my dad’s place, so I’ll just go back there while we figure something out. Guess he’ll be glad we don’t have to transport all my stuff this time.”

The joke is hollow, and Molly’s face twists in sympathy. “Well, if you need anything, we’re happy to help out however we can. Carlos has always been good to us - to everyone here - and we hate that you’re going through this now. Send him our love, okay?”

TK gives her a small smile, nodding. He’s about to excuse himself to finally go inside, when Lilia tugs at her mother’s hand, whispering something in her ear when Molly leans down. 

“We were baking when we saw you pull up,” Molly explains, straightening. “Lilia insisted on bringing these out to you, didn’t you, Lils?”

Lilia beams up at him when TK looks over to her, thrusting a small tupperware in his general direction. “Cookies!” she exclaims, by way of explanation.

TK chuckles and squats so he’s at her height, taking the box from her. She’s watching him expectantly, so he takes a cookie - clumsily decorated with mountains of sprinkles - and pops it in his mouth, making a show of enjoying it.

“My compliments to the chef,” he says, licking his lips playfully. Lilia giggles, then, without warning, throws her arms around him, the force of it almost sending him on his ass. Molly gasps and reaches to pull her daughter away, but TK shakes his head at her, mouthing an, It’s okay.

Steadying himself, he gently wraps his arms around Lilia’s back, allowing her to bury her face in the crook of his neck as she attempts to squeeze him within an inch of his life. It’s enough to pull a real smile out of him, though tears also spring to his eyes, a sudden emotion overwhelming him. He brushes them away hastily when Lilia unwraps herself from him, but it’s clear that Molly noticed, judging by the sad smile on her face.

“I hope Mr Carlos gets better soon,” Lilia says, her voice earnest in a way only a five-year old’s can be. 

TK nods. “Me too.”

“He gave me sweets.”

A laugh bursts out of him at the sudden comment. TK leans close to her, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Shall I tell you a secret? He gave me sweets as well.”

Lilia gasps as though she’s heard something incredibly scandalous. TK laughs again, before standing back up and turning to Molly, who’s been watching the two of them with clear amusement.

“Thank you,” he tells her. “For coming out and talking, and for the cookies.”

“It’s the least we could do,” she says, waving him off. “Like I said, let us know if you need anything, even if it’s just to talk. We’ll be there.”

TK thanks her again, waving at them both as they head back inside. He turns to his and Carlos’s place, then takes a deep, shaky breath.

He can do this.

*

Inside is much as he expects. The worst of the rubble has been cleared, but there’s still some detritus lying around, including a few of their things. TK stoops and carefully retrieves a framed photo from the floor, wiping the dust off the cracked glass. The picture inside is barely recognisable, the colours warped, but he knows the image like the back of his hand - a candid of him and Carlos taken by Marjan during one of their hangs. She’d caught Carlos mid-laugh, a grin plastered on TK’s own face as they’d stared into each others’ eyes.

Marjan had grumbled about how frustratingly lovesick they both were, but the photo quickly became one of TK’s favourites, and it had made its way into a frame less than a week later. TK’s heart aches at the sight of it ruined; he can always print another as it’s still saved on his phone, but it still hurts. Everything does, right now.

As he gazes around the space, eyes catching on mementos and remembering how it all used to look, TK is struck by how much this place had felt like home. He’s only been officially living here for a month, but it’s been theirs for far longer than that, TK’s stuff worming its way in among Carlos’s until it became natural to see two pairs of shoes by the door, two sets of keys in the bowl. 

This was theirs, and now it’s nothing.

He drops the photo frame on his way out the door, not sparing a look back as he walks away.

*

He gets the call halfway back to the hospital and TK forgets all about speed limits as he races the rest of the way. He sprints through the corridors, the path to Carlos’s room learned by heart, and skids to a stop in the doorway, his eyes filling with tears at the sight before him.

Carlos, awake and smiling and alive.

TK lets out a sob, his hand flying to his mouth. Carlos turns, his smile widening when he catches sight of him, and he wordlessly lifts his palm up in invitation.

And who is TK to refuse it?

“Hi, baby,” he gasps, before kissing his boyfriend, palms framing Carlos’s face. Carlos’s hands come up to clutch at his wrists, and TK presses their foreheads together, silently revelling in this moment.

There’s a long road still ahead of them - Carlos needs to heal, and they’ll have to do so much to get back on their feet - but he can’t care about that right now. Being here, right now, with Carlos’s warm touch stroking over his skin, is all TK needs.

Carlos came back to him, and that’s the only thing that matters.

[notquitetwilight]

THE CULLANOS: A TASTE OF BOSTON, PART ONE

The Cullanos head to Boston to take care of some business.

“Well?” Carlisle Cullano asked his wife from across the table. “How does Boston pizza compare to Jersey pizza?”

“It doesn’t,” Esme answered her husband automatically. “Especially not ours.”

“Typical Jersey girl,” he smirked. He looked to their daughter beside her. “Rosie?”

Rosalie wrinkled her nose, looking up at him from the slice she was chewing on. “It’s too thick. I don’t like it. But then again, Jersey pizza doesn’t compare to New York pizza, either.”

Esme gave a deep sigh and threw her daughter a look. “Really?”

“What? You know I’ll always be a Manhattanite.”

“You were born in Jersey City Med,” Esme pointedly reminded her.

“Where I was abandoned,” Rose said slowly. “…To be raised in Manhattan.”

“You weren’t abandoned at the hospital,” Carlisle countered.

“She wasn’t abandoned at all!” Esme hissed before he could continue. “How many times do we have to go through this?”

“I know, I know, you were just kids, younger than I am now,” Rose waved the hand that wasn’t holding a pizza slice dismissively. “I’m over it. But I don’t know why you always get mad at me for saying I’m a New Yorker when you’re the ones who chose not to raise me in Jersey. Well, chose not to raise me at all.”

A tense silence fell over them. Rose lowered her eyes to the table of their booth as she continued chewing. Esme glowered out the window, her jaw clenched. Carlisle nudged his foot against her leg in an attempt to comfort her, but she ignored him.

It was a little over a year since the couple had gotten their daughter back. Though she had left her adoptive family and seemed to have settled into their lifestyle, the topic of their lost time together still occasionally raised its head.

The couple had had her at the tender age of 17, unbeknownst to their families. Both of them decided they were too young, too broke and already too involved in the mafia game to raise her themselves. She was adopted by the Hales, a wealthy couple of lawyers who raised her in a Manhattan townhouse and gave her the finest private education New York City had to offer. Carlisle and Esme secretly watched her grow from park benches and the back of school auditoriums. They never interacted with her or allowed her to see them, but watching her grow up safe and happy from a distance filled the void that giving her up had left.

Well, it did, until it didn’t. A year and a half ago, right before the couple finally married, Esme’s sister gave birth to her first child. The family rejoiced in the arrival of the baby boy, with Esme’s mother proudly parading her “first grandchild” around. “Aren’t you jealous, Esme?” Mrs. Platt had asked at the wedding. “You hate it when others have something you don’t.”

“No, mom, I don’t get jealous,” came her answer. Carlisle stifled a laugh at that. The death certificate of his previous wife proved otherwise.

“I always thought you’d be the one to give me my first,” Mrs. Platt continued, causing her daughter to bristle. “But your little sister has beaten you to it.”

Esme’s knuckles went white around the champaign glass she held. “She’s just drunk, baby,” Carlisle muttered in her ear. “Fuggedaboutit.”

But it didn’t matter. Esme’s moods worsened in the weeks that followed as she grieved 17 years’ worth of parenting the daughter they tried to do right by. She stopped parking outside the Hales’ Upper East Side building in hopes of catching a glimpse of the girl, or regularly checking her social media pages for updates on how she was doing. Carlisle knew it had become too difficult for her, particularly when her sister got to be a mother so openly. Mrs. Platt was right; Esme hated going without what others had. And Carlisle could never let her go without.

So one day, he pulled his yellow Alfa Romeo into the garage of the couple’s home and paged Esme to meet him there. “Hey doll,” he greeted her from against the bonnet as she entered and closed the door behind her. “I gotcha somethin’.”

She looked around in confusion. Normally when he asked her to come to the garage it meant he had bought her a new car. “What?” She wondered, but before her husband could respond, she was answered by a chorus of thumping and muffled screaming from the trunk.

“Who’s in there?” Esme asked, bored. Visitors to their home arriving by car trunk wasn’t exactly new. He grinned at her smugly as the thumping continued. “What?” She said again, but he could tell he had piqued her interest. He sauntered over to the trunk and opened it, a flurry of blond immediately lunging at him from inside. Esme instinctively reacted with a raised gun, but as Carlisle restrained the girl, her eyes widened and she lowered her weapon. “Is that…?”

He beamed at her as Rosalie struggled in his arms. Her wrists and ankles were tied, but still she writhed around. Her eyes blazed with a mixture of anger and fear, and duct tape covered her mouth. “Take that thing off of her,” Esme commanded. “I wanna proper look.”

“Hold still or it’ll hurt,” Carlisle told the girl. She stopped wriggling long enough that he could gently remove the tape without ripping her skin. She immediately attempted to bite his hand, but he was too fast. Then came an ear-piercing screech that caused both adults to wince, but Esme was smiling.

“You wait,” Rosalie said once she was finished screaming, her voice hoarse. “Just you wait. If it’s money you want, good luck. You might as well kill me now.”

“She looks just like you,” Esme said as if she hadn’t heard her, though she didn’t take her eyes off the girl. “We knew it already, but up close, it’s crazy. I didn’t get a look-in.”

Rosalie’s face contorted to an expression of both confusion and disgust. “What the fuck…?”

Carlisle laughed at her exaggerated expressiveness; the narrowed eyes, the over-the-top frown, the grimace that caused her cheeks to apple. He had seen Esme pull that face a million times before. “I wouldn’t be so sure,” he told her as they both went back to staring at Rosalie — who was attempting to naw at the rope around her wrists — with the kind of fascination people usually reserved for newborn babies.

“Carl, untie her,” Esme instructed. He gave her a hard look, thinking it was a terrible idea. She arched an eyebrow in response, and he knew better than to argue with her.

“Wait ‘til my father hears about this,” Rose grumbled as he began cutting through the thick rope. That amused him, and he couldn’t help but grin. “What’s so funny?” She demanded.

He shook his head. “Nothin’,” he tried, but he heard Esme giggle and he started laughing again.

Rosalie’s face flushed angrily as she looked wildly from her almost-free hands to Esme and then to Carlisle. “I said, what’s. So. Funny?” She said it slowly and punctuated, as if she thought he was stupid. Esme’s laugh was turning into the loud cackle she gave when she was particularly thrilled. He sniffed with a smile and shook his head again.

Rosalie was then red-faced, her eyes flashing with rage. “What the fuck is so funny, you piece of shit?”

The couple collapsed into full belly-laughs for what had to have been at least a full minute as Rosalie could do nothing but glare. “It’s funny—“ Carlisle started, pausing to try and compose himself. “It’s funny that you said ‘wait ‘til my father hears about this,’ because I am your father.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes, irritated. She clearly thought that was his lame attempt at a joke.

“It’s true, saweetie,” Esme tried to turn her amusement into a sincere-looking smile. “Your our daughter. I’m your mommy! Were you ever told you were adopted?”

“What kind of weirdos are you?” Rosalie mused, her eyes still narrowed. “Don’t normal kidnappers just tie someone up and leave them be ‘til they’re paid ransom or get arrested? What is this, some sort of house-play shit? I saw something about that on TLC once.”

“Look, princess,” Carlisle started, struggling to get the blade through another bit of rope. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but it’s the truth. I didn’t bundle you up in my car for money, or to hurt you. I bundled you up in my car to bring ya home, where you belong. We’ve missed you your whole life, and now that you’re a lil’ older, we’d love to make up for lost time.”

She looked silently from one to the other. Carlisle could see that it would take a while to convince her. She was suspicious, defensive, and unyieldingly stubborn. Just like her parents.

“Whadiya say, kid?” He smiled at her. “Wontcha give your ol’ man a hug?”

The last of the rope snapped and Rosalie immediately punched him so hard in the nose that it made a horrible crack. He held it as she tried getting away, having seemingly forgotten about the rope around her ankles.

The pair of them allowed her to hop around the garage as both exits were locked. Esme handed him a tissue for his bloody nose and they stood side-by-side against the car, watching Rosalie noisily hunt for something she could either free her ankles or hurt them with. It took him a second to realise Esme was quietly crying.

“Don’t worry, doll,” he put a consoling arm around her and pulled her into him. “She’ll come round eventually. She just needs time. And maybe a car, or a pony, or whadevathefuck teen girls are into deeze days. Whadeva it takes, we’ll do it.”

“It’s not that,” Esme swiped at her tears and turned to him. He was surprised to see she was smiling.

“Then what? What is it, baby?”

Esme wiped another tear away as she proudly cried, “she’s got my uppercut!”

Getting the three of them to work as a family unit had been no easy feat. After showing her the paperwork that proved they were her biological parents, the couple brought Rosalie back to her adoptive home the same evening they had taken her from it in an attempt to show her they were no danger. She didn’t tell the Hales about what had happened, instead blaming her broken curfew on losing track of time while at a friend’s house. Carlisle knew that this was more out of anger at them for lying to her her whole life than it was out of loyalty to the Cullanos. The couple returned to watching her, but this time it was on a daily basis, and they made sure she saw them either by waving across the street or approaching her if she was alone. They often arrived with bribes, but she rolled her eyes each time.

“Hi, Rosalieeee,” Esme sung one day, the two of them having waited for her to get home at the corner of her block. “How was school?”

“Get lost,” Rose muttered as she went to walk past them as usual. Carlisle caught her arm, so she begrudgingly came to a halt and rounded on them with a glare. “What? What do you want?”

“I bought us matchin’ Birkins!” Esme said excitedly, unfazed by Rosalie’s attitude. She held up her arms, each hand gripping the handles of a bag.

“I already have expensive bags. I don’t need more. You know what? I already have parents, too.”

“Who had about as much of a hand in raisin’ you as we did,” Carlisle said. “Tell me, Rosie, which nanny was it you used to mistake for your motha?”

She flinched for a second before recovering her steely expression. “I told you not to call me that. You don’t get to give me a nickname. You don’t get to ask me how my day was. You don’t get to wait around for me every single day. Seriously, you’re both stalkers. You’re already breaking the law by seeking me out before I’m 18. Stop before I call the police and report you for harassment.”

“I don’t think you will,” Esme said gently.

“Oh yeah? What makes you so confident?”

“If that’s what you wanted, you’d have done it already.”

There was a pause. Esme took her chance to hand Carlisle a bag, freeing a hand to caress Rosalie’s arm. “Look, sweetheart. All we’re askin’ for is for you to get to know us. If you get to know us, and you decide you want nothin’ to do with us, we’ll walk away, no questions asked.”

Rosalie considered this for a moment, then looked back and forth at the two of them. “You swear?”

Carlisle traced the cross-my-heart motion on his chest. “Hope to die.”

“Promise,” Esme said firmly.

She let out a sigh. “Fine. But how will it work? I can’t just disappear to go live with you. I’m in my senior year, and my parents would have the mayor turn the city upside-down looking for me.”

“Well, they work ‘til late, right? So we’ll start pickin’ you up from school, and get you back before they come home,” Carlisle said.

“No, you can’t pick me up. Friends will see me getting into some random car. Plus, I’ll have homework...studying....that kinda thing.”

“Ahrite-ahrite,” he nodded. “Responsible, I like it. Education is very impawtant.”

Rosalie rolled her eyes again. “Yeah, it seems to have played a huge role in your life.”

“How about we get you a cell that you can use specifically for us?” Esme asked. “And you can call or text us whenever you’re finished with schoolwork? We can take ya out to eat or...well, do whateva you wanna do.”

Rosalie paused again. “Do I get to pick the phone?”

“Of course,” Esme smiled. She had told Carlisle the bribes would pay off eventually.

“What about your...business?” Rosalie asked curiously. They hadn’t explicitly told her what they did, but she was bright enough to guess.

“We do most of our work at night, anyway,” Esme answered.

And so the months that followed were filled with evening family bonding. Rosalie would call or text, they’d go out to eat, do different things around NYC or Jersey City, drop her home, go take care of business, get home either a little before or after dawn, and sleep while she was at school. She seemed to enjoy her time with them; she never said she was happy to continue allowing them to be in her life, but she never again brought up wanting them to leave her alone, either. So they continued the way they were as her 18th birthday drew closer.

One evening, when the family had gone go-karting, Carlisle noticed Rosalie’s ability to drive with extraordinary speed and precision. He decided to test it out in an actual car, just the two of them, and was thrilled to discover this skill was transferable.

“Guess what, baby?” He approached Esme from behind at their kitchen counter the next afternoon, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her shoulder.

“What?” She smiled sleepily as she prepared breakfast, though it was 1pm.

“I think I’ve found us a driver.”

“Really? Who?”

“Rosie.”

She frowned and pulled away so she could properly look him in the face. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Remember how great she was when we went go-kartin’? Well, I brought her to a track last night and she was amazin’. Turns out she’s actually really into cars — kid knows more about ‘em than me!”

“First of all, drivin’ round an empty racetrack at night is very different from drivin’ the streets when you’re fleein’ a scene or bein’ chased,” Esme said, pulling fully out of his arms and heading for the sink. “Second, Rosie’s goin’ to college.”

“Whadiyamean, she’s goin’ to college?”

“I mean what the fuck I said: she’s goin’ to college!”

“We just got the kid back and now you’re gonna send her off to some otha parta the country to go to college?”

She turned back to him with a glare. “The whole reason we left her in the first place was so that she could have a normal life. College is a normal life.”

“Normal life? She was bounced around from nanny to nanny! We didn’t give her a life with normal parents, we gave her human cash cows and babysitters!”

“Well, at least she was safe.”

“We’d never let anyone hurt her.”

“We couldn’t guarantee that. We still can’t. That’s why she should go to college like the rest of her friends.”

“What, because college is so safe for young girls? Have you neva read a newspaper?”

“Don’t tell me about the dangers young women face,” she practically growled.

“She’d be with us,” he said, his tone much softer. “Where else could possibly be safer for her to be than with the two people who’d die for her?”

She stared at the counter for a moment. “Her 18th is comin’ up,” she said slowly. “That’s her opportunity to decide if she wants to come live with us or not. If she does, she does; if she doesn’t, she goes to college like the private-school kid she is should. But I don’t wanna force her like we did last time. If she chooses us, I want it to be because she chooses us.”

“Okay,” Carlisle smiled, then added, “and she will.”

And she did. She turned 18, deciding to finish out the school year where she had always lived. After graduation, she packed her bags, told the Hales she knew the truth and that she was leaving them for good, and came to live in the Cullano house. The Hales were a little persistent in trying to convince her to come back to them, but it was nothing that couldn’t be solved by sending Emmett, the most intimidating-looking member of the crew, over to their house to smash a couple of things up. As Carlisle had envisioned, Rose started driving for the Cullanos and their team, initially just the occasional, stress-free errand here and there. But she found it brought a certain amount of thrill and excitement her life had been missing, and so she worked her way up to riskier jobs. This trip to Boston would be her riskiest job yet.

“Is everyone done?” Carlisle now asked. Esme still had a slice left over while Rosalie sat with nothing but crust in front of her.

“Mmhmm,” Rose answered. Esme mumbled something about being full.

They gathered their things and headed back to the borrowed Bugatti that Emmett had arranged for them. Though Emmett was a Brooklyn boy, Boston was his father’s city, and he had relatives all around it. Relatives that would be more than happy to see the Cullanos through what they planned to do tonight.

Rosalie set the GPS to their hotel. “How many Ivanovs are there, again?”

“Six— well, 4 Ivanovs, a Petrov and a Ryan,” Esme answered from the back.

“Who’s the head?”

“Mmm, Tatiana. Or at least she thinks she is,” Esme smiled.

“Is she the one who...did she kill Emmett’s dad?” Rosalie met Esme’s eyes in the rear view mirror. She had developed a bit of a soft spot for Emmett over her time with them.

“No,” Carlisle answered instead. “That was Katarina and Garrett.”

“Garrett doesn’t sound very Russian.”

“Garrett is the Ryan. Irish mob, like Emmett’s dad,” Carlisle said.

“They worked together ‘til he fell for Katarina,” Esme added. “So it was a real blow when the two of them killed him. A big betrayal.”

“Then how come no one’s taken them out yet?”

“They’re powerful. Ruthless. Batshit crazy,” Carlisle said.

“Look who’s talking,” Rose said with a slight smile.

“That’s why Emmett’s mother left here and raised him in Brooklyn,” Esme said. “That’s where she grew up, so she knew she’d be safe. The Ivanovs have people everywhere around Boston. And with a target on the back of every McCarthy, stayin’ woulda been a death sentence.”

Rosalie frowned then. “If they’re that bad, what are we doing here? There’s three of us— two, technically, since I’m just the wheels. Those don’t seem like very good odds.”

“There’s also Alice, virtually,” Carlisle reminded. “She’ll be there behind every camera to tell us what we’re dealin’ with.”

“Cool, so she can say, ‘hey guys, you’re about to die’ right before we die. Helpful.”

“It is helpful,” Esme said. “Even the shortest of warnin’s can buy you just enough time to save your life.”

“Besides, we’re not plannin’ a massacre,” Carlisle said. “I’m expectin’ only one to be there. We hit ‘em, we go. Then we’re even for how they fucked us over with the Kiev deal they were supposed to facilitate.”

“So it’s...a blind hit? It doesn’t matter who you get, as long as you get one of them?”

Carlisle nodded. “But it would be...convenient, if it was Tatiana.”

Once they got back to the hotel, they freshened up and changed. The couple pulled out the stuffed bags Emmett had also organised for them. They took only what they needed, a couple of guns and knives each, and shoved the rest back under the bed.

“Don’t forget my favourite,” Carlisle smirked, waving Esme’s thigh holsters in the air.

“Never,” she said, holding up two pistols that were identical to her favourites back home. “Put them on for me?”

He knelt down, lifted up her skirt and strapped one around her right thigh. Then he moved to her left as she slotted her gun into it. After buckling the left one, he ran his hand down her inner thigh, causing her to giggle. Rosalie burst through the door of their adjoining rooms and froze as she registered them, her face immediately screwing up in disgust.

“Oh, for shit’s sake,” she said. “Get a room.”

“This is our room,” Carlisle pointed out.

She rolled her eyes. “Why aren’t you in all-black?”

She was wearing head-to-toe black like they taught her, as she always did. Carlisle was dressed like an office worker from Mad Men, while Esme looked like a housewife from the 50s. Neither of them said anything.

“This isn’t one of your weird sex things, is it? Like, you can’t possibly get off on killing people together?”

The silence continued. “Ugh, don’t answer that.”

They made their way down to the car and Rosalie silently drove them to a street two blocks down from the address they’d given her. As the pair got ready, she drummed her fingers against the wheel.

“You scared?” Carlisle asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“No,” she said, a little too forcefully.

Esme leaned forward into the gap between the two front seats and put a hand under Rosalie’s chin, directing her so she could look at her intently. “Remember the plan. Stay inside the car at all times. Stay put here, lights off, engine off. Only turn it on when you see us. Or when you see people who aren’t us carryin’ guns. If that happens, you drive and you drive and you don’t ever stop. Same goes if we’re gone past, mmm, a half hour. Forty minutes, tops. There’s a loaded gun in the glovebox if you need it. Got it?” Rosalie nodded. “Good.”

“Stay safe, princess,” Carlisle kissed her on the cheek, opening his door. “Love ya.”

He closed the door and Esme took her hand and squeezed it. “Everything will be fine. But in case it isn’t, you know what to do. I love you, sweetheart.”

She nodded wordlessly again. She never said it back; it was probably still too weird for her. But she swallowed tightly. Esme brought the hand she held onto up to her lips and kissed her knuckles. She then let go and opened the door.

“Esme?” Rose choked out just as she was about to close it.

“Yeah, honey?”

“Come back to me, like you did before.”

Now Esme was the one who could do nothing but nod. And with that, she closed the door, and the couple walked off into the night.

[wendystales]

Memories - lrh (Chapter Twelve)

Memories (also on Wattpad)

Chapter Eleven ※※※※※ Chapter Thirteen

I approach my boyfriend seeing him completely tense. The long, callused fingers from the guitar strings tightening in distress. His eyes didn't know where to look, staring into the spotlight like they were monsters from his childhood.

The thick brown coat was a few sizes too big for him, but he's still beautiful all the same. On the eyelids, a black eye shadow ending with a pink tip gave it a charm. The lip balm seemed to bring out the color of his lips, making me restless to kiss him.

“I don't know if it was a good idea.” Luke, let out all the air as I wrap my arms around his neck.

“It was a great idea! You look awesome.” I bite my lip, controlling the urge to take him into a room and do various indecent things. “Just relax and enjoy. As in a play.” I advise him, trying to calm him down."

Ever since the invitation for him to be the face of this perfume had arrived, I was bursting with pride and anticipation to see him doing his photo shoot, following something completely different from the band.

"Don't you think it's too exaggerated?" he asks, unsure of the look. I hold his face in my hands, touching our foreheads. I allow myself to drown in his blue eyes.

“You look handsome.” I say slowly, so he can record my words well. “Now, let's get this quick, because seeing you like this is making me very excited and I don't know how long I can take it.” I sigh, uneasy. Hemmo gives a nice laugh. Glad to see him more relaxed.

Watch out when the photographer yells for them to start. I give my boyfriend a little kiss, ready to pull away, but Luke holds me in his arms still.

“I love you!” he whispers, like a secret.

“I love you!” I give him a little kiss on the tip of his nose. "Anything just scream, I'll be right there." I blink at him.

I take a few steps back, not taking my eyes off his. So as not to bump into anything and make a mess of his work, I turn around, running behind the spotlights and flashbulbs.

I watched the photo shoot totally proud and delighted. Little by little Luke was loosening up and having fun. I don't wipe the smile off my lips, so every time he looks at me, he smiles more.

Nearly three hours later, my excitement was already making me irritated that photo shoot wasn't over and I feel like I lost all control when in the last costume, where Luke rips the white blouse. I hold my breath, staring at the ceiling, wondering how I'm going to make it home and calculating which is closest.

~.~.~.~.~

We left the elevator hand in hand and in hurried steps, we weren't running, but whoever passed us realized we were in a hurry. I squeeze his hand seeing the door with the number 609.

"Thank God." I comment euphoric as Luke opens the door.

He walks in and pulls me to his chest. His hand tangles in the hairs on the back of my neck, enveloping us in a desperate kiss. Urgently, I open the buttons on his shirt, feeling his other hand find my ass, squeezing hard.

I force the fabric to slide down his arms, enjoying the texture of his warm skin. The tequila flavor still inhabits our mouths, which makes the kiss better, plus the soft touch of his lips pressed against mine.

I roll my eyes as his beard scrapes my neck, along with his hot mouth, giving me goose bumps.

“The door.” I say with difficulty, noticing it ajar.

Together, we staggered back a few steps, closing it. Without much patience and with a lot of desire, we ended up staying there. Hemmings presses me against the wood, pulling me into his lap. I scratch the back of his neck when I feel his erection against me, releasing the electricity that seems to rush through my body.

It was amazing how seeing him on stage, with those tight pants and silk shirts moving me. Honestly, he can wear anything, and at the end of the day I'll be falling for him. Not to mention the eyes full of glitter. He had me in the palm of his hands like that. So beautiful. So magnificent.

Luke always knew this look messed with my hormones and destroyed my self-control, and in the end it always ended up like that, having sex, because I couldn't help myself.

Of course, the drink has a big weight in this, but I'm not going to take our blame for this story, after all, we teased each other from the moment we stepped into that dressing room.

The desperation and excitement is such that we reach our first orgasm right there, against the door. No foreplay, no undressing completely, and not caring if anyone passing in the hallway heard anything.

It was something far above lust or desire. Despair to feel our skins against each other. Taste and touch. That feeling of feeling incredible, loved, wanted, as if the only chance to stay alive was there inside of us.

I wake up in a jump. My heart pounded, causing pain. My body seemed to boil, prompting me to kick the covers off quickly. The fresh memory of the dream causes shivers. The way I felt his touch, all those sensations and reactions my body gave.

I lie down on the bed again, wanting to calm down and not think too much about the dream, or what else seemed like, memories. I don't know how to handle it, these are the first sexual memories I have with him. My God, how am I going to look at Luke now?

I pick up my phone, which poin just over an hour earlier than I planned to wake up. Since I know I won't be able to get back to sleep anymore, so I start getting ready for today's meeting.

I decide to have breakfast first and once again review my past contract to get a sense of what will be discussed. Between one paragraph and another, I browse my social networks seeing what's going on.

Without being impressed anymore, I watch a little video or two that some fans make about Hemmo and me. Slightly, I melt at the way we look and smile at each other.

I go back to my room, and head for a shower. I hope that water takes those memories from earlier today down the drain, but the steam seems to open more fields in my brain.

I close my eyes, feeling various parts of my body tingle, as if he's there, touching me, holding me. My breath heaves and my belly tightens. What the fuck is going on?

Cheating on me yet again, my brain presents me with the two of us on the floor of that hotel room. In my kitchen. In the car. In some bathroom. Some of the countless times we'd lost ourselves in each other's arms.

The many times I ran my hands over his chest, drawing a new path, as I thought in that hospital hall. The times his mouth wandered over my body, his hands took me with such force and conviction.

The phone ringtone brings me back to reality. I turn off the alarm and hurry my shower. With Noah's guidance, I change into something comfortable and a bucket hat Calum gave me to hide my pink hair.

After a few hours, I find myself analyzing a huge photo of myself at the Hastings agency reception. With Noah, I follow a huge hallway to a conference room, where Mr. Hastings and a lawyer would be waiting for us. The twin next to me has a hard face, which is weird since Noah is always so excited and smiling.

“Marnie, dear! Long time no see! How have you been? Did you receive my basket?” Mr. Hastings question me without waiting for me to walk right into the room.

“Hi! I'm great and yes, I loved the basket, it was very kind.” I squeeze his hand, not knowing quite what to do.

“Hello son!” it's not exactly a warm welcome, but I want to believe it's just because we're in a work environment, dealing with serious matters.

“Hi Dad. Can we start?” my friend guides me to a chair.

During the meeting, Mr. Hastings clarified some news of the new contract. Things like: salary increase, partnership with new brands and the whole process of publicizing the names that already worked with us.

“Closing here, you will go to the closet to take new measurements. These numbers will be sent to the brands that hired you and they will send you clothes for you to use on a daily basis. For example: if you go out with Leah for coffee, you must wear a Louis Vuitton coat, so the photos you take will publicize the coat and well, nowadays young people find everything and want everything you wear. You will get a scale of which brands to use, so it's easier for you.” Mr. Hastings explains by summarizing a contract sheet.

As for photo shoots, until my arm gets better and I can get rid of the cast, I'll be limited to rehearsals on jewelry, makeup, glasses and shoes. On my hair, if the contracting brand determines, I will have to wear a wig.

I keep mentally reading every line of that contract, wondering if I could handle it all. Well, you’ve handle it for the past two years, it shouldn't be that hard.

As determined, after the meeting, Noah walks me to the closet. A huge space where had several clothes and accessories, as in The Devil Wears Prada. My measurements are taken and I get annoyed when the guy who's putting the measuring tape around my waist grumbles that I've put on weight.

The bad thing about being a model is it, this constant imposition of a perfect body. Since the accident, I don't remember seeing anyone on Leah's foot for her to lose weight or keep her body. I always watched her nervous appetite, not caring if it would add to her number on the scale.

Okay that Leah's biotype was skinny and maybe that made things easier for her. But since I understand myself by people, I've always been short and broad hiped and never cared. And even if I erased a few years, I don't think I've changed much.

From the reflection in the mirror, Noah sinalized for me not to care what the guy says, but I think it's kind of difficult. It's not just him talking about my body, it seems like everyone on the internet has an opinion about my weight, especially some Luke fans.

Blocking in my mind, the offensive words that I always end up reading through social media. However, I keep watching my body in the mirror, wondering if it wouldn't be better to lose some weight.

Soon after having my measurements taken, Noah is called to a meeting with his father and a french businessman, leaving me alone. As I wait for the car to arrive, I consider what I can do on my last day off. Everyone is working and I don't want to disturb anyone.

Finally, I decide to go to my mom's office and have lunch with her. I go down at the door of a huge, mirrored building. At the front desk, I ask about her office, getting a badge before I go upstairs.

The frosted glass door holds a huge space, which occupies one/quarter of the eighth floor. The various prints, fabrics, furniture and color palettes create a fun atmosphere, contrasting with the white walls of the place.

"Marnie! Hey!” a woman with curly hair, tied up in a purple turban, approaches with a huge smile.

“Hi.” I reply politely, but having no idea who she is.

“Oh, sorry.” she seems to notice. “I'm Dominique, your mother's partner.” I open a bigger smile, now informed. "Have you come to see her?" she guides me in the office inside.

“Oh yes, I came to have lunch with her.” Dominique smiles broadly and sympathetically.

"She's going to love the surprise. She's just finishing up with a customer. Want something while you wait?”

“Oh no, thanks!”

Dominique walks away, making it clear that anything was just asking, that I was home. I'm amazed at how things evolved for my mom, before she just had a small room away from the center and now she had all this space and staff.

I watch several people go from one place to another, making projects, budgeting, designing furniture and spaces. My mother's laugh brings me back just in time to see her in her office doorway, rosy cheeks, awkwardly in Mr. Marshall's company.

I open a smile finding the scene adorable. I look for Dominique, hoping she hasn't shut up in her office yet, as she might know something about the two of them. I find the brunette, leaning against the reception desk smiling like me.

"Marnie?" I turn quickly, finding Mr. Marshall next to me. “How have you been?” I hug him while my mother stands wide-eyed in the door.

He hadn't changed much. The face that was once smooth now had a very charming gray beard. The hair was still dark.

“I'm great, thanks. It's great to see you.” I keep my smile, finding it all wonderful, unlike my mother.

“I'm sorry about the accident. I would have send you something, but I didn't have your address and it was a little difficult to reach your mother.” he admits sympathetically. Have I told how much I like him?

“No problems. I’m grateful for your consideration and about you have found my mother again. Isn’t, mom?” her gaze at me turns withering. I'm screwed.

“Well, I'm also very happy to have found Debra again.”

I hold the 'awn' who insists on wanting to leave, when he smiles delightedly at my mother. Man, he's so into her.

“Hm, sorry to be rude, but taking advantage of our meeting, I want to invite you to a new restaurant location opening. It will be this Wednesday.”

“Oh, I'm honored. It will be a pleasure. Right, mom?” I watch my mother want to sink into the ground and disappear, and I can't help think how funny is it. "Do you mind if I invite my friends?"

“No! Of course not! Feel free.” he opens a gentle smile. His gaze flies to my mother and there they stare at each other for a few seconds. “Well, I have to go. Debra, thank you so much for the project, it's beautiful. Marnie, it was a pleasure to see you. Until Wednesday.” he hugs me again. With my mother, I notice them without knowing how to say goodbye.

I wait for Mr. Marshall to leave the office to let out the sigh caught in my throat, which my mother doesn't like.

“Stop this!” she slaps me on my back. I walk into her room laughing at the whole past situation.

“My God, you guys are so in love. Why don't you just assume it?” I ask, sitting in the chair across from her desk.

"Because there isn’t nothing to assume. It's a professional relationship.” she replies angrily, setting the table.

“Mom?” I call her, until she looks at me. I raise an eyebrow, emphasizing that I don't believe her.

Her shoulders slump, letting go of the tension. I watch her hide her face in hands after a sigh. Her eyes catch mine and a nasal laugh breaks the silence, then I see her there, shy and unsure, a small smile, which soon opens, reflecting all over her face.

"I don’t have age for this anymore. I mean…” she takes a bunch of flowers from behind the table. “Look at this.”

"Awn." I cover my face, not taking it. “Of course you have agr for this. If my father can find someone and be happy, then of course you can too. Mom, you're young and beautiful, and there's an amazing guy who's into you. He's clearly in love and apparently he's been doing everything he can to demonstrate, you should give him and… you a chance.” I finish in a whisper, touching myself that those words were good for me too.

I replay in my mind everything Luke has been doing, trying to win me back, and I'm glad that, somehow, I giving both of us a chance, even if it's a non date. I let out a laugh at the memory of the invitation, before letting my mind drift back to this morning's memories.

“I think you're right. Maybe on Wednesday, I can talk to him.” her red cheeks make me smile more.

“It's a great idea. How about we discuss this over lunch?” I suggest, listening to my belly come alive.

“Great idea.” she picks up the phone, dialing something.

Since I had nothing to do, I stay until early afternoon with my mother, gossiping about her crush on Mr. Marshall, about my relationship with Luke, about the meeting and our Wednesday night outfit.

Dominique joins us in a few moments, having fun with my passionate and nervous mom.

Around 3pm, Ashton calls, inviting me out for coffee, just him and me, like old times.

“Why can't I go? Do you not love me anymore?” I cover my mouth, stopping the laughter from coming out, when I hear Calum yell..

“Yeah! I can't take you anymore. How am I going to talk bad about you if you're there?” Ash replies.

"You are talking here. What does it matter to talk there? At least that way you buy me coffee.” Calum rebuts. While the couple argue, I listen to the fight, paying attention to the details of the ceiling.

"Are you still arguing? What the fuck is just coffee? Who is so important for all this? The pope?” I hear Luke arrive and realize he doesn't know I'm the guest.

“It's actually Marnie and from my experiences she's very important to some of the people here.” I don't need to see Ash's face to know he's making fun of Luke.

"Can I go?" I bite my lip, holding back the laugh.

“If you let him go and I don't, I'll never look you in the face again.” Calum gives the ultimatum.

“I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm still here and would like the DTR resolved if possible.” I say out loud, hoping it works.

“Sorry, Marnie. Five seconds.” Irwin asks. I think about making a joke with the band's name, but it's better to leave it alone.

"Is she listening?" Luke speaks in amazement. “Why do you…” then everything becomes too muffled and I can't hear.

“Enough! Nobody goes but me. I want to go out with my friend and I will. Marnie was right, I shouldn't have introduced you.” I hear Ash mumble, causing me to laugh. “Give me your address, I'll be there in a few minutes.”

We ended the call and I return to questioning my friendships. Why God? Why?

Sitting at a small table on the sidewalk, Ash and I discuss which coffee to drink. It wasn't very difficult to know that he loves coffee and understands a lot about the subject, which gives me complete confidence in letting him choose which one I should try.

When the cup reaches the table, I taste the drink under his hopeful, curious gaze. I open a smile, approving of my best friend's choice. I hi-five him, celebrating.

"It was the coffee you had the first time we went out together." he comments with a cute smile.

“Awn, Ash!” I can't stand the way they always remember everything. "So, ready to officially become older tomorrow?" I crack a smile, excited about our dinner tomorrow.

“No! I found a white hair this morning.” he grumbles, eliciting a laugh from me.

“I don’t see anything.” I comment, trying to cheer him up.

"I wasn’t talking about my top hair." he comments, drinking his coffee next.

"Ashton!" I reprimand him, covering my eyes, traumatized. “I don't want to think about it. I don't want to think about it.”

I hear his laugh, letting me laugh too. The problem with having intimacy is exactly that, your friends no longer filter out what to say to you.

“So why didn't you bring Cool Guy Cal?” I change the subject.

“Because I spend the whole day with them, I can't stand to look at those disgusting faces anymore.” I laugh, imagining what a mess that studio must be. "And how am I going to speak ill of him with him here?" I complete this last part with him, laughing. “Exactly.”

“And you have something bad to say?” Ash shakes his head.

“No! Cal is an amazing guy.” Boys… “But I wanted to spend time with my best friend. After the accident it was difficult to have time alone. How are you?” I shrug.

"Surviving. It's only been a month and it seems like, I don't know, six. There's still so much I'm discovering.” I look at my coffee thoughtfully as I twirl the spoon in it.

"Finding out what? Your feelings for Luke?” he mocks. I scold him softly, laughing. This is a sensitive subject. "So how was the kiss?" I spit half the hot drink back into the cup.

I look at my friend in full alert. I can't believe Luke told him. We had agreed to wait a while. Irwin kept his smile curious, waiting for my answer.

“I’m sorry…?” he raised his eyebrows and then it hit me. He played and I delivered. "Ashton!" I kick your shin.

“Ouch! You who kiss and I who get beaten?” he rubs his shin, confused.

“How did you find out?” My God, does everyone know already? "Have you told anyone?"

“No! I didn't say anything and I didn't even try it with Luke. But how do you think I wouldn't notice? I've known him for years. He comes down Sunday morning, all smiling, all silly, more than usual. Super in a good mood after a party like that. Hemmings never wakes up in a good mood.”

I take a sip of my coffee, wanting to hide my smile.

“And about you?! You're my best friend! It's easy to see what's going on. Even more after what I already followed the first time. So?” the australian asks curiously, causing me to laugh.

"It was just a kiss. I don't know, it was automatic, and I ended up giving him a little kiss, and he took advantage of the break and kissed me. And I left.” my cheeks heat up as I hold in the sassy smile.

“And what does that mean?” he drops into his chair. I shrug.

“I do not know. I like Luke's company. I really like! He makes me feel safe and so unique. He's fun and so silly.”

"That he is!" Ash comments in a whisper, making me laugh.

“And I like it all, but…” the words don't come out anymore.

“You are afraid.” he completes.

"What if he gets to know me better and he doesn't like this Marnie?" I dry swallow. Ashton grimaces thoughtfully, considering my question.

“Nah!” he shakes his head, dismissing the possibility. “Luke loves you, Marnie. And you know this.” He points a finger at me. I look down, embarrassed. “The only thing left is for you to understand and accept how you feel about him. Of course, in your time, no pressure.” he adds quickly.

My heart speeds up with the direction of the conversation. I organize in my mind all the events that happened between Luke and me. All your discreet and indiscreet advances. All his looks and smiles at me, his shy, goofy way.

On the other side, I put everything that we lived before the accident. Everything I saw and remembered. I stare at Ashton, slumped in his chair, waiting for my answer. I take a deep breath, nodding my head positively.

“I think I already know how I feel about him.”

[enigma-im]

Crocodile Rock

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Lizard Man X Female!Human Warning: sexual drought, minor stalking, kidnapping, sex on a mountain, Oral, monster sex, loss of control, scenting, ovulation

Word count: 3660

A monster prowling the streets of a suburban neighborhood. A girl in a bit of a dry spell is driving him crazy.

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One would think that going most of your life without sex would make going a few months without it easy. I'd imagine the metaphor for food would make sense. If you never had spaghetti before you can't crave it, you can want it but not really desire it. I also just compared sex to spaghetti, I really need to get laid.

I believe the last time I was intimate, not even had sex, with someone was almost a year ago. It is fine for the most part, hardly noticed it till recently. Work has kept me busy so it wasn’t a great loss. Now that I have more free time all I crave is the touch of another. Reading hasn’t done me any favors either. Its been a mess of a time.

As I spiral in the depth of frustration I have been noticing the presence of someone watching me. It was easy to brush off at first but once I started seeing strange things do I become worried. In the morning when I'd walk to my car to go to work id catch a pair of glowing eyes in the woods opposite my house. The first time I assumed it was the neighbors' house lights, boy was I wrong. When I come back home and rechecked I saw there were no lights. Next came the sightings and talk around the area. People caught sight of a huge man walking about. Other added on saying it wasn’t a man but a monster, having scales and sharp teeth. I hardly believed any of that until I caught sight of him when looking at my backyard.

I stood in the kitchen and looked out the window at my poorly kept yard. It desperately needed a trim and grooming. I wonder who will be doing that cause its definitely not me. As I was about to walk away with my fresh cup of cocoa I see a shadow move under the trees. I squint and lean against the sink to get a better look. It was big, that was easy enough to decipher. It stepped over my fence and walked towards the back porch. Once it was close enough, the motion sensors caught it. We both stood frozen after that.

Tall was my immediate thought. Big, hulking, scaled, were my next ones. This… thing… looks like a lizard to simplify things. It was covered in dark green and brown scales and had some spikes coming out the back of its head. Before I could detail more it ran out of the yard and into the dark.

"Well fuck me," I grumble in shock. I didn’t particularly know how else to react after seeing that. Big damn lizard in my yard heading to my back door. It felt like watching one of the lost tape videos on YouTube. That creepy feeling crawling up your spine that may turn into a flight or fight response. I shivered at the time, standing in the kitchen for an uncomfortable amount of time.

It's about two weeks after the incident that I am heading back home from work. The day was harsh and aggravating. Not sure why I scheduled a date for today. Just because its Friday, doesn’t mean I'm not tired. still, my sexual drought hasn’t done much for my growing stress around the mystery in the neighborhood. I think I've caught it out the corner of my eye often after seeing him. Always lurking in the woods like some stalker. It's unnerving but I can't help to an awful fantasy of being watched while gratifying myself at night. I won't lie and say I've never thought about it, opening my windows so the lizard man could catch an eyeful. Of course, I haven't don’t it but I feel its only a matter of time.

I make it home with phantom pains in my stomach. Always around ovulation do I get these little pains, about a 2/10 on the scale but still noticeable. Fingers crossed that my date goes well so I won't have to come home and use the detachable shower head to get some peace. I pull into the driveway and shuffle about collecting all my things in the car. I open up the door as I shove my phone into my pocket. Before I could slam the door shut I hear a loud snap in the woods. It wasn’t like a twig being stepped on but more of a branch being broken. The sound echoes over the mountain and bounces off the trees. The noise sending a chill down my spine.

"ok," I grumble in comfort. I quickly shut the door and speed walk to the front door. As I grab the handle I pause. A crawling feeling runs up my spine. I freeze like a deer caught in headlights. A primal feeling of fright gripping my brain. I can't put my finger on it or even explain the reasoning until a puff of air pushes against the back of my neck. I stop breathing.

Out the corner of my eye, I see a large hand slowly reach out and press against the door. On the other side, I see another hand grab mine and gently take it off the handle. Taking in small gasps of air, I do as it says. The heat of the thing behind me increases as it crowds me to the door. I look up at the glass and try to make out the reflection. I gulp when I realize what it is.

I watch him lean down toward my neck and inhale a greedy breath, letting it out in a pleasing growl. I find myself whimpering right after. His hand still holding mine trails up my arm, stopping at my elbow. Slowly, he traces his nails over to my stomach, flattening his hand to cover almost all of me. He pets his thumb just under my bra and releases another growl.

In a flash, his hand tightens and pulls me back. He grabs me and twists me so he can throw me stomach first over his shoulder. I cough as the breath is punched out of me. We twist and in a dizzying speed, he runs away from my house. My chest bounces against his back as he runs us into the woods. Tree passes us in blurring speed till we stop at a short sharp incline of the mountain. Keeping a strong hold he grips the rock and catapults himself upwards.

He climbs up to a flat space high up over the neighborhood. He walks over to a clear space surrounded by trees, stopping and settling me in the flattened grass. I rest on my back feeling like a dog showing its stomach as I get a good look at him. His features are sharp and aggressive. His eyes are extremely dilated, or his pupils are always that big. His teeth are bared in a snarl and a bit of drool dribbles out the corner of his mouth. I don’t know how to interrupts this, is he going to eat me?

"Please," I whimper while trying to sit up. He growls as he quickly presses his hand to my chest, forcing me back down into the dirt. I follow with minimal complaint, too scared to deny him. The man lowers himself with me, settling on his hand so he can press his face close. Startling me he presses his nose to my neck and sucks in another deep inhale, releasing a deep breath with a rumbling purr. His tongue slithers out and licks up around my collar. I accidentally cry out at the warm press of his mouth. He seems to startle as well, jumping back with a gasp. He looks down at me for a moment before he shakes his head vigorously, seeming to clear his mind.  

I yelp when he grabs at my pants, jerking at them. I jump up but he makes me fall back as he jerks again. Quickly he rips my bottoms down and tosses them aside. His palms glide up over my thighs, parting them as he nears my crotch. I keen in protest, trying to buck away with a flush face. Our eyes meet as he settles on his stomach. He sneers with a growl, gripping my legs tightly in command. Stay still. I settle in panic, resting on my back with a strange mix of anticipation.

His fingers settle in the cleft of my thigh, massaging gently as his breath ghosts over me. I clench my fist to my sides, refusing to look. I yelp when his tongue runs a slow stripe up my crotch. He grunts loudly as his head rest against my pelvis. I feel a dribble of drool splash onto my hip as he shakes his head slowly, perhaps overwhelmed with the experience. Without warning he licks again, dipping inside before sliding his full length up and over my clit. I choke on my breath, clenching my stomach with a white jolt pierces up my spine. He wastes no time going for thirds, taking his time to taste everything he can.

I can't ignore the sharp pulses of arousal drenching over me. I have never cared for slow but he is making it work. Feels like he is worshiping the experience, worshiping me. His tongue invades me and I can't stop the soft moan escaping my lips. He groans along with me, vibrating my thighs as he does. His fingers dig into my skin, no doubt leaving marks. He laps at me like a dog before using his lips to suck on my cunt. The scales on his chin rub over my rear and entrance, the sensation is different but not unwelcomed. I feel myself bucking against him and ignoring any previous protest I had. I let my body enjoy his assaults, even going as far as to watch him.

"Yes, fuck," I sit upon my elbows, my head dropping to my shoulder. His eyes meet mine with an intoxicating amount of enjoyment. Glad we are both on the same page. His eyes roll back as he adjusts his hold, shoving his tongue inside. His fingers then glide around to finger at my clit. "Ah, yes, please," I cry out. I watch as he drinks from me, rolling my hips into him as I near my end. I whimper out pleads, falling back onto my back as I arch into him.

"Please, please, please," I chant. His growls push me over the edge, bucking and squirming into him as I cum. He licks up everything I offer as I dig my fingers into the dirt. My fist ripping up the grass as I cry out.

As I fall he sits up and watches. I roll my head back and forth against the ground, whispering thank you. He is the first person to give me an orgasm in nearly a year. That thought should be sobering but all I can think is, he is kind of cute. For a giant lizard, he did great, better than most, if not all, my exes.

Once I come down I sit up and look at him. He isn't looking up at me, well he is looking down. Motion catches my eye and I look down at his hand wrapped around his cock, and what a cock it is indeed. He is hung like a soda can, thick as all hell. His hand is teasing along his length as he eyes my crotch. He passes a quick glance up at me, his look seems debauched if not predatory. I quirk a brow at him as I try to stray off a smile. I kind of want him inside me, I won't lie. I didn’t imagine I was this desperate for sex but here I lie, ready to plead for him.

I look from him to his crotch, spreading my legs a bit as I lick my lips. This breaks his last strand of control as he grabs at me. He clutches my hips and slides me so his tip rests against my entrance. With no preamble, he bucks forward with a loud growl. Not ready for him to go full hilt I fall back to the dirt with a clenched yelp.

"Jesus," I huff. He takes no time wildly thrusting into me. His hips clapping at mine, leaving my thoughts scattered. Sweet fuck I might die. His cock stretches me like no other. His claws piercing my skin a bit as he slams in and out. Wanting to see what's happening I sit upon my elbows again.

I watch his hips roll, ending with a sharp snap. His stomach muscles pull taunt then flow with his movements. I'm in rapture watching his motions, feeling the effects of his actions. Sitting on my elbows I watch his thick cock pound quickly into me. His cock pulling out swiftly before bucking forward. My face clenches up as I think too much on it, feeling him rub against my walls. I want to look up at him, see what this creature's face looks like when taking me so quick and hard. Yet I can't bring myself to look away from this erotic sight. I hardly notice this keening sound coming from my throat, I also hardly care.

"Fuck, please," I cry as I fall back into the dirt. His grunt and growls echo up the mountain. With a quick squeeze to my hips, he falls forwards on to his hands, hovering over me with a sneer. His bucking picks up pace, slapping against my hips with loud claps. He bares his teeth down at me, his eye nearly clenching shut. The sight is anything but ghastly. His monstrous snarling with his beast-like thrust is all the more arousing.

"Fuck-," I try to whine out a name but nothing comes to mind. The acknowledgment that this beast is using me like a sex toy hits hard. I don’t know anything about him, except how well he can eat a girl out. The taboo of fucking some strange monster in the woods is erotic, like some over the top romance novel. I can't help but squeeze around him with a fluttering of tension. He clenches his eyes close and stutters in his thrust. Soon he falls forward onto his forearms, hanging his head near my neck. I can hear his panting breath and grunts clearer now.

"Heath," I hear him huff out. I lazily swing my head to the side, eyeing him confused. He watches with a side-eye. I can't help but squeeze again when I notice that I'm bouncing with him. "Heath," he growls again.

"Heath," I mumble out around heavy breaths. As he hears me he drops his forehead to the ground and bucks harder into my hips. I choke on a gasp as it feels like his cock is in my stomach. "Fuck, Heath," I growl out between clenched teeth. I find myself reaching out for something sturdy, grabbing at his biceps near my shoulders. As I call his name again he grunts and groans. His noises sound delightful next to my ear. I squeeze around him as I listen, fighting off my nearing peak just to prolong this experience.

I can feel everything. The way the head of his cock leads the way deep inside me. The sensation of his scales rubbing against my hands and thighs. I can feel the air puffing from his heavy panting, brushing my hair slightly. I hold on to every sensation until I can't take it anymore. "Heath, shit- you-… Fuck," I try to speak. My brain seemingly mush as I cry out, hearing my whines echo over the mountains. No doubt startling some of the residences below.

Quickly everything turns white. My hearing becomes a ringing as I suddenly stop screaming. My mouth opens in a silent yell. My insides clench around his impressive length, making him stutter in his thrust. I clench his arms with a vice grip, listening to his short whines as he frantically pounds into me. He takes all he can get before slamming once more. He stills, his breath caught in his throat. I feel his hot load jet into me, coating my insides with his seed. Giving just one final buck we both lay silent. His face buried to my neck and my hands gripping him tightly.

Neither of us moves, still coming back into our own and catching our breaths. I relax my hold and tilt my head back with a content sigh. That was amazing.

Heath startles me by pressing his face to my neck. Licking a short stripe up to my ear. I can feel his chest rumble with a soft purr. His satisfied behavior is pleasing in an almost primal way. I trail my hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and down to his chest. I press my palm to him, feeling his vibrations.

"Jesus, you have been driving me insane all week. I tried taking myself in my hand but it didn’t work, your cunt was the perfect cure," he growls out next to my ear. It's startling, if not embarrassing, to finally hear his voice. Well, hear it in a full sentence anyway.

What he says is still a bit concerning, "I've been driving you crazy?"

"Yes, your scent was too potent. My little sexually frustrated female, practically screaming for my cock," he rubs his nose to my cheek, licking and kissing as he does.

I push his head away while trying to bite down on my smile, "I was not, you big brute." he finally sits up, cocking an eyebrow down at me.

"Right, shall we make a repeat performance than? I will have you begging in the dirt in seconds," his smug face is both charming and annoying.

"Cocky aren't we?"

"Only when I'm right," he grins. He settles back on his forearms, pressing gentle kisses around my face. It’s a strange contrast to his previous domineering actions. Despite my denial, he did have me screaming into the dirt like some kind of whore. I won't lie and say it was unpleasant or unwanted but I will say it would have been nice to know his name beforehand. Not everyone can say that they found out someone's name when it was growled into their ear while that someone's big cock was rearranging their organs. That would be weird if it was a common thing, be concerned about today's way of life if that were the case.

Without warning, Heath grabs my hips and tilts us sideways. He is on his back, cradling me to his front. Letting out a content sigh that ruffles my hair, he closes his eyes. I rest my palms to his chest a bit perplexed. Is he going to sleep? What a typical man. With a roll of my eyes, I rest my chin on his sternum, just observing this strange beast. As I too begin to fall captive to the grips of sleep I remember my plans for tonight. Instead of catching some comforting rest, I begin to rouse with questions.

"Now what?"

His eyes peak open, "Now what?"

"I need to get back home, I have a date tonight I need to get cleaned up for," I clarify. It seems wrong to go out after being thoroughly fucked on the plateau of a mountain but I can't imagine this is going to form into something more. A taboo rendezvous that won't result in a committed relationship.  

He still surprises me by saying, "Date? Not anymore."

I regard him confused, "hmm?"

"No man is taking you away, I will state my intent right now. I will have you again, and again, and again because you are mine," his fingers dig into my naked hips. A growl rumbling from his chest into mine. I'm not put off by the idea, far from it, but I won't make it easy for him.

"I don’t remember agreeing to that," I answer in a cheek to tongue way.

"You agreed when you took my cock," he counters with a wicked smirk.

"I feel there wasn’t much say in that. Didn’t exactly ask," I pretend to ponder.

"Why would I need to when you were begging so beautifully? I couldn’t prolong our torture by asking. Also, I don’t think I could have arranged enough words into a coherent sentence with your arousal surrounding my nose," he sits up and rubs his face into my neck. I can feel his sharp teeth grazing along my collar. It was a fair point, not a good one but a pleasing one.

"I'll let it slide, this time. I expect to be properly courted, don’t need some brute coming in and just staking his claim," I submit, not without my own demands. He stops his assault and leans back with an annoyed look.

"You are exhausting," he thumps his head back to the ground.

"Maybe you shouldn’t have thought with your prick before your brain then," I poke to the top of his head.

"What can I say, he made a good choice," he chuckles.

"I can agree with that," I answer as I rest my cheek to his chest, tracing some of his scales with my finger.

"Then we agree, you are mine," he asks with a large grin. I look up at him, my lips quirking at his full toothy smile.

"As long as you are mine," I shoot back.

"I was yours the minute I got to taste your cunt," his smile goes from playful to teasing. His fingers trailing down to cup my ass.

"Brute and vulgar," I can't help but laugh.

"Shut up, you love it," he purrs. His hands grope and squeeze my rear, his tongue lapping along my neck. If he keeps this up I may be partial to another round.

I grin like a fool, "perhaps."

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- This is almost exactly how a dream of mine went. only difference is i woke up before he said anything. Bruh was hella hung, miss him.

check out my Archive. Have a peak at my Main Blog.

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Hi, to anyone still around.   Here’s the next chapter, also available on AO3.  There will be another chapter next week.   Thanks as always to Ronja for permission to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take.”

Chapter 32

Before I knock on Peeta’s door I go over my checklist.  Focus on my objective to help Peeta find himself.  Be prepared for Peeta’s questions and answer them honestly.  If he asks if I was in love with him, I’ll answer yes because that is the truth.  And if he asks if I’m still in love with him – well, that would be a problem, but I doubt it will happen.  Peeta won’t ask. Still, I hesitate.  I was so confident when I agreed to it, but now every instinct tells me to turn tail and run.  What if he does ask?   What do I say?  Do I lie?  Because I don’t think I can.  Not convincingly, anyway.   I’ll just have to trust that Peeta is of the same mind.  After all, it doesn’t advantage either of us to bring it out into the open.  And he’s sure to be sensitive to my situation having gone through it himself.  In those months of ignoring each other before the Victory Tour, he surely would have wished he hadn’t been so open with his feelings.  How much easier it would have been for him if he could have laughed it off as part of the strategy.  And of course, I know Peeta would never do anything that could embarrass me. Gathering my courage, I rap sharply on the door.   It takes a while for Peeta to answer it.  I must have caught him in the middle of doing something because he looks a little flustered.  He’s casually dressed in shorts and a faded T-shirt the same shade of blue as his eyes.  I’m similarly dressed in shorts and a sleeveless top.  Maybe we had the same thing in mind for our wardrobe choice.  What you’d wear hanging around your house with an old friend on a hot afternoon and didn’t care what you looked like. My eyes do a brief sweep of the living room before I enter.   It’s the usual setup of a two-seater sofa in front of the television and lounge chairs on either side.  I gaze longingly at the single chairs and I’m tempted to dive for one of them but since that could look as if I have something to fear I reluctantly take a seat on the sofa.

Peeta sits down beside me.  The coffee table already has been laid out with refreshments.   A pot of tea and two cups.  A pitcher of iced water and two glasses.   A platter of cheese, fruit and crackers.  A plate of iced cookies. “Who else is coming?” I ask.  There seems to be an excessive amount of food. He coughs nervously.   “Um, no one.  I just thought, maybe, that if you have the time, we could watch the tapes all at once.  There’s not that many of them.”  He indicates a small stack by the television.  There are three tapes – four if there’s one already in the video player. “Sure,” I say.  I’m as anxious to get this out of the way as he is.  Max won’t mind if I turn up late or not at all.  Our meetings at the pub have never been more than a casual arrangement. I slip off my sandals and pull my knees up to my chest in my defensive position but then put them down again when I see Peeta staring at my bare legs.   Maybe he doesn’t like feet on his furniture.  My feet are clean though.  I had a shower when I got back from the woods where I’d spent most of the day.  I hoped the stillness and tranquility of the place would help get me in the right headspace for the coming ordeal.   The effect doesn’t seem to have lasted.  My nerves feel all jangled and on edge.  Peeta doesn’t look any better. “Tea?” asks Peeta. “Thanks.”  Tea slops into the saucer as he hands it to me.  I can’t tell whether it’s him or me and I put the cup back down on the coffee table.  “It needs to cool,” I tell him.  I shift my gaze to the television.  “Do you think we should get started?”  I want this over with. “Yes, of course.” Peeta picks up the remote, points it at the television but then lowers it again.

“Katniss, before we go any further, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about the way I’ve acted since I came back to 12.  Now that I seem to have most of my memories back and can see more clearly, I realize how insensitive and confusing my behavior must have been and I want you to know how much I appreciate you sticking with me despite it all.  It’s only because of you that I found the motivation to find my way back to myself.  So, I want to thank you and also apologize for any offence I’ve caused.  I’m sorry.” His apology takes me by surprise.  It’s true that Peeta’s behavior has been insensitive – even appearing at times as if he deliberately wanted to hurt me.  But I can’t hold what the hijacking was responsible for against him.  It wasn’t really Peeta in the same way that his trying to kill me wasn’t really him either.  And I think, maybe, that in some ways I owe him an apology.  At the very least, I can’t claim credit for sticking with him.  Not all the time anyway and it had to be on my terms.   My behavior would likely have seemed just as insensitive and confusing to him as his was to me. “I’m sorry, too,” I say. “There’s nothing for you to be sorry about.  None of it is your fault.   But I don’t want to go on like this, ignoring each other and then trying to act as if nothing’s wrong when other people are around.  So I thought if I could stop being so, you know, wounded, we could take a shot at being friends.” Friends.  It’s what I expected, but somehow it still hurts.  Peeta’s not hard to read.  He’s letting me know, in the nicest way possible, the rules for how we’ll approach this.  We’re to be friends and whatever is on those tapes will be interpreted as such.  Typical of Peeta, he’s even taking on the blame for the awkwardness between us, claiming himself as the wounded party when we both know it’s my injured feelings that are the cause of it.   But perhaps the worst of it, or the best of it – I can’t decide which, is that Peeta sounds like his old self, the one who could always think of the right thing to say.  Perceptive, unassuming, kind, wanting to put others at ease.  Nothing could break me faster.  My Peeta is back.  And he doesn’t love me anymore. I blink back tears.  “Okay.” “Is that all right?” he asks, his voice edged with concern. I manage a wobbly smile.  “Of course, it is.  I’m just glad we’re friends again, that’s all.  I’ve missed it.”

Peeta gives me a relieved smile in return and turns back to the television.  “Yeah.  Me too.” He clicks on the remote and we’re transported into dense jungle.  Hot, steamy, oppressive.  Finnick, Mags, Peeta and I form a single line as we slowly tramp our way through thick vegetation.  Peeta is in front slashing at vines with his knife. I see the ripple hanging in mid-air that signifies a force field and I start to call out a warning.  Peeta’s knife makes contact and he’s slung backwards to the ground, lifeless. I steal a glance at the Peeta on the sofa.   I see no recognition on his face at all. This is new to him then.  I turn my attention back to the television and try to prepare for how I should react to what’s about to happen.

The onscreen me screams his name and attempts to revive him by shaking him and slapping his face.  Finnick calmly pushes me aside and checks Peeta over before pinching his nostrils shut.  When I try to stop him, he shoves me violently against a tree.  I reach for my bow but stay my hand when I realize what Finnick is doing.  Just when all hope seems lost Peeta gives a small cough.  I hurl myself at him, brushing his hair from his forehead, tears streaming down my face.  And then I start to sob, great heaving sobs that I’m powerless to stop.  Finnick blames baby hormones and I glare at him.   But instead of returning it with sarcasm, his glance travels between Peeta and me, his expression puzzled.   And that’s when the image on the television freezes.  On Finnick’s baffled face. I turn to Peeta wondering why he stopped the tape and see the same bewildered look on his face that was on Finnick’s. For one horrifying moment, I’m afraid he’s going to comment on the hysterical way I reacted.  He’s supposed to ignore stuff like that.  But then it dawns on me that he’s just seen himself die.  That’s why he looks so shocked.   It would unsettle anyone. “It was the forcefield,” I explain hurriedly. “I only knew it was there at the last second because I’d seen one in the training room.  Beetee and Wiress pointed it out to me.  There’s an irregularity – a chink in the armor they called it.  It looks like a sort of wave hanging in mid-air.  Not all over, just the odd patch.   We later used it to cook food by throwing it at it.” I know I’m rambling but the way Peeta is looking at me is disconcerting.  It’s as if he’s trying to figure something out about me.  Perhaps it’s made old doubts resurface of the time I tried to kill him when he and the careers had me treed.  I suppose it could look as if I tried to stop Finnick from saving his life. “It’s just as well Finnick was there.  I didn’t know what he was doing at first.  I thought he might have been trying to finish you off when he put his hand over your nose.  But then I recognized it as a technique I’ve seen my mother use a couple of times when a person’s heart stops.   If you can get to them fast enough you can sometimes get it started again. “ I grab the remote from the coffee table and un-pause the tape before Peeta can say anything.  His gaze lingers on me for a few seconds before he turns his focus back onto the screen.   I hope this hasn’t reawakened his distrust of me. The tape continues with Finnick and me disagreeing over whether Peeta should get moving or rest.  My nose is still running like crazy from all the crying I’d done.  Mags rips hanging moss from a tree for me to use as a handkerchief to mop up all the snot.   “So embarrassing,” I tell the Peeta beside me.  If he wasn’t attracted to me before, this should clinch it.   The tape ends with me noticing the locket with the mockingjay engraved on it around his neck. “Well, that’s about it,” I say.  “It’s pretty self-explanatory.  You get zapped by the forcefield and Finnick saves you.   No lasting damage.   How about we move onto the next tape?” I’m already out of my seat.   I seize a tape at random, remove the one in the player, and insert the new one.  I hope this one is less incriminating. It’s worse.  It’s Snow’s execution.  If Peeta’s distrust of me is re-emerging then this will send it soaring into the stratosphere.  How can you feel secure around someone whose job it is to kill one president but then suddenly decides to kill another?  Such a person could turn around and kill you next.  And it’s not implausible as far as Peeta is concerned.  I’ve pointed an arrow at him twice with intent to kill – the first time in the Games when he pulled out a knife, the second in a Capitol sewer.  Both times were in anticipation of him killing me but Peeta might not remember that.  Indeed, looking at him now, body tense, apprehension etched on his face, that’s probably what’s going through his mind right now.  Memories must be triggered if he knows enough to be nervous about it.  He looks down at the faint double crescent scar on his hand and runs the thumb of the other hand across it.  He’s remembering . . . something.  I don’t think it’s good. I shift my attention back to the television screen.  I need to focus.   This must be the footage that was broadcast across Panem going by the way the camera picks out the VIPs in the audience.  The voice-over from Claudius Templesmith has been edited out but the noise from the crowd can still be heard.  I guess Dr Aurelius wants Peeta to hear only my version of events. The execution takes place in the narrow terrace in front of the president’s mansion.  It doesn’t allow for a large audience – this was clearly intended as a television event – but what is there is packed in tightly.  The remainder had spilt over into the City Circle and down the side streets.  Guards and officials take their places.  And then rebel leaders and victors.  The victors have been given a prominent position at ground level close to where I’m to stand.  Peeta is between Johanna and Beetee looking slightly dazed. Loud cheers welcome President Coin as she appears on the balcony and takes up her position.  It doesn’t afford Coin the best view as she can’t look her enemy in the face before he dies, but more dramatic from a staging perspective to have the triumphant leader directly above the defeated one in a single camera shot.  That’s what Plutarch would have told her.  But Coin would surely have felt vulnerable with a loose cannon like me in front of her, armed, and within easy shooting range.   Vulnerable enough to invent a scenario to test my loyalty?  Well, there’s no sense in going over my theories of why things happened as they did.  This is about Peeta’s experience in this particular moment.   He’s just come out of the victor’s meeting believing that I wanted another Games.  Who knows what was going through his mind?  That I’m indeed the monster that Snow made him believe? I emerge after Coin takes her seat and then Snow is marched out and secured to a post.  The camera is in a close-up of his face.  There’s no remorse or fear.  Only amusement.  I aim at the rose pinned to his chest, shift my arrow upwards and release the string.  Coin topples to the ground.  Dead. What happens next took mere seconds but this has been edited to include as much detail as possible.  There are images of Coin’s lifeless body, landed face down on the paving.  People rush to her aid and turn her onto her back.  A red rose blooms on her breast to contrast with the white rose on Snow’s. Her eyes are wide open, her expression one of surprise.  Snow is literally choking with laughter, blood frothing from his mouth.   Guards surge towards me.  I whisper something indecipherable and raise one arm and twist my head to reach it.  Peeta is suddenly in the frame.  He grabs my upper arm and my teeth clamp down, drawing blood.  I lift my head and yell something at him.  There’s too much noise from the crowd to make out my words.  It’s the same with Peeta’s desperate response.  He’s pulled from me and a scrap of fabric can be seen clutched in his hand.  I’m lifted off the ground over the crush of people, frantically struggling.  I open my mouth and scream.   The audio picks up the single word.  Gale!  Gale!  The tape ends when I’m carried into the mansion and disappear from sight. Very slowly, Peeta reaches for the remote control and turns off the television.  We both sit in silence to digest what we had just seen.  I expect to be evicted from his home shortly.  Siding with Coin over another Games, shooting the leader who was instrumental in defeating our arch-enemy Coriolanus Snow – the man who had Peeta tortured and ordered the bombing that killed his family.  And then biting his hand so hard when he tried to save me that he still bears the scars. “It looks bad, doesn’t it?” I venture when the silence grows too long. “Yeah. I’ve watched this tape before.  With Haymitch.  He explained most of it and told me what preceded it.  You know, the meeting with Coin.” He runs a hand through his hair and gives his head a shake.  “I can’t believe I didn’t see it.  I actually voted to exterminate the entire Capitol citizenry.  That was the choice offered, wasn’t it?  A single Games or kill the lot of them?” “Yes.  But you weren’t the only one.  Even Beetee missed it.”  I don’t tell him that he influenced the other’s choice by voting first under the presumption that it was a simple choice of Games or no Games.  He feels bad enough already.  “But if you’ve seen this tape already and you’ve discussed it with Haymitch, why would Dr Aurelius want you to watch it again with me?” Peeta’s face turns red.  “There was a question Haymitch couldn’t answer and it was bothering me.  He told me I’d have to ask you.” Oh.  “You mean what we said to each other?”  That’s the only part of it I can think of that Haymitch may not know. “No, I remembered that.  And why I stopped you from taking the nightlock pill.  It was just . . .” He stops, takes a breath, and ends in a rush.  “Why did you call out for Gale?  After everything you’ve said about him not being your boyfriend. It doesn’t make sense.” I’m so startled I’m momentarily lost for words.  With all that was on that tape, has that question actually been preying on him? “It’s because we had a pact.  If either of us was caught by the enemy, we’d kill each other first so they wouldn’t have the satisfaction of taking us alive.” “You wanted him to shoot you?” “Yes.  He didn’t, obviously.  And I couldn’t shoot him when he was captured by peacekeepers.  Sorry excuses for hunters and friends we turned out to be.” Peeta’s face clears and even breaks out in a smile.  “I’m glad he didn’t.” I laugh.  “Yeah.  Me too.”  I feel the tension ebb from my muscles a little.  A much-needed respite from all the drama so far.  “Shall we watch the next one?” It’s our first Games.  My head is bandaged which means this happened after I’d gone to the feast for Peeta’s medicine.  Heavy rain can be heard from outside the cave and Peeta and I have no choice but to remain where we are, our hunger pangs worsening by the hour.  Peeta wonders what we’d have to do to get Haymitch to send us some food.  This reminds me to ramp up the romance angle.  I take Peeta by the hand and playfully suggest that a lot of resources had been used on the sleep syrup that helped me knock him out.   I think I can guess what Dr Aurelius had in mind with this tape.  It’s the first kiss from Peeta that had me wanting another.  He thinks it will lead to a discussion that not all my romantic responses were faked and that my attraction to him had started early in our relationship. This one is easy.  Even if Peeta doesn’t believe it was faked, it won’t be hard for him to pretend that it was.   I lean back into the sofa, feeling relaxed for the first time since I got here.   Peeta doesn’t seem anxious about it either. I imagine that I’m one of the many thousands of people who watched it on TV.  I know most bought into the romance as genuine – especially in the Capitol.   In the Districts, the romance was secondary to our perceived rebellion against the Capitol.  I later learned that I didn’t fool Snow and my fellow victors who saw through the act.  Yet somehow, they missed this.  It was perhaps the only kiss that Peeta and I shared in those first Games when I wasn’t acting. I watch the girl falter over her words.  The boy wants her to go on, his face alight with budding hope.   The feeble excuse she makes.  The boy leaning in.  The soft explorative kiss growing more confident, gaining heat.  The girl’s hands coming to rest on his shoulders.  Her eyes closed and lips slightly pursed in readiness for more kissing.  The boy’s concern over her head wound.  And her disappointment when that second kiss manifests as a mere peck on the nose.   Yet despite all that, it doesn’t scream out as being significantly different from the many other kisses we shared.  It’s in the subtleties.  You’d have to be watching carefully to see it.   I turn to Peeta, confident that the last thing he’ll want to do is to scrutinize it too closely.  But he’s watching the screen intently, his brows drawn together in concentration.  I have a very bad feeling about this.   Please, please, don’t go there.  This is not how it’s supposed to work. “You weren’t acting.”  He looks to me for confirmation. Be honest.  I want to ignore that little voice.  Tell it to go away.  I can see the yawning chasm of a slippery slope opening up.   If he wants to talk about how I felt about him then it could lead to how I feel about him now. But then I remember how Peeta was at the dinner and what he had intimated to me earlier.  Friendship is the game going forward.  He’s as anxious to avoid any talk of my present feelings for him as I am.  An honest discussion of the past can’t hurt.  It’s a necessary part of Peeta finding himself. “No,” I say simply. “Can you tell me what was going through your mind?” “Well, it made me think of what it would be like if you had died and that made me realize that I didn’t want to lose you, that’s all.” “And the kiss?” “I liked it.  I wanted to keep going.” I pause, pondering the wisdom of how much I should reveal and then quickly make the decision to put it all out there.  This is our final session.  After today, we don’t ever need to talk about it again.  I won’t be telling Peeta anything he doesn’t already know or has guessed, anyway.   “Look Peeta, most of what happened in the Games was an act, but it doesn’t mean I didn’t care for you or wasn’t attracted.  I thought you were acting too, and quite frankly, there was a lot going on, I mean there were people who wanted to kill us – to be thinking of romance.  And then on the train back to 12, I got to thinking about how being a victor would fit with my old life and it was kind of overwhelming.  I didn’t know what to feel about anything.  But I did miss you and wished we could have stayed friends.”  I put a faint emphasis on the word “friends.”  Peeta will appreciate that.  It puts us back in a safe place after all this talk of attraction and kissing. “Friends,” repeats Peeta.  He seems to retreat into a far-away place before he rouses himself.  “Your favorite color is green.  Mine is orange.  Right?” “That’s right,”  I say smiling.  “It’s what we talked about at the start of the Victory Tour when we decided to make a try of being friends.”  I make sure to stress “friends.”

Peeta suddenly rises from the sofa.  “I just need to take a break for a minute.” While I wait, I change the tapes over.  It’s the last one and I have an awful feeling about it.   It’s sure to be the kisses on the beach.  I doubt that Dr Aurelius would have left it to Haymitch and Johanna as I’m the only one who can say what was really going on.  I suppose I’ll have to be honest.  Say, yes Peeta, I did like kissing you and no, nothing was faked.  But as long as he doesn’t ask how I feel about him now, we’ll be all right.

I question the value of having to talk about it in any case.  It’s not as if the conclusion hasn’t already been decided.   Whatever happened in the past has no bearing on the present. Our purpose is to construct a wall of pretence so that we can be a family with Haymitch and stand to be in each other’s company.  We’re fooling ourselves that we can be friends though.  We won’t be.  Not really.  No wonder Peeta has to leave the room.  The hypocrisy must be killing him. I take a sip of tea, now grown cold, and start to nibble on a cracker before putting it down again.  I have no appetite and nor, it seems, does Peeta.  The food is almost untouched, so intent we’ve been on getting through these tapes as fast as possible.  Peeta returns, pale but composed.  “Let’s finish it,” he says. Finish it.  My heart clenches at the implication.  The end of Katniss and Peeta, star-crossed lovers of District 12.  I press the play button on the remote and the tape begins.

[marvelous-writer]

Revenge With A Side Of Avenging

Summary: In which Peter is kidnapped and wakes up tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse, struggling to remember exactly how he got there.

Word Count: 2,207

Genre: whump, emotional hurt/comfort

Link to read on AO3

A/N: Day one of @whumptober2020

The first thing Peter registers is pain, a horrible pounding at the back of his head, radiating to his eyes and all the way down his neck. It feels almost as if the throbbing is in sync with his heartbeat.

Peter lets out a groan as he goes to reach up to touch his head, but he finds that he’s unable to lift his arms. He opens his heavy eyes, blinking away the stubborn blurriness he’s met with, only to find that he’s wrapped in thick rope, bound to an extremely uncomfortable chair.

That doesn’t make any sense... how did he get wrapped up in rope?

He sluggishly blinks as he lifts his head, only managing to limply roll it on his shoulder. He’s in a large dark space, the only amount of light coming from the small windows surrounding the place. There are a few stacked boxes surrounding him, looking a little like a warehouse of sorts.

What’s he doing in a warehouse?

The last memory he can recall is walking off stage with the decathlon team after they won the final round against Cal Tech... and that journalist walking up to him and wanting to ask a few questions on their win... but something ended up hitting Peter on the back of his head when they stepped out in the hallway.

Oh, right—the reporter knocked him out.

But why would someone knock out and kidnap a high schooler from a decathlon competition, of all places? Unless it has something to do with Tony or knowing that Peter is Spider-Man.

That’s not good. Peter distantly thinks, panic freely flowing through him at the sudden realization.

May and Tony were both in the audience, so they have to know he’s missing by now, right? They have to. They were going to go to that new Italian place down the street from the Tower after the competition. Peter wanted to get some cannoli for dessert, too.

Mmh... cannoli, stuffed with chocolate and vanilla, topped with deliciously fluffy whipped cream.

No no no. He can’t be thinking about food at a time like this. He has to focus on getting out of this place, wherever the heck he is.

Peter closes his eyes, trying to listen for any sounds that could give him a clue as to where he is, but he’s met with an unsettling silence. He can’t smell any traces of salt in the air, so he can’t be near the Hudson. So... maybe he’s someplace upstate? Hopefully that means the team will be able to find him faster.

Maybe he could try to get out of these ropes? Surely whoever took him would have used something a lot stronger than rope if they knew he’s Spider-Man. So maybe they didn’t know that little detail.

Peter weakly pulls at the ropes, wincing as they painfully dig into his arms. This isn’t right. He should be able to break out of these easily. Either he got hit on the head way harder than he thought... or they drugged him. That would explain why he can’t think straight at the moment.

Peter drops his head forward in defeat as he lets his impossibly heavy eyes slip shut—he’s so tired.

Tony will find him. He’s probably out there right now with the team looking for him, and May—she’s probably at home, freaking out about where Peter is. They have to know he’s missing.

For now, maybe Peter can get a little more sleep since it looks like he’s not going anywhere. Maybe all his super-metabolism needs is a little jumpstart to get rid of whatever sleepy drug he was injected with.

Tony’s coming. Peter hazily thinks to himself, feeling the last remains of consciousness slipping away from him.

It’s the last thought he has before darkness consumes him.

….

Awareness comes back to Peter all at once, as well as a painful stinging on his face from someone slapping him. He opens his eyes with a gasp as all of his senses come back on all at once, lights and sounds attacking him from every angle. He slams his eyes shut with a pained groan, letting his chin drop to his chest.

“Ah, welcome to the land of the living, Mr. Parker.”

Peter jumps at the sudden voice, as much as the ropes around him will allow. He weakly lifts his head, squinting against the harsh LED lighting, suddenly realizing that there are way more lights than there were before he passed out. There are at least three tripod work lights surrounding him, all facing him.

“Well aren’t you going to say hello to our captivated audience?”

A figure moves out of the darkness to stand in front of one of the lights, blocking a little bit of the light, but not allowing Peter to get a good look at them. The figure gestures to something to his right, and that’s when Peter sees it—a video camera hooked up to a tripod.

This can’t be good.

Peter licks his dry lips. “W-Where am I? Who are you?” He asks, hating how raspy his voice comes out.

The figure laughs. “So many questions and so little answers. I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, Peter.”

A cold shiver races down his spine hearing his name. The figure steps away from the light, their shoes clicking against the concrete floors and echoing throughout the space.

“Why did you take me?” Peter asks.

“One word,” The voice says close to his left, causing Peter to flinch. “Revenge.”

Revenge? Peter thinks. Revenge against who? Spider-Man?

The figure’s shoes click against the floor again as they slowly approach Peter, until they’re standing in front of him, blocking the light from him. Peter looks up into the face of his captor, only to see a somewhat familiar face. The man is short, unruly brown hair with glasses perched on his nose. Peter’s seen this man somewhere before… but he just can’t remember who he is.

“I’ve been keeping my eye on you for awhile now, Peter. You’re smart—you won your Decathlon team a slot into the finals. I was very impressed at you hitting that buzzer and answering correctly every time. You’re the top of all your classes, with one of the highest GPAs in your entire school as a sophomore. I can see why Stark hired you to be his personal intern.” The man tells him, flashing a pearly white smile. “But let me tell you one thing about Tony Stark. When he finds interest in something, he’ll play with it for a while… boast and brag about it, until he gets bored with it and throws it away.”

So this guy’s clearly out to get Tony. Tony’s made a lot of enemies in the past, so there’s no telling what this guy’s problem is. Judging by the guy’s expensive looking suit and tie apparel, this guy seems like he means business. And not the good kind.

“For years, I’ve spent my life trying to get back what I lost. My career, my reputation, but it’s too late. Stark ruined me! He took everything from me!” The man suddenly yells, causing Peter to violently flinch as his voice booms off the walls. The man turns away from Peter and walks back to the camera, grabbing it and something off of a nearby table before walking back to him. He stops next to Peter and holds the camera out with both of them in frame, probably live recording. “You took everything from me Stark… so now I’m going to take everything from you.”

The sudden press of cold metal against the side of Peter’s head has him freezing, the air caught in his throat. He’s been in this position far too many times by now to know it’s a gun—but it’s somehow more scary this time around.

“I’m giving you until midnight, Stark. I want you to meet me at the Cold Storage Facility in Albany—just you, none of your fancy suits, no Avengers and no police. If you fail to meet my demands, the kid gets it.” The man says into the camera before abruptly turning it off. He turns to Peter, pressing the gun further against his temple. “And if you try anything funny, I’ll shoot you.”

When the gun drops from his head, Peter lets out a shaky breath, keeping his eyes on the man as he goes back to the table across the room, tossing the camera on it.

“What do you want from Mr. Stark?” Peter asks.

“I just want to have a little chat with him face-to-face,” The man answers with a grin as he grabs something off the table and walks back to him. “I’ll have him right where I want him—alone, weaponless, desperate, and completely vulnerable.”

It’s a trap. Peter knows Tony would do anything for him but he’s not stupid like this guy think he is. The team will be waiting nearby for the right time to strike and take this nut-job down.

The man bends down next to Peter and puts something underneath the chair he’s tied to, flipping something with a faint beep.

A bomb.

There’s an actual bomb underneath him that could go off at any second.

The man stands up and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small roll of duct tape. “Just so you don’t ruin all the fun.” He says with a grin before he rips a piece off and shoves it on Peter’s mouth despite his weak protests. “You have approximately three hours until this bomb detonates, unless I come back and turn it off. So you better hope the next person who comes in here is me, or else it’s curtains for you.”

The man bends down and grabs a thin string, which is probably attached to the device, and walks across the space to an open door and ties it to the knob. Without another word, he slips outside and closes the door behind himself.

The warehouse is engulfed in a tense silence, the only sound being from the ticking bomb underneath Peter, taunting him with the very real and terrifying threat of going off at any second from just the slightest tug of that string of someone were to fully open the door.

…

Peter doesn’t know how long he sits there, listening to the sound of the ticking, trying to carefully wiggle his way out of the ropes. He can feel them going a little slack around him until he hears a noise outside. Peter freezes, tear-filled eyes widening as he stares at the door the sting is attached to. There’s another noise, sounding almost like someone walking on gravel.

“...has to be here. Sam, Clint, on my mark…” A familiar voice says from outside the door.

It’s Steve.

Before Peter has a chance to feel any kind of relief, fear shoots through him when he sees the door handle begin to twist.

“MMMH! MMMH!” Peter tries to yell around the tape.

When the door suddenly swings open, Peter’s stomach drops when he hears the string snap off and the bomb lets out a shrill chorus of beeps. He sees Clint run inside with Steve right behind him and before Peter registers what’s happening, Clint grabs him and throws them away, just as Steve drops his shield on top of the bomb, taking the brunt of the explosion.

Peter’s ears are ringing horribly as he lies on the ground, distantly aware of the hands on him, untying him from the chair. He opens his eyes as someone helps him sit up and carefully take the tape off his mouth, only to see Steve kneeling in front of him.

“S-Steve? T-Tony—he...he’s going to—”

“I know. We caught the guy that did this to you. Tony’s safe. He’s back at the compound.” Steve tells him in a gentle voice, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Relief crashes into Peter like a tidal wave, flowing through every vein in his body. He closes his eyes as more tears spill out and throws himself at Steve, wrapping his arms around the soldier as a sob escapes from his lips.

Steve wraps his arms around him in return, rubbing a hand up and down Peter’s quivering back. “You’re alright, Peter. You’re safe now… you’re safe.”

…

It’s dark outside when Peter walks down the Quinjet’s ramp with Steve close at his side, stepping on the landing pad at the compound. Peter hasn’t been able to stop shaking since they took off in the jet, making it a little difficult to walk with how wobbly his legs are.

Peter looks up from the ground and his eyes settle on Tony, who’s already jogging over to meet them. Before he knows it, arms are wrapping around him, the familiar and calming scent of motor oil and cologne meeting his nose.

Tony.

A sob escapes Peter’s lips as he clutches the back of Tony’s shirt in his hands, feeling a hand at the back of his head. “T-Tony…” Peter cries.

Tony only hugs him tighter, his chin resting at the top of Peter’s head. “I’m right here, kiddo. You’re safe… I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

[lil-meow-meow-goes-rawr]

ғor yoυ

Rating: PG-15

Pairings: none

Genre: zombie au, apocalyptic, angst, best friends!JinKook

Warnings: ⚠️major character death, blood, implied gore (but nothing descriptive), implied suicide, ptsd, psychological trauma, depressing themes, please read with caution 

Word Count: 10.4K

Synopsis: Six years ago an outbreak occurred, turning nearly half the people of Seoul overnight. Every day was a fight for survival, but as long as Jungkook was beside him, Jin knew he had a reason to keep fighting. He’d made a promise to protect Jungkook with his life. Five years later, that promise is broken. Jin fails to keep Jungkook safe and now he’s been turned. Jin vows to continue fighting - to find a cure and bring Jungkook back to him, no matter the cost.

🎧Theme: The Void by Andy Black

Masterlist

A spout of steam escaped the thermal before the lid could capture the heat inside. A cold wind whipped through Jin’s thin blazer, raising goosebumps along his arms. Heat was a luxury greater than gold this time of year. The sky blazed a beautiful orange-pink yet he had long since lost appreciation for such trivial things. The beginning of a sunset meant he had precisely twenty minutes to find some sort of shelter or he wouldn’t survive the night. Survival had become the only necessity, though there were times he questioned why he continued to fight so hard to live each day.

Jin had been on his own for almost a year now. The day Jungkook was attacked still haunted his nightmares. Perhaps that was the reason he fought so desperately. They promised each other they would find a way out. They would survive this together. Jin had failed to keep that promise. He hadn’t been able to keep his best friend safe. These days, he found himself clinging to the hope of a cure; a chance to bring Jungkook back.  

Visions from that day flooded his mind as he watched the sun slowly sink beneath the horizon. They’d run into the hoard of zombies just as they had finished feeding that day. The fight which ensued had been gruesome. Jin barely made it out with his life. Jungkook had not been so lucky. He’d been bitten. Now, Jin found himself running from the very person he had once considered a brother.

A cry rang out through the still night air. Jin was immediately on his feet, his eyes scanning the surrounding area for any sign of the monsters. A cry like that meant only one thing. Another unfortunate soul had been found for the zombies’ next meal. It wouldn’t be long before every zombie in the area would be gathered there. Jin had to disappear before that happened.

Gathering his things - which consisted solely of a small tin of coffee grounds he had scavenged from the remains of a grocery store, his flashlight, duct tape, and a knife - he placed them back inside his bag which he quickly slung over his shoulder. Followed by the strap of his gun. He had found the Remington 700 several months earlier and it had been a Godsend. The long range weapon gave him an advantage which had saved his life more than once.

Jin quickly learned a zombie’s eyesight was bad, especially at night. Spending the hours after sunset on high rooftops had become a habit. The creatures could climb, but unless they were pursuing a meal, would not often do so on their own. Tonight he would need to find a new rooftop, preferably before the moon claimed the sky. Not only would his own vision become limited by the darkness, but the beams from the flashlight acted as a beacon for any nearby zombies. Flashlights were for emergencies only and the reward always had to outweigh the risks before turning it on.

Stopping at the head of the pipe he’d used to climb to the roof, Jin looked out over the once beautiful city landscape. The infestation had happened nearly six years ago, yet Jin could still envision the way the city used to be - so alive and active. He remembered walking down the street with his mother when he was still very young and later it would be his friends by his side as they wandered down to the little park a few blocks away.

It was at that park he had met Jungkook. The boy was small, with large doe like eyes. Too afraid to try and stop the ones picking on him, he took the beating without a word. By the time Jin had stepped in, the poor boy sported a bloody lip, black eye and an ugly slash down the side of his leg. Despite the bit of age gap between them, they’d connected right away. Jin took Jungkook under his wing, teaching him how to stand up for himself and go through life with a little less worry. It hadn’t taken long for Jungkook to break out of his shell. That was the Jungkook he knew. The boy with a heart of gold who never let anyone push him around. In the end, Jin had failed him but he wasn’t about to give up just yet. Jungkook was with a group of zombies heading east, on the hunt for a more heavily populated area. Luckily, there was a medical center in that same direction. Word had it there were still people there. If Jin could beat the hoard of zombies heading that direction, he may be able to help them find a cure.

Jin took a quick scan of the street before shimmying down the pole. His feet landed with a splash in the puddle which had formed beneath the drain. It had rained earlier that day. Good. Rain threw off a zombie’s sense of smell. Perhaps it was the freshness of the rain that did it, seeing as how they were so used to the smell of rotten flesh.

Another cry rang out through the still of the night. Jin’s feet seemed to react on their own, carrying him swiftly down the street and away from the impending threat.

His mind wandered as he jogged down the cracked pavement. Hearing the zombies around him always brought his mind back to Jungkook. Where was he? Was he still walking or had he been shot down?

A heavenly scent drifted on the wind, invading his senses and stopping his thoughts short. Someone was baking. Subconsciously, Jin began drifting toward the source of the beautiful aroma, his growling stomach gaining control of his actions.

The smell of fresh rolls and melting cheese brought him to the front steps of a small restaurant. Broken windows and cobwebs spoke of the building’s long abandonment. What was once a quaint restaurant, now sported chipped green paint, doors hanging loosely off their hinges and a ripped doormat which was less than welcoming.

Shooting a quick glance down both sides of the street to ensure he wasn’t spotted, Jin slipped through the small gap between the door and its frame. Inside, the room lay in ruin, mirroring the outside of the building. Broken glass crunched beneath his feet as he picked his way through the mess of overturned tables and shredded seats. There’d been a fight here. The lack of human remains told him whoever it was had managed to escape. Jin hoped they were still alive.

Reaching back, he pulled his gun down around his shoulder. He didn’t like being trapped in such a confined area. Escape would be difficult should any of the creatures outside wander in.

Taking in a deep breath, a small content sigh left his lips. The smell grew stronger with every step he took, leading him right to the back and overpowering his fear. The only door which remained fully intact, sported a wooden sign with the word ‘kitchen’ painted in red.

Cautiously, Jin opened the door just enough to peer inside. Someone was in there, hunched over the stove and a steaming tray of rolls. The sight of it made him salivate. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had real food.

Straightening up, Jin went to push the door open but he hesitated at the last moment. Something felt wrong. Alarm bells sounded as he fought between logic and his own desires. Peering inside once more, he noticed the man was still hunched over the stove, seemingly not having moved an inch. The smell of the rolls no longer smelled so sweet. He never should have come here. Still, he was so close. He was sure the man was dead but he saw no zombies in the area. Perhaps they’d already moved on, but it wasn’t like them to leave a body.

The man would no longer be needing the rolls. Best to not let good food go to waste. Ignoring every instinct in his body that told him to turn and run, Jin pushed open the door and stepped inside. As he got closer, the stench of blood mixed with that of the bread making him gag. Holding a hand over his mouth and nose, Jin quickly gathered as many of the rolls as he could into the container which sat beside the pan. The man had not intended to stick around for long. The two rolls already inside the container spoke of his near success.

In his haste, Jin’s hip brushed against that of the dead man, causing him to lose balance and crumple to the ground. Swallowing a scream, he attempted to keep his eyes averted from the corpse, yet despite his efforts, curiosity had him turning his gaze toward the man on the ground. Regret instantly washed over him as he almost lost the coffee he’d had for dinner. Nearly the entire front half of the body had been eaten. Any semblance of a face had been torn away. It wasn’t the first time Jin had seen the inside of another person, and he doubted it would be the last. Yet it would never become easier to see.

Quickly closing the lid, he slipped the now full container into his bag. Simultaneously stuffing one of the rolls into his mouth. The heavenly taste gave him pause. Despite having the dead man at his feet, his hunger outweighed his disgust.

The air left his lungs at the sound of a crash just outside the door. Someone - or something - was just outside. With no other way in or out of the kitchen, Jin was trapped.

Cursing his growling stomach, he slid the knife out of his pack. A gun would have been safer but a long range weapon in such close quarters wouldn’t do him much good. A bullet could easily ricochet off a pan and kill him instead. No, it wasn’t worth the risk. There couldn’t be more than one of the monsters out there. He could handle that.

Before he could react, the door burst open as two men came barreling through. One dove straight for a frying pan while the other swiftly kicked the door shut. Seconds later, the door was pushed open again only this time, their guest wasn’t exactly human. The one with the frying pan rushed forward, swinging the pan around to connect with the creature's head as the other man rolled out of the way. Two well aimed swings left a good sized gash in the zombie’s neck, causing it to crumple to the ground. The life once more gone from its body.

Grinning, the man turned toward Jin, tossing the pan up and catching it again in one swift, graceful movement. ���Ryder wasn’t lying. Frying pans really do work.”

Jin cocked a brow but offered no response. How long had it been since he’d heard anyone speak of something so trivial as a kids movie?

The second man pushed himself off the floor, brushing the dirt from his pants. “Disney jokes? Really?” He snatched the pan away and waved it in front of the smaller man’s face. “We almost just died and you’re making Disney jokes?”

“The fact you knew it was Disney meant I’ve taught you well.” He cupped the other man’s cheeks in his small hands. “You’re learning so quickly. I’m so proud of you.”

“We’ve been reduced to fighting for our lives every day and you continue to make light of every situation.”

The smaller man shrugged. “I’d have gone mad by now if I didn’t.”

Jin wasn’t sure who these people were, but it had been forever since he’d seen another person. Let alone someone who wasn’t half eaten. Their playful banter warmed his heart. They didn’t look enough alike to be brothers, but they certainly treated each other as such.

The taller of the two men turned to him and offered a hand which Jin cautiously took. “The name’s Taehyung but no one ever calls me anything other than Tae. No one’s got the time for anything longer.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “And the idiot with the frying pan over there is Jimin.”

“Hey!” Jimin crossed his arms over his chest stubbornly. “I’d rather be the idiot with the frying pan than the dumb ass on the ground with no weapon.”

Tae opened his mouth to speak but slowly shut it again as he realized the truth behind his friend’s words.

“Tae two, Jimin twenty-eight.” He dramatically mimed placing marks on a board.

With an awkward laugh, Jin slipped his hand out from where it was still being gripped by Tae. “You can call me Jin.”

“Well then, Jin,” Jimin shrugged past Tae, “you haven’t, by any chance, seen another guy around here? A little shorter than Tae, long hair, sharpest jawline you’ve ever seen?”

“You’ve got to let the jawline thing go,” Tae rolled his eyes and turned to Jin, “the last time we saw him was two days ago. He said he’d found a convenience store that hadn’t been picked clean. We were all starving so he went to go find some food but he never came back. We were hoping you’d seen him.”

Jin shook his head and stepped to the side, revealing the body crumpled on the ground. “The only person I’ve seen for days is this guy, but he’s dead.”

A wave of horror crashed over Tae’s face and he immediately moved to cover Jimin’s eyes. The ashen look on the man’s face told Jin all he needed to know. The man on the ground wasn’t simply some random person attempting to keep himself from starving. He’d been working to keep his friends alive as well. That would explain the large amounts of biscuits which had been made.

“Tae, what are you doing?” Jimin pried at his friend’s hand covering his eyes. “What are you looking at?”

“It’s best you don’t see.”

Jimin froze, his breathing becoming ragged. “No,” he shook his head as his entire body began to tremble, “Tae, tell me it’s not Hoseok. Tell me it’s some random stranger and we just need to start looking somewhere else.”

“I’m sorry,” Tae breathed.

Jimin yanked Tae’s hand away, his eyes wide with fear. A strangled cry left his lips as his knees buckled beneath him, hitting the ground and rattling his entire body. Sharp, jagged breaths left his lips and his skin paled as he fought to breathe.

Tae knelt down in front of him, blocking the body from view and took his friend’s face in his hands. “Jimin, look at me.”

The boy didn’t answer. His eyes glazed over as he stared blankly ahead. Jin recognized the signs. He was going into shock. His mind couldn’t process what his eyes were telling him.

“Hey, I need you to breathe, ok?” Tae said gently, lightly pushing the hair out of his friend’s face. One hand dropped down to hold Jimin’s while the other remained resting on his cheek.

Physical contact; slow, deliberate movements; calm, soothing tone - he’s done this before. Tae knows exactly what he’s doing. Jin had a feeling this wasn’t the first time he’d seen a friend go into shock. So much of this world could cause it.

“Look at me. I’m right here, Jimin. It’s me, Taehyung. Your soulmate. Your best friend.”

Jimin’s eyes remained dazed, but he slowly brought his head toward Tae.

“You’re not alone. I’m right here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“Hoseok,” Jimin breathed.

Jin let out the breath he’d been holding. Speaking was good. It meant his mind was slowly grounding itself enough to form full thoughts. As long as Tae kept his cool, Jimin would be fine.

Beyond the door, a chair scraped against the tile floor. They were no longer alone. Tae’s eyes shot up to Jin, silently pleading with him. Giving a small nod, Jin dropped his bag and swung the rifle around his shoulder. He watched as Tae carefully tucked Jimin’s head against his chest, shielding him from what was happening. The scene resembled moments where Jin had done everything he could to protect Jungkook. Before everything had gone wrong and he’d been nothing more than an innocent, wide-eyed boy who’d had too much faith in this God forsaken world.

Swallowing hard, Jin pushed through the door while bringing the gun up to aim in one swift movement. The two zombies in the room immediately turned in his direction and he froze. Staring back at him with a single eye, Jungkook slowly began moving forward. A gaze which used to be so bright and full of life, now dulled nearly beyond recognition. His arm was bloody, and his skin looked more ashen grey than it had the last time Jin had seen him. New wounds were visible across his face, implying the fights he’d gotten himself into.

Jin’s hands shook as the tip of the rifle dipped down. Both zombies were moving toward him. He knew well enough he needed to take aim or he’d be devoured, but he couldn’t make himself do it. Not at Jungkook.

Tears stung his eyes as he watched Jungkook’s slow approach. His heart broke and he whispered a silent apology before darting back into the kitchen.

Tae snapped his head up at the sudden entrance. Jimin was still in his arms, but the color was slowly returning to his face and his breathing had slowed to a more natural pace. Good. He would need them all fully operational to get them out alive.

“What’s going on? Did you take care of them?” Tae’s tone gave away his suspicion.

“Not exactly.” Jin pushed past them and raced to the back of the room, shoving aside every shelving unit and appliance he could. There had to be a back way out of this stupid kitchen. They couldn’t simply be trapped.

“It’s no use,” Jimin said, his voice small, “Hoseok and I used to come here as kids. His uncle owned the restaurant and he used to let us hang out in the kitchen while he cooked. There are no other exits.”

“A window?” Jin’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “Loose boards? Anything?”

Jimin shook his head.

“Why are you searching for a way out so frantically? Just go shoot them in the head,” Tae demanded, his voice rising with his anger, “are you trying to get us all killed?”

Jin bit his tongue as he felt his own anger growing. “I’m only trying to find the most efficient way out.”

“How many of those monsters are out there?”

“Two.”

“And you can’t just shoot them?”

“You’re not the only ones to have lost someone, ok?” Jin clamped his mouth shut, regretting the outburst the second the words left his lips.

“You know one of the zombies out there.” Jimin said in understanding. Jin didn’t grant them an answer but they didn’t need one. The truth was obvious enough. “Alright then,” he pushed himself to his feet, swaying slightly as he did, “we don’t shoot them, but unless you want to join your friend in the world of zombies, we need to find a way out.”

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” Jin bit back.

To his credit, Jimin kept his composure despite Jin’s harsh tone. “We won’t find an exit in here. Our only option is to go through the dining area. How close to the door were they?”

“A few feet, but the mess out there is keeping them from moving anywhere quickly.”

“Perfect. We should be able to make it out then. We’ll just have to move fast.” His skin paled as soon as his eyes landed on Hoseok. Bringing a hand up to cover his mouth, he quickly turned away. “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Do you want to bury him?” Jin’s voice was barely above a whisper yet his words were caught by both men.

“What?” Tae asked. It was strange hearing such a deep voice sound so soft.

“I’ll carry him out, if you want.”

Tears streamed down Jimin’s cheeks as he shook his head. “It’s not worth the risk,” he spoke through broken sobs.

“There’s not much left to bury anyway,” Tae said through gritted teeth, “if we want to get out of here alive, he has to stay.”

Wiping his arm across his eyes to clear away the tears, Jimin pushed through the door, his body disappearing on the other side. Tae was quick to follow.

Jin lingered for a second longer, fighting against himself. He wondered what he would have done if the tables had been turned. Would he have been able to leave Jungkook behind?

A crash from just outside the door snapped him from his thoughts and back to the present. Grasping his bag off the ground, he threw it over his shoulder and followed the others out into the dining room.

The scene he stepped into wasn’t what he expected. Jimin stood atop a table, shouting in a desperate attempt to grab the zombies’ attention. His arms waved frantically above his head as he bounced lightly on his feet, causing as much commotion as he could. Confused, Jin moved to get him down off the table and out the door. Why would he be trying to draw attention to himself? If this is how they fought off zombies, it was a wonder how they were both still alive.

That was when Jin caught sight of Tae. The man had been trapped beneath a table and was struggling to regain his feet. The first zombie was attempting to stretch himself across a chair and the overturned table, arms grabbing for Tae and generally making the man’s life more difficult. The chair groaned against its weight. It wouldn’t be long before the wood gave way, allowing the zombie to reach Tae. Jungkook wasn’t far behind either. If the first zombie didn’t get to him, Jungkook would. Jin couldn’t let that happen.

“Jimin,” Jin shouted, “get off the table and get outside. I’ll grab Tae.”

Jimin hesitated. His eyes trailed back to the kitchen before falling on Jin, as if silently pleading with him too keep Tae from suffering the same fate. Jin gave him a curt nod, letting him know he understood his request. The action seemed to appease Jimin and in a few swift movements, the man was off the table and safely out the door.

Jin turned his attention back to the problem at hand. Keeping his eyes carefully off Jungkook, he raised his rifle and shot it twice. Bits of plaster and wood rained down around him, though he hardly flinched when a piece struck his shoulder, his attention hooked elsewhere. He’d gotten the reaction he’d wanted. Both zombies were fixated on him. Jungkook was the first to move, maneuvering through the cluttered space in a slow but deliberate pace. The other zombie was quick to follow, forgetting Tae who had gone completely still beneath the table.

Another shot to the ceiling had more of the plaster raining down on them. Moving back a few paces, he kept a careful eye on Tae as the man pulled himself free and hobbled toward the door. It was clear his leg had taken a beating but Jimin was there, ready to help his friend once he was within reach.

With a sigh of relief, Jin leapt over the counter, accidentally knocking a down a register in the process. Long forgotten bills scattered across the floor with coins rolling in every direction. He almost laughed. Money no longer held meaning. The idea that the world once relied so heavily on the small pieces of paper seemed like such an odd concept to him now.

An arm reached over the counter, narrowly missing Jin’s shoulder. He yelped in surprise and jerked out of reach. Time to go. Racing to the other side of the counter, he leapt over and crossed the distance to the door in two strides. Both zombies scrambled after him, but they wouldn’t be going anywhere quickly. Jimin had made sure of that as he left, turning over any table or chair that remained standing until the entire room was an entangled mess of furniture.

With one last look over his shoulder, Jin sent a silent promise to Jungkook. He would find a cure and he would bring him back, no matter the cost.

Blinking back the hot tears stinging the corners of his eyes, Jin pushed through the door; leaving Jungkook behind for the second time in his life.

With his feet dangling over the edge of the building, Jin leaned back on his hands to take in the wonders of the night sky above him, remembering how the city lights used to mask it all. He hadn’t seen a proper night sky until several years after the outbreak. It still amazed him, the fact he could see the milky way on the clearest of nights.

The stars had always been Jungkook’s favorite. No matter how grim their world seemed to be, he could always find the beauty in it. Those large eyes seemed to reflect the entirety of the galaxy as he stared up toward it.

“Hey,”

Jin didn’t bring his eyes down or give any sign of acknowledgement to the small blonde as he dropped down next to him.

Jimin was silent for a long moment, mimicking Jin as he tilted back his head toward the heavens. “Hobi used to love lying awake to watch the night sky.”

“Hobi?”

“That’s the nickname we gave Hoseok.”

Jin recognized the name. Jimin was speaking of the man they’d found inside the restaurant. Keeping his gaze carefully locked on the stars, he patiently waited to see if Jimin would continue.

“Actually,” Jimin breathed a laugh, “we used to call him our hope, but after a while it got shortened to Hobi. Easier to say in a pinch, I guess. He was always the one to lift the spirits of our little group. If it weren’t for him, I don’t know where Tae and I would be now, or if we’d even still be alive. Tae likes to come across as being all tough, but underneath it all, he’s just a soft baby. He won’t admit it but I know he’s scared.”

Jin bit his lip to keep from tearing up. It was refreshing to listen to the way Jimin described his friends. The love they held for each other was something Jin hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“He gets overwhelmed easily and Hobi was always the one who could calm him back down.” Jimin’s voice became quiet then, but in the silence of the night his words were easy to hear. “I don’t know how I’m going to fill those shoes. Without Hobi around, it’s up to me to keep Tae safe but to be honest, I’m not sure I can do that. I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

Bringing his head down, Jin finally looked over at him. Jimin looked so small sitting there, throwing his trust to someone he’d only just met and laying out insecurities. Jin hesitated a few seconds before casually saying, “I’m travelling East, toward a medical center that’s supposedly still under operation. You’re both welcome to stay with me if you wish.”

Jimin’s eyes grew wide, his head whipping around to inspect every inch of Jin’s face as if searching for any sign of a trick. “You’re serious?”

Jin shrugged, dropping his head back once more. The cool breeze sent shivers down his entire body, but he welcomed the chill. It meant he was still alive. He could fight another day. “Sure, why not?”

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are you looking for a medical center? Are you hurt or something?”

Jin actually smiled at that, giving his head a light shake. “I’m looking for a cure.”

Recognition flashed in Jimin’s eyes. “What’s his name?”

“What?”

“The zombie back at the diner. You knew him.”

Jin swallowed hard, his brows creasing as he fought the urge to physically run from the question. Gritting his teeth, he managed one word, “Jungkook.”

Jimin sensed the tension and quickly backed off, choosing instead to ramble on. “Tae and I will help you get there. I know I would do anything to get Hobi back if I could. I imagine you’re not much different when it comes to Jungkook. Is he your brother?”

Jin shook his head lightly. “May as well have been.”

“He’s lucky to have someone like you looking out for him.”

“It’s my fault he was turned.”

“And yet you're fighting against all odds to get him back. I think that’s pretty admirable. Truth is, I think you’re cool. You’re like some epic hero on a quest to save the world.”

“I’m not here to save the world.”

“You’re trying to save one person’s world. That’s enough.”

Tae scoffed as he sank down beside Jimin. Jin tensed, not having heard the man approach. “Jimin, you can’t just make out every human you meet to be a hero. Imagine the pressure that puts them under.”

“Hobi didn’t seem to mind.” Jimin pouted, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re just jealous because you’re not cool enough to be dubbed a hero.”

“Nah, I’m too cool for that stupid title and you know it.” He looked to Jin then, tilting his head in a way that painfully reminded Jin of Jungkook. “So where is this place you’re taking us?”

Jin let his head fall back once more, eyes scanning the stars in search of Jungkook’s favorite constellation. He’d never been able to spot it, no matter how hard he tried. “The National Medical Center, at the heart of Seoul. Rumor has it, there are sections of the building still under operation. There’s said to be a group of medical professionals and scientists who have been working on creating a cure in a desperate attempt to save humankind from extinction.”

Tae breathed a laugh in disbelief, “Do you think they could do it?”

Jin shrugged.

“I’m sure they can. A group of smart people like that ought to be able to come up with something helpful,” Jimin said.

“Whether they can or not, I’m going. The two of you are welcome to come if you want.”

“We’ll be there,” Jimin grinned.

Tae took one last look in the direction of the restaurant before standing and stretching with a loud groan. “Yeah, probably best we get out of this area anyway. It’s becoming a little too crowded and all the food’s been picked clean. Time to find a new town to raid.”

Jin waited until they’d both huddled up together, using each other’s bodies to stave off the cold and he could hear one of them begin to snore. He wouldn’t be sleeping tonight. The nightmares always left him more tired than when he’d gone to sleep. The more alert he was for the journey tomorrow, the better. Letting out a slow breath, he closed his eyes and allowed the few tears to fall that he’d been holding back. “Hang on just a little while longer, Kook. I’m coming.”

“I’m hungry,” Tae whined, dragging his feet behind the others.

Jin released a slow breath, counting backward from ten. Tae had been complaining about hunger for the past twenty minutes and Jin wasn’t sure he could handle any more.

“Then keep your eyes peeled for a building that doesn’t look completely scavenged,” Jimin balled his fists at his side, “and for the sake of my sanity, please stop whining. We’re all hungry.”

Tae’s lower lip jutted out and his brows furrowed.

Jin adjusted the gun’s strap, rolling his shoulder. The sun beat down on them, yet it offered little resistance to the persistent wind. There was a storm coming, he could feel it. They would need to find a place to hide it out but with three of them now, it would be difficult to remain undetected.

“There!”

Jin spun at the sudden shout, hands reaching back for his gun before he realized what was happening.

Tae bounced on the balls of his feet, pointing to the convenience store they’d just passed. “The shelves are still stocked. I saw it through the windows.” His stomach made a few noises in agreement and he gave them a pointed look. “It’ll only take five minutes.”

Tired of his incessant complaining, Jin dipped his head in a brief nod. Not wasting a second, Tae nearly skipped across the street.

Jimin ran a hand through his hair, licking his lips nervously. “I don’t like this. Something doesn’t feel right.”

“You mean besides the fact we’re rid of his whining?”

“No, we need to keep moving. We shouldn’t go in there.” Cupping his hands around his mouth, Jimin called out to Tae but the man either couldn’t hear him or didn’t care. In seconds, he’d entered the building and Jin could see him through the large, storefront windows, raiding the shelves.

Jin crossed the street in a few strides, dropping the bag off his shoulder as he went. The quicker they helped Tae gather food, the quicker they could be on their way again.

Jimin followed behind him, dragging his feet. His eyes darting back and forth, as if expecting an attack to come at any given moment.

Jin wasn’t sure what he was so worried about. There’d been no sign of any zombies for miles. The medical center was only a few blocks away now. They were on the home stretch.

“Hold on,” Jimin reached out, grabbing hold of Jin’s arm.

The look on the boy’s face had Jin on high alert. A flash of movement behind the front counter inside the store caught Jin’s eye and his heart sank. Jimin had been right  to be suspicious. Tae wasn’t in there alone.

Ordering Jimin to stay where he was, Jin covered the distance to the door in two strides. Tae had caught the attention of the zombie who was moving quickly through the aisles toward him.

Swinging the gun over his shoulder, he kicked open the door. The noise had only captured zombie’s attention for a moment. He was nearly on top of the unsuspecting boy now.

Tae’s eyes grew wide at the sight of Jin’s gun and he immediately turned to where it was aimed. With mere seconds to spare, he shot out of the zombie’s reach, his foot catching in a forgotten display, sending him crashing to the floor. Tae attempted to scramble to his feet but the zombie was quicker. Dropping to the floor, the zombie tore into Tae’s calf, provoking a blood curdling scream from the boy.  

Jimin burst through the door then, hot tears spilling down his cheeks as he threw himself into the fray. Disregarding his own safety, he clawed at the zombie, attempting to pull him away from his friend.

Jin stood frozen on the spot. Gripping the gun tightly, he tried to keep his hands from shaking. Each breath grew more jagged as he watched them struggle. Memories of that day came crashing back, drowning him and forcing him to relive his worst nightmare.  Only this time, he couldn’t wake up. All Jin could see was Jungkook lying beaten and bloodied beside him. Tae’s screams mixed with that of Jungkook’s as Jin fought to keep his feet. Each breath was growing harder to take, his mind a wild mess of regret, guilt and pain. The world spun wildly around him. Someone screamed but he wasn’t sure who. It could have been him. Jimin looked up at him, pleading as he struggled to get Tae free, but Jin couldn’t make himself move. It was all happening again, and just like before, Jin could do nothing.

The desperation in Jimin’s voice as he called Jin’s name shook him from his stupor. Jimin was talking to him, almost soothingly. The blonde wasn’t even looking at him, yet he continued to speak. Jin couldn’t understand the words but his tone was calm. Jimin was fighting against a zombie and yet he was the one trying to calm Jin down. Taking a deep, shaky breath, Jin set his shoulders back. He would not just stand by and watch another fall to the same fate Jungkook had. He would not be so weak a second time.

With trembling movement, Jin fell into action, shouting for Jimin to get out of the way as he took aim. Several consecutive shots - most shooting past their target to plant themselves in the nearest display - and the zombie fell to the ground, motionless.

Leaping to his feet, Jimin rushed back to Tae’s side. The boy was only just holding it together. It was clear he was in pain. The entire back of Tae’s leg had been torn apart. Jin hadn’t seen so much blood since the day Jungkook was attacked. Bile rose in the back of his throat but he stubbornly swallowed it back down. He didn’t have time to be sick now.

Following Jimin’s lead, Jin crouched down to grab hold of Tae’s other arm, helping Jimin to lift him up. No one wanted to admit what they all knew but Jin refused to give up on him. He may not have been able to keep Jungkook from turning, but he would do everything in his power to keep Tae among the living.

Together, Jin and Jimin carried Tae the remaining three blocks to the center. They’d caught the attention of a few straggler zombies along the way, but Jin hardly paid them any mind. Jimin hurried them along, his eyes flitting back to the zombies every few seconds.

Jin could hardly breathe. He wasn’t a weak person but Tae’s weight felt crushing and the contact made his skin crawl. The urge to drop the boy and run away was nearly unbearable. He couldn’t live out this nightmare again.

“We made it!” Jimin shouted, quickening his pace and forcing Jin to focus on not dropping Tae. Using his shoulder, Jimin pushed the door open, allowing them to shuffle through. “We need to find something to keep that door closed.”

Jin glanced around the nearly empty room. There wasn’t much there, let alone something strong enough to keep a zombie out. “Jimin, we need to find a secure room to hide in. Those glass doors won’t hold them out for long, even if you do manage to secure them.”

The boy hesitated.

Jin waited with baited breath, his eyes darting between Jimin and the fast approaching zombies.

With a nod of his head, Jimin rushed back over and together they hoisted Tae up, who’d long since passed out, his body no longer able to handle the pain. Jimin questioned where they were headed but Jin didn’t have an answer. The building was enormous. Everything stood open and the sheer amount of glass made it feel as though he could see the entire building from where he stood. The doors that were solid, most had been torn from their hinges. Jin felt as if he were standing in a large glass bubble, exposed and vulnerable.

“Head for the stairs. Get to the second level.” Jin huffed, adjusting his hold on Tae. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold the man’s dead weight. His muscles screamed in protest and it was growing more difficult to keep his knees from buckling.

A man appeared behind the glass railing above them. Jimin let out a small squeak and nearly dropped Tae. Jin could only pray whoever stood there was human. Their chances of evading zombies from both directions was slim at best.

The man stood silent for a moment, surveying the scene before him. Long, ruffled hair fell down over his eyes and he kept a clipboard tucked up under his arm. Loose, faded jeans which had been torn far beyond what was most likely originally purchased, and a baggy sweatshirt did nothing to hide his unhealthily thin frame. He looked worse off than Jin and despite everything happening around them, Jin had to wonder when the man’s last meal had been.

Motioning for them to follow, the man turned on his heels and shuffled back down the hall, disappearing behind a closed door. With no other options, Jimin gave a small nod to Jin and they followed the man up.

Just as they reached the top of the stairs, the zombies crashed through the glass of the front doors. So much for trying to lock it. They hadn’t even bothered trying to enter in any logical way. The large oak door swung open long enough for two pairs of arms to reach out and pull them in before it was slammed shut again and a series of bolts put back into place.

Jin let out a sigh of relief, placing Tae on the floor before sliding down against the door. They’d made it. Despite all odds, they were still alive.

“Hi, I’m Jimin.”

Jin opened his eyes just enough to see Jimin extend a hand toward the two other men in the room. The skinny one they’d seen earlier glared at Jimin’s extended hand, taking a step back as he did. The other, a tall man with a dimpled smile and broad-rimmed glasses, happily accepted it. He looked a bit more put together than his friend. With a fitted black sweater and bleached blonde hair which was kept a bit shorter, he didn’t appear to be so close to death’s door.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Namjoon. The grump over here is Yoongi. Don’t mind him, he’s just not good with new people.”

Jin cracked a smile at that. From the sounds of it, he and Yoongi weren’t much different.

“What are the two of you doing here?” Jimin’s eyes were wide in amazement as he gazed around the room.

“We’re working with a group of about ten other people to find a cure.”

Jin’s interest peaked and he sat up a little straighter, hanging off Namjoon’s words.

Yoongi scoffed, rolling his eyes as he plopped down on the desk chair. “Working with? Those people haven’t contributed anything since the last testing. I’d hardly call that ‘helping’,” he sighed, “those people are idiots anyway. They don’t think it’s worth it the effort anymore.”

“Why not?” Jimin asked softly. “Why would anyone give up on trying to fight this?”

“Too many botched attempts. We haven’t gotten anywhere close to finding a formula that’ll actually combat the virus. People are starting to lose hope of ever finding a cure.”

“That’s not true, “ Namjoon smacked Yoongi along the back of his head, “we’ve gotten close. It’s so close I can taste it.”

“Better let someone who actually needs the stupid thing to do the tasting.” Yoongi nodded toward Tae. “Someone like him.”

Namjoon winced as he looked down to where Tae was passed out on the floor. “Your friend does look a bit ill.”

“Please,” Jimin pleaded, “can you help him?”

“Do you mind offering your friend up as a guinea pig?” Yoongi pushed himself off his chair to crouch down next to Tae, observing the tear in his leg. “This formula hasn’t been tested yet and it may not work at all. If it doesn’t, your friend here won’t live to see tomorrow.”

Jimin swallowed hard.

“It’s better than forcing him to live out his days as one of those monsters,” Jin ground out.

“Right,” Namjoon rubbed his hands together, his excitement unable to be contained, “Yoongi, fetch the vial and syringe. The sooner we administer it, the quicker the effects will take hold.”

Jimin sat at Tae’s side, holding his hand tightly in both of his own. Quiet words tumbled from his lips as he rocked back and forth. He was trying to reassure Tae that everything would be alright, which was absurd since the boy was still passed out cold. Jin wondered if Jimin’s words of encouragement were more for his own sake than Tae’s.

Yoongi groaned as he shuffled through the piles of paper atop the desk. “Why don’t you ever organize your things? No wonder we haven’t found a cure that works yet. The answer’s probably buried somewhere in all this mess.”

“Stop going through my things,” Namjoon reprimanded, “the vial is in the top drawer of the second case. It’s the only one in there so it shouldn’t be too hard to find.”

Yoongi bristled at the teasing but didn’t say anything.

A crash just outside the door had Jin leaping to his feet. His heart raced wildly as he stared at the handle, waiting for it to twist open. “Just how secure are those bolts?”

“We should be safe for now, but I wouldn’t risk staying here any longer,” Yoongi said, turning toward them with the vial in hand, “I suggest we move to the next room.”

Jin and Jimin immediately returned to their positions, hoisting Tae up between them to drag him along behind the others.

They’d barely made it a few steps when the wood splintered and the door to the hall burst open. The zombies were in.

Jin’s breath caught in his throat and he nearly dropped Tae. Far more than two zombies stood outside the door. Dozens of them had crowded along the walkway and were pushing to get into the room. The worst of it was seeing Jungkook’s face leading the hoard.

Jin froze, his eyes glued to Jungkook as he shuffled into the room. Jimin screamed something but a fog had settled over him, distorting the voices and narrowing his vision. Someone was shaking his shoulder but he couldn’t see who. There was screaming. So much screaming. Just like there was that day.

It took a moment to realize he was no longer holding onto Tae. Either someone had taken him or he’d fallen from Jin’s grasp. Jin wasn’t sure he wanted to know which it was.

Shifting his gaze, he saw Namjoon frantically gathering everything he could from his desk. More papers dropped to the ground than were picked up in his rush. Yoongi appeared beside him, pushing the man away from the desk and through the back door. Something caught Jin’s eye as the two stepped away. The vial - it was there, sitting amongst all the research that had been left behind.

Yoongi reappeared only to drop down next to Jimin who was desperately attempting to drag an unconscious Tae across the floor. With no luck against his dead weight, Jin knew they would never get him out in time. They had a few seconds at best before the zombies were on top of them.

Hot tears streamed down the blonde’s cheeks as he fought against Yoongi’s hold but despite his small size, the little man was stronger than he appeared. With relative ease, Yoongi managed to drag Jimin away from Tae’s body and out the same door he’d ushered Namjoon through only seconds before.

Jin’s gaze drifted to the vial before flitting back to land on Jungkook who was quickly making his way toward Tae. He knew what he had to do.

As if a switch had suddenly been flicked, the haze lifted and the world came back into focus. Dropping his gun, Jin dove for the desk, his fingers locking around the vial. With one swift movement, Jin scooped up the empty syringe from where it had fallen to the floor and leapt out of reach from the nearest zombie.

The room was becoming too crowded and his breathing was less than steady but for the first time since Jungkook turned, Jin had a clear objective. The end was near, he could feel it. One way or another, it all ended today.

Jin plowed his way through the hoard. Rotting, viscid flesh scraped against his own. A searing pain in his shoulder, followed quickly by another near his ankle hardly gave him pause. Slick, sticky liquid, which he recognized as his own blood, caused his feet to stumble.

Most of the zombies had all gathered in one place. Somewhere deep in his mind Jin knew why but he wouldn’t allow the reason to make itself known. The reality may crush him.

Jungkook was only a few paces ahead of him. Jin’s left arm had gone completely numb. Or perhaps he’d lost it entirely. Someone was screaming and it took a few moments to realize it was himself.

Using every last ounce of strength he had, Jin dove at the boy, sending them both tumbling past the frame the others had disappeared through. Twisting, Jin kicked the door shut behind him, smacking another zombie in the face and sending it falling back.

They had a few minutes at best before the others managed to push their way through the door. Beneath him, Jungkook hissed, struggling to regain control of his arms which had been trapped beneath Jin’s body.

Trembling hands nearly dropped the syringe. With a deep breath, Jin tried to steady his breathing and calm his nerves. Ignoring Jungkook’s struggles, he managed to fill the syringe with the clear liquid.

A breath of relief brought a half smile to his lips. “This is it. This is what we’ve been looking for.”

Carefully, so to avoid releasing Jungkook’s arms, Jin twisted back around. Finding a tear in Jungkook’s jacket, just below his shoulder, Jin administered the drug. The stench of rotting flesh had his eyes watering but he refused to back away as he waited with bated breath.

Several agonizing seconds passed before Jungkook stilled beneath him, his eyes drifting closed. In a panic, Jin tossed the syringe to the side and fell off the boy, crumpling to the ground beside him. Hardly able to hold himself up, he simply stared, watching Jungkook’s face closely for any sign of life. Yoongi had said this new formula hadn’t been tested yet. What if it didn’t work?

Glancing around the room, he searched for anything that may be of help. The room was a mess. Broken vials and papers covered in sloppy handwriting littered the floor. Several broken chairs lay scattered throughout the room, along with a few forgotten weapons. A small grenade lay just a few feet from Jin’s feet. The pin had been pulled yet it remained intact. A rifle balanced precariously on the edge of the only chair still standing, just beyond Jungkook’s head. Amongst it all, he saw nothing that may aid him.

The pain in Jin’s chest made it hard to move but he inched closer to Jungkook despite it. Every horrible scenario played through his head as he studied the boy’s face.

A breath - the first Jin had seen Jungkook take since the moment he’d watched the life leave his body. Again. The rise and fall of his chest was subtle but it was there. Jin’s heart soared at the sight. Jungkook was alive.

Slowly, his eyes blinked open and with a small wince, he managed to turn his head toward Jin. Tears clouded Jin’s eyes as he dragged himself closer. It had worked. His best friend was back.

Jungkook coughed, sending a bit of blood spraying across the floor. “What’s going on?”

Jin shook his head, unable to stop the tears from falling. He couldn’t bring himself to speak, too caught up in the fact that Jungkook was breathing once more. Something wasn’t right though. Jungkook’s skin was still ashen and his breathing was jagged, as if every breath grated against his lungs. He was in pain.

Taking in Jin’s appearance, Jungkook’s frown deepened. “You’re bleeding.”

Jin breathed a laugh, “You should see yourself.”

Bringing his elbows up under him, Jungkook hissed in pain. “What happened? Where are we? The zombies - did we-?”

Jin shook his head in dejection, “It’s been nearly a year since the attack.”

“A year? How could that be? We were just - I - I don’t understand.“

Jin dropped his gaze, no longer able to look at the bright eye of the one person in the world he’d never wanted to hurt. “There were too many of them. We tried to run but it was too late. One of them grabbed you.” Reaching out, Jin turned Jungkook’s arm, revealing the ugly wound just above his wrist. “There was nothing I could do. No matter what I tried, I couldn’t save you.”

Realization dawned on his face as Jungkook brought his arm up to stare at the torn flesh. Glancing between himself and Jin, he choked back a sob. “No. Please tell me I didn’t -“

Jin shook his head. “You didn’t hurt me. I’m the one who hurt you. It was my job to keep you safe. I made you a promise and I couldn’t keep it.”

With a sigh of relief, Jungkook dropped his arm and scooted closer to Jin. “It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you for what happened and you shouldn’t blame yourself either. This world, it’s cruel. You and I both know that. The only thing we can do is try to keep living.”

“Looks like we’re both doing a bang up job of that.”

Jungkook’s smile sent a wave of peace washing over Jin. “You really spent the past year searching for this cure?”

“What else was I supposed to do? I’d lost my best friend. I had to get him back.”

“You really are crazy.”

“We wouldn’t be best friends if I weren’t.”

Jungkook grit his teeth, wrapping an arm around his midsection. With a forced laugh he said, “Obviously you didn’t think your plan through. Typical.”

“What does that mean?”

“Look at me. My body is literally falling apart. You may have brought my consciousness back, but you know as well as I do, my body won’t recover so easily. You don’t look much better yourself.”

Jin didn’t need to see his wounds to know just how bad they were. He could hardly raise his arm. Moving was all but impossible. Jungkook spoke the truth. Whether he’d been able to keep Jungkook from turning that day or not, his body never would have healed. Jin should have seen it but he’d been too caught up in his own guilt to even think of it.

With a sharp gasp, Jungkook’s hands shot up to grasp at his head. His nails dug into his skin and it appeared as though he were waging a war against himself. The cure - it hadn’t worked.

“I can feel it.” Jungkook’s words were barely a whisper. Large tears shimmered, causing his one eye to glisten. The world stilled around them as reality settled in and he slowly brought his hands back down to his lap. Death was knocking and neither could keep it at bay.

Jin did his best to retain his composure. He had to keep it together. One last time, he would offer his comfort and support.

“Please,” Jungkook pleaded softly, “I don’t want to return as one of them again. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

Jin swallowed hard, wishing desperately he had an answer. Any sort of solution would have been better than the blank page he had to offer.

Jungkook eyed the rifle on the chair beside him and after a moment’s hesitation, reached for it. Bringing it back around, he glanced over to Jin before checking to see if it was loaded. Satisfied with his findings, he slid the gun toward Jin.

“I don’t want to live like this anymore,” he nodded toward the gun, “and you and I both know there’s only one way to end it.”

Jin shook his head. “You called me crazy, but listen to yourself.”

“I don’t think it’s all that crazy. There’s no other way out of this. You know it as well as I do.” Finally bringing his head up, Jungkook held Jin’s gaze. “Please, all I’m asking for is one last favor. Keep me from hurting anyone else. Let me die in peace.”

“So that’s it? You’re just giving up?”

Jungkook remained calm despite Jin’s harsh tone. “Who are you trying to kid? You're a mess. I’m pretty sure you look worse than I do and I’ve been virtually dead for the past year. There’s nothing left to give up. This is it for us, one way or another. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather go out knowing I won’t be eating anyone’s brains.”

Jin choked back a sob. “I can’t do this. You can’t ask me to after I’ve spent every waking moment trying to get you back.”

Jungkook grimaced as he let out a soft laugh. “No one asked you to be an idiot. You did that yourself.”

“Who are you calling an idiot? I risked my life for yours and all I get in return is a bunch of name calling.”

“Oh come on, we both know it would have been better if you’d just shot me that day. Fewer people would have gotten hurt,” Jungkook dropped his gaze and his words became barely audible, “you might have lived past today.”

“I can’t do it. What you’re asking me to do -“

“Is merciful compared to the alternative. Jin, I can hardly see anymore. Speaking hurts. I’ll only last a few minutes longer. My fate is sealed. I’m only asking for you to change that fate.” Reaching down, he picked up the gun and gently placed it in Jin’s hand, curling his fingers around it.

Jin could hardly move but he forced himself to sit up. His knuckles turned white as he fought against himself. Jungkook was right of course. Neither of them had much more than a few minutes left in this world as it was. The only question that remained was whether they would be doomed to return as monsters or finally have the peace they’d been searching for.

Jungkook smiled, laying his hand beside Jin’s. “Thank you, for sticking by my side through it all. Our fight is over now.”

Jimin crouched on top of the overturned car, his eyes glued to the entrance of the building. Jin should have been out by now. He’d been right behind them. So where was he? Bracing his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his hands across his face, leaving streaks of grime on his cheeks. The metal beneath his feet groaned and his foot slid in the grease, but he hardly flinched at the movement.

The air was too still, despite the whistling of the frigid breeze biting at his exposed ankles. A plastic bag lightly bounced down the broken asphalt, carried by the wind with no real destination. Jimin watched it with a small tilt of his head until it disappeared behind another building. There were around fifty zombies in the building just a few feet from them, yet the world seemed so calm.

Two shots broke through the silence causing the three of them to jump. The first exactly eight seconds before the next. Jimin’s chest tightened. The silence which came after was deafening. A dreadful haze settled around him, making it hard to breathe. He’d felt this same sensation before, but he refused to believe what his gut was telling him. This wasn’t how it was going to end.

Namjoon whispered a few curses, his hand shaking slightly as he reached for the stack of papers at his feet. “It’s over.”

“Come on, Jimin. It’s time to go.” Yoongi reached up and carefully took hold of his grease covered hand.

Jimin shook his head and jerked his hand out of Yoongi’s. “No, just a few more minutes. He’ll come. You’ll see.”

“It’s no use,” Namjoon sighed, “he’s not coming out and neither is Jungkook.”

“The stupid cure didn’t work.” Yoongi kicked at the tire, sending it rotating only halfway round. “We got it wrong.”

“We need to get out of here before the rest of the zombies decide to venture out. We’ll figure out where we went wrong once we’ve found a safe place to hide.”

Jimin hugged his knees, his body seeming to melt into the metal beneath his feet. He refused to believe those shots meant what Yoongi and Namjoon were implying. Jin would come through those doors, carrying Jungkook with him. He wouldn’t suffer the same fate Jimin had. That couldn’t happen.

Yoongi clambered up onto the car beside him, paying no heed to the fact his jeans were now covered in oily car grease. Taking both of Jimin’s hands, he gently unfolded them from around his legs. “It’s time to go.”

“Jin is going to make it.” Jimin looked at him then, tears burning the corners of his eyes, desperate for Yoongi to understand. “He has to. I’ve lost everyone. There’s no one left for me. That can’t happen to him.”

With slow, careful movements, Yoongi helped Jimin maneuver off the car and back onto solid ground. He didn’t say anything but he drew Jimin in, holding him tightly against his chest. The hug was awkward and it was obvious he wasn’t used to offering this sort of comfort but his message was clear. Despite everything else, Jimin wasn’t alone.

“We’re here for you,” Namjoon smiled softly, patting Jimin on the head. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the glasses further up his nose, his eyes trailing back to the door they knew wasn’t going to be opened again. “The last attempt may not have worked, but that doesn’t mean we’re giving up. We’ll find a cure and rid this world of the terrible disease running through it. Mark my words, we’ll put an end to this.”

Yoongi released his hold and stepped back, embarrassment coloring his cheeks a light pink. “We’d better get moving before the zombies get bored and start looking for a fresh hunt.”

Jimin helped to gather up their things, stuffing a few folders under his own arms. He wasn’t very good with science or medicine, but he would do what he could to help. He’d seen too many people suffer because of the outbreak. Setting his jaw, he gave one last look over his shoulder to the building where the last of his family would be left behind. One way or another, this nightmare would come to an end. He just hoped he would live long enough to see it.

Yoongi stepped up beside him, laying a hand on his shoulder. With a slight nod of his head, the elder ushered him forward. Jimin obliged, forcing his feet to carry him away. He may not have been able to save everyone that day, but he would do everything he could to make it right.

[snacc-noir]

Dystopian world where the Reign of Terror in France evolved into a police state. Ladybug is a symbol of the Resistance but who are they?

(Alright but imagine a legitimate spin-off with this like that would be everything)

Rival/enemy AU (ain’t those the best), Powers from Miraculouses remain (minus catch phrases), and Paris is a mess

-

There were three things Adrien knew is his life:

Training, bullet shells, and his father’s expectations.

Akuma were the syndicate of police in the anachronistic streets of Paris. Adrien grew up with ear-splitting gun shots and makeshift weapons thrusted into his hands. He learnt from his father fast: No one’s innocent, no one’s nice, and no one’s going to be honest.

He also learnt to fight.

Chat Blanc was a ruthless, cutthroat akuma. Carnal and skilled, Adrien lived most days as his police general alias, waiting for the moment he returned home just to see whether he earned a cold nod or frown of disapproval.

Those were pensive afternoons, but it was the soundless endorsements that got him through; that at least informed him he was doing something right in Gabriel’s eyes, no matter what his gut yelled at him. His hands were beyond stained and bruised, yet it was fine - he was doing the right thing; the thing he’d always been taught to do.

He’d be his father’s successor - his current prodigy. He’d worked hard and he’d gain that title no matter how many city shifts he’d have to fight during. How was he supposed to know if anyone hadn’t done anything wrong? Wasn’t like people didn’t want to pick fights with him anyway. In the meantime, being second-in-command was wonderful.

Heart-wrenching sounds and streets run rampant honed the fragile title of Paris. A bloodstained dystopia, illegitimate rulings, and Adrien’s strengths and years of training yielded and harvested by the akuma ruler - Hawk Moth.

Once crime plagued the land until taxes, legal documents, and laws practically lost its existence (weird powers didn’t help the transgression), Gabriel Agreste stepped up and collected emotionally vulnerable victims to the injustice to work them into a strict form of police. Trust fell with the old Paris, and although crime collapsed with each day, civilians’ well-being did too.

It was a horrible way of life, but it was all there was. As far as Adrien had been told, it was the best; the only. No change, just dominion. Most times, akumas played dirty and caused more havoc upon current chaos - but it wasn’t like they were the unbathed criminals. ‘They were in charge, so it was fine’, Gabriel had lectured a younger Adrien.

Not like anyone could stop Hawk Moth.

‘Ladybug’ fell from his father’s mouth bitterly one fugitive discussion.

Adrien had settled into late teens and still carried more skills and destructive behaviours than any akuma out there. Teams lurked more nowadays, gun strapped and tool belted behind crippled sheds Parisians called homes. Food was scarce and thievery was the largest matter for the police to guard. Adrien dealt with more serious matters, and this one seemed the most rattling yet.

“A resistance force. My akumas are not handling it well. They mark their wrongdoings with a ladybug in spray paint.”

Instantly, Adrien knew if he destroyed the Ladybug resistance, his father could never disapprove again.

Days in the hunt turned to weeks. It didn’t help that he’d set out alone, his pale suit striking amongst the ruins with him, his extendedable staff, and destruction powers. Sharing the glory would defeat the goal of independence; to show his father that he could do what he’d always been taught, but better. Not like they was anything else to live for.

And then, he caught them.

Well, her.

He’d reached a crumbled wing of the city. It wasn’t a dignitified building. The brick exterior hardly existed, and the windows were framed in dark oak that seemed to be eating itself in. The doors in the entryway were flanked by stacked rubble and dripping with fresh vandalism.

Chat Blanc would’ve turned away if his feet didn’t go weightless under him, ripped before he could think and his upper-half crashing into the dirt. His body flew up and he found himself grimacing into a face upside-down.

(Okay, so maybe she’d caught him.)

“Seems you found my hideout.”

He spat the dirt in hopes it’d touch her face. She dodged, disappointedly. “It’s pathetic.”

Adrien knew it was Ladybug when he got a better look at her through a sharpened gaze. Her painted mask had blotches of red, the eyes sparkling back at him a pure bluebell shade. Dark hair like midnight, a grin that mocked him from every angle...

She was beautiful.

“Says the guy dressed as a pad.”

He loathed her.

“Where’s the rest of you?”

“Oh, they’re not around. They’re not as dedicated as I am. I’ve been waiting for your visit for weeks!”

Ignoring the hit to his failed huntings (wait, she’d been watching? She was close?), he struggled in the brace. She held something to her side, probably the source of the tight bearings around his feet, hanging him indignantly on the broken streetlight. “So you know who I am?”

“Everyone knows you. You’re Hawk Moth’s son.”

He knew he should’ve felt a swell of pride, but, nothing.

“You’re ruining our lives.”

“What? I am not.” He flexed his ankles, hoping the bleach-steel boots would loosen her bonds. He had come to threaten and destroy, not be lectured while strapped helpless, yet here he was rolling his eyes dangling. “You’re ruining your own. Now release.”

She stared him down haughtily. “No.”

“That’s a command.”

“Ooh, you’re an akuma. That’s right. I’m supposed to be idiotic enough to think you rule me or something! I’m so scared. What power!” The red figure blurred with more blood that pooled the base of his skull. Better off it made him sluggish, or else he would’ve swung to bite her or something. “Listen, Chat—can I call you Chat?”

He growled, remorsefully appropriately.

“—Thanks to your ‘crime guard’, there’s only more tyranny and less justice going around. Seems you only stop thievery for fun when people just want food. Not to mention one’s who don’t even break your dumb rules! Attacking innocent Parisians and confiscating their goods doesn’t help anything,” the next words came thick, rumbling and bitter, like she’d be deliberated them often, “only yourselves.”

He met her through hooded eyes.

‘Enough of this.’

Chat wrenched the bond from above his swinging head and burned it, from her judgment; a slithering dark coat engulfing the impossible material of her restraints leaving a darker, withered string behind that he snapped through.

Next was a haste. Ladybug found her shoulders locked to the same streetlamp and a far taller teen taping carnal eyes to hers.

“Little lady, I don’t think you should be out so late saying such ridiculous things.” The spread smirk sickened her. He looked too clean, too dressed - too... normal, under the whitish mask. No cold colour sporting his eye bags or lines of dirt, ash, or hunger. A fresh sight she’d begun to despise for envy.

“Now,” the baton he’d abandoned hopped from his foot as he kicked it to his hand, the cool metal forcing her chin up, “it’s considered a felony to disturb an akuma, especially such one as me, but considering your... talent around the city, I say I can offer you a job.”

She mimicked his try at spitting. “Go rot.”

Her surge excited him. Scolding twice, he thinned what he hoped was a chilling gaze she’d burn to memory. “LB...” he said, slow and sly and tantalising, “and here I thought we could be friends.”

“Stop ruining lives with barbaric control and join my team, and just maybe we can.”

Her face sat dully, some dirt across her nose and brows so low and unimpressed he could easily bet her sarcasm level. For some reason, the analysation irked him to brush the glaring streak of smut with the same thumb that’d helped disintegrate her weapon.

Ladybug’s mouth tipped. A question formed in her eyes, but didn’t touch her lips.

He grinned. He’d caught her off guard.

“You repulse me.”

Adrien’s grin bloomed. “Likewise.”

He’d expected her to retaliate at some point or another - throwing his tight grip off and sailing to the sky before he caught her and threw the delusional, justice-starved nuisance at his father’s feet in hopes to receive approvement of any kind. That’d be the end of this chapter.

Instead, she didn’t flinch, as though she had no escape.

But then she smiled.

(The smile mimicked burned memories, and Adrien found his heart suddenly bruised. Of course his new enemy would carry a smile so much like hers. His luck loathed him.)

“Here;”

Something behind her—something definitely not there before—jumped up and flashed before his face. A little black jar with a small-print label unreadable by first glance.

Did she have ‘creating little jar’ powers or something? Was that supposed to scare him?

“Wha—”

“A parting gift.”

Then his face filled with black ink, stinging his eyes and staining his mask, cold splatters indifferent against his suit. He heard the rest of the jar splat in a spiel of glass, the sound coughed on by the dirt. Chat Blanc groaned and rubbed and spat out the dark liquid.

While the next blink, she’d slipped away.

“Oh, and Chat?”

Blood boiling, sore gaze throbbing, he searched helplessly for the spotted girl before seeing that her yoyo-style binder had mended and carried her to the shattered shingles atop the building she’d earlier called her ‘hideout’.

He could follow. He could move. He had to move. He was supposed to extend his baton and lurch and follow her so what was he doing standing covered in ink like an absolute idiot come on Adrien just move—

But she was smiling, and he could see it from there.

“Black’s a much better colour on you. Makes your eyes stand out, don’t you think?”

She vanished.

He didn’t end up moving.

He didn’t even mind his father’s glare that night after stumbling home late, ink-faced and hiding a sheepish grin.

He didn’t even mind that he’d most certainly see her again.

[peterparkerspooderman]

Sex Tape Pt. 3

Sex Tape Part 3

A/N: Hey my lovelies. Some of you wanted me to do a part 3 and I think it’s will be the end of the Sex Tape trilogy because I don’t really know what else to write about for Sex Tape. So here you go, I hope you enjoy it 😊

 Warnings: Smuttttt 

Masterlist

After yours and Peter’s nasty time was premiered to the whole Avengers squad you haven’t had a break. When you got home and after the lecture, you received from your dad you told Peter what happened and he’s now even more terrified of your dad than he originally was. This caused a lot of tension whenever you and Peter wanted to go out, so much so your dad even suggested a chaperone.  You’re glad that your dad didn’t break you up but it might as well feel like you and Peter broke up because you can’t spend any time together due to your dad making it near impossible. When Peter comes over to the compound, the team make it so that you two can’t sit or stand together. When you and Peter are caught sitting next to each other on the couch Sam makes it his mission to separate you two by squeezing himself in the middle. The only time you and Peter can spend time together is at school and you’re tired of it.

 “Y/N! That’s a crazy idea!” Peter exclaims. The crowded hallway of students turns their heads to see the commotion but soon carry on with their daily lives.

“Come on Peter, we haven’t had any action in weeks. I need you.” You whisper, standing so your chests are touching, your breath tickling his neck. Peter takes an intake of breath at your words. His mind filling up withal the things he hasn’t had a chance to do to you. You feel him growing against your thigh and you smirk. Luckily your bodies are close enough so no one can see.

“Come on, baby please.” You plead, placing a soft kiss on his neck. The once crowded hallway is now deserted and you couldn’t be happier.

Peter’s hands grab hold of your ass and pushes your back into the lockers, emitting a loud noise from the metal. He hikes one of your legs around his hip and ruts himself against you. You let out a loud moan but Peter hushes it with his mouth as he dives his tongue into your mouth.

“You’re killing me, baby” He grunts into your mouth. Your core throbs at his raspy voice.

His lips move to your neck and sucks a light hickey into the skin and pulls away. You whine at the loss of contact. He gently takes your leg and lowers it to the ground. You try to pull him back in for another kiss, but he stops you.

“We have to get to class, we can continue this later.” He rasps in your ear. Before he starts to walk to his next class you stop him.

“How you gonna hide this babe?” You ask before cupping his hard bulge through his jeans. He almost moans at the contact. Lord knows how much this boy has been wanting you and he can’t wait for the opportunity but that isn’t now.

“It’s a good thing I have textbooks.” He sasses, he gives your head a kiss before he turn to go to his next lesson and shortly after you do the same.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay so here’s the plan. I tell my dad that I’m going to a study group, what time will May be out?” You ask Peter, trying to formulate a plan so you two can have some alone time together.

“Well she gets off work an hour from now, but she normally goes grocery shopping and that woman can spend 2 hours in the soup aisle.” Peter says, perfect. You look at your watch a realize that you’re running late and don’t want your dad to ask questions.

“I gotta run babe, see you tonight.” You say. You give Peter a kiss on the lips that was supposed to be short but turned out to be deeper than intended.

“Damn Parker, keep it in your pants.” You tease, knowing that you’re a lot worse.

“When it comes to you? Never.” He says. You roll your eyes and walk in the direction to the compound, but Peter being Peter he slaps your ass before you start walking. You throw him a playful glare.

 You get home and greet your dad with a kiss on the cheek and greet the team that are not on a mission. You get to your room and get some homework done because lord knows you won’t be doing anything later. You’re busy with your math sum when you hear your Phone ping. Your screen lights up and you read the message from Peter.

Dork: May’s out😉

You feel butterflies in your chest like it was yours and Peter’s first date. You gather some books and make sure you have your cute underwear on before going to your dad. You walk down to his lab and see him at his desk. You knock before walking in.

“Hey dad, can I meet with my study group in the library? We have a huge test next week.” You explain, hoping your dad will say yes. He looks at you and slides his glasses halfway down his nose.

“Will Peter be at this, study group meeting?” he asks, his voice stern and serious.

“Nope, May needed his help with something so he won’t be able to make it.” You say, pretending to be upset that he won’t be there. At this news your dad relaxes a bit.

“You can go but be sure to be back at 11. I don’t want you to fry your brain.” He says, attempting to make a joke. You roll your eyes playfully at him.

“Thanks dad.” You say before kissing his cheek goodbye and waltzing out the compound to Peter’s house.

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 You reach Peters house and you couldn’t be more excited. You knock on the door and almost immediately Peter opens it. You’re greeted with a whiff of freshly washed hair and you couldn’t wait to run your hands through them. You look up at him and smile, he looks nervous, but you have no idea why. He gestures you to walk in and you do, setting your stuff down on the chair. You turn to him.

“You seem nervous.” You ask, wrapping your arms around his neck. Peter’s hands resting on your hips and pulls you closer to his body.

“Just haven’t done this in a while.” He says. Maybe he’s scared that he lost his touch.

“With your skill, you wouldn’t have lost your touch.” You whisper in his ear. This gives him confidence and he latches his mouth on yours.

You feel his hands grope and squeeze your ass, one of his hands taps your thigh. Telling you to jump, and you do. You lock your ankles behind his back, and he starts walking to his room. His lips moving to the mark he made earlier that day. How your dad didn’t see it? You have no idea but you’re glad.  

You feel his bed beneath your back. You crawl up the bed to give Peter some space. You pull at his shirt and he tugs it off his body. You look at his torso, drool almost escaping your mouth. You reach your hands out and stroke his defined muscles.

“Damn I missed these.” You say, mesmerized by his strong muscles. He chuckles at your behaviour and starts unbuttoning your shirt. You slide your shirt down your arms and unclasp your bra along with is.

Peter clasps his hands on your boobs, you moan at the feeling if his hands on them.

“And I missed these.” He says before leaning down and sucking a nipple in his mouth.

You moan at the contact of his mouth on your sensitive bud. You reach your hand between your bodies and cup him in your hands. His cock straining against the denim material. He moans against your breast, the vibration sending wetness to your core.

He moves his attention to your neck while his hands slither themselves under your underwear. His fingers sliding over your wet slit.

“Damn baby, you’re so wet. All this for me?” He whispers, a smirk plastered on his face. You moan at his words.

His fingers open your lips and slide into your hole. His finger engulfed by you; you moan louder.

“That’s it babygirl, let me hear you.” He rasps. He adds in another finger and you feel the familiar ball forming in your abdomen.

“Baby I want you inside of me. Please.” You beg. Peter rips his hand away from you and strips both of you.

 All of your clothes are strewn on the floor and Peter reaches his hand in his draw, fishing out a condom. He rips open the foil packet and rolls it on his thick length. Your mouth drools at the sight. Peter hovers over you and gives you a peck on the lips.

“Ready?” he asks, his tip poking at your wet hole. You nod. You grab his hand and hold it in yours, he gives your hand a quick kiss.

He slowly pushes in and you are kind of glad that you were away from him for so long because the way that he stretches you is breathtaking.

“Fuck Y/N, you’re so tight. Oh my god.” Peter pants. He pushes all the way in and that’s where things go crazy.

Peter’s hips thrust into you at an inhuman speed and your moans could be heard from the compound. You feel the ball in your stomach start to expand.

“Peter, I’m gonna come.” You moan out. You hear his grunts above you, and it makes you wetter than ever.

You feel his hand viscously rub your clit and you scream. Your head falls back, and your toes scrunch up and without warning you cum. Your walls squeezing out of control. Your release triggers Peter’s. You feel his thrusts get sloppy and his back muscles contract under your hand. With a shout of your name he releases his hot white cum in the condom. Before he could pull out you hear the door clang open and low and behold you see May with a few bags of groceries, her eyes bulging out her head. Peter quickly rips himself from you and you try to hide your whine.

“You have got to be kidding me.” You hear Peter whisper next you. You two couldn’t catch a break.

Peter open his mouth to speak but May beats him to it. “Are you two being safe?” That’s odd, why isn’t she shouting?

“Always are Aunt May.” Peter speaks up next to you.

“Well in that case you can carry on. I just want you guys to be safe.” She says before closing the door and letting us in peace.

“In that case, make me cum spidey.” You tease.

“With pleasure.’ Peter says before excitingly inserting himself inside my wet cunt.

Let’s just say you two went more than just one round.

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Jigsaw // Red: Part Three

You Had To Make It About Her 

A/N: Wow. Look at that, a whole month later and here we are FINALLY with part three. With Krista and Arthur out of his way, only two more names stand in the way of Billy’s revenge. What happens when he pays one of them a visit? (i would like to thank @something-tofightfor for assisting in this murder.) 

Warnings: murder, talk of suicide, blood, major character death, violence

Word Count: 4,021

“I told you, Agent Madani, I haven’t heard from Billy in-“ your words jammed up in your throat and he watched you swallow them down without a chaser. “Months.” Your eyes were focused somewhere just to the left of the camera, your hands beneath the table, hidden in your lap. He looked down at his own palms, turning them over. They were shaking, the lines of his knuckles stained a deep garnet red despite the cursory rinse he’d given them. “I have nothing…” your voice made him snap his eyes back to the screen, chest going hollow at the small crack on the word ‘nothing’. I did this…I did that to her. I hurt her like that, I- “I got nothing to tell you, Agent Madani.” You rolled your eyes up to meet hers, and though they were fogged with ache he could still see a spark of resiliency in them.

“Yeah, and even if you did, even if you had heard from him, you still wouldn’t talk, would you?” The second voice was flooded with venom, and though she was standing off camera, Billy could almost see her, coiled to strike like a viper. Fucking bitch. He was the reason that you had been dragged in for questioning, but she was doing her best to make sure that it was as unpleasant as possible.

You cocked your head to the side, a slight twitch pulling up your top lip as silent tears trickled slowly down your cheek. “No,” you said simply. “No, I wouldn’t.” The vice around his heart spun tighter at your bold display of loyalty. 

The click of high heeled shoes on the floor preceded the scoff as she paced on her side of the table. “And why, may I ask, is that, huh? What, you think-“ another scoff, and when she spoke again her voice was louder, closer to the mic, leaning in and staring you down. “You think he loved you? You think he gave a shit about you?” Billy’s nostrils flared, his eyes going wide and wild as he gripped the screen with his bloodied right hand. Who the fuck is she to…how dare she… He was glad he’d killed her, but after watching the videos he was sorry he hadn’t been able to draw it out longer, make it slow, make it worse.

“No, Agent Madani,” You placed your hands on the table then, leaning in yourself. You were never one to be easily intimidated, Billy knew that. “No, I don’t think he loves me. I know he does. Just like I know that I love him. And there’s nothing you could tell me that could change that fact. So, no. No, I wouldn’t tell you anything, even if I had anything to tell you, Dinah.”

“You’re incredible. You really are, I mean…” She paused and you narrowed your eyes at her. “You’re either delusional, or you’ve let him manipulate you into something just as bad as he is.” 

You didn’t say a word, pressing your lips together and giving a small shrug of your shoulders, trying to show her that you weren’t phased by her tactics, you weren’t swayed by her lies.

“He’s a goddamn murderer!” She finally lost her temper, the camera quaking as she dropped her heavy binder onto the metal tabletop. “I mean, you know that, right? Billy Russo is a stone cold killer, and you’re protecting him, you’re- you weren’t even the only woman in his life, doesn’t that bother you? Doesn’t it bother you that he and I were-“ Sick was an understatement as waves of acid crashed in Billy’s stomach at Madani’s implication that she meant anything at all to him, let alone anything close to how important you were to him.  

The door behind you opened then, a small, somber man in a dark navy suit stepping in and motioning to his agent to stop the recording, the video ending. This was the third that he’d watched, each one increasingly more aggressive, each separated by several weeks denoted not only by the timestamps, but also by the loss of color in your eyes, the growing unsteadiness in Madani’s voice.

Billy squeezed his eyes shut as the video file reverted back to a thumbnail image on the cracked, bloodied screen. He let the laptop slide off his thigh and onto the cushion beside him, his shaking hands falling between his knees. He turned the left one over as he opened his eyes, watching a thick stream of blood trickle slowly down his forearm, dispersing as it filled the lines of his palm. He followed it back up his arm to the graze wound on his bicep. He’d almost forgotten that he’d been shot, the pain completely erased by seeing you on the screen, hearing your voice. Nothing could possibly hurt more than losing you. Nothing could possibly cause him real  pain anymore.

 He looked down at his feet and grabbed the white plastic bag of tape and gauze that he’d stopped for on his way back to the warehouse, the memory of entering a store, making a purchase, and walking back completely absent. Peeling his shirt up and off, he used the gauze to wipe at the wound, cleaning the blood away from the torn skin. Both of Billy’s biceps bore small, faint pink lines, battle scars from badly aimed bullets. As he wrapped the cotton dressing tightly around his upper arm, dark red stain blooming on the thin white bandage, he could almost feel your fingertips tracing the old divots and lines. “No more of these, got it?” You’d say, dropping your ruby lips to the markings. He gripped the bandage, digits digging into the muscle, trying and failing to control his uneven breaths as a sob ripped free from his chest. He tightened his fingers, pulse throbbing against them and blood soaking into the gauze beneath his palm as he stared at the video files on Madani’s computer screen. Why did she have to…why did…

“No more close calls, Billy.” You’d press your cheek to his scarred skin before leaving another kiss there. “You gotta come back to me.”

 Anger flared in his gut as helplessness clawed at his heart, the two at war within him, culminating in a harsh, howling scream. He released his injured arm and used the good one to send the laptop flying into the brick wall. It crashed, erupting in a spray of bits of plastic and wires, letter keys scattering as what was left of the screen shattered. The sound echoed in the cold, concrete building, mixing with his shouts and the ragged, labored gasps he was taking. “Why did she have to make it about her?” He demanded of the air as it swallowed the noise and replaced it with silence once more. He stared at the remains of the laptop, the memory of another video playing itself out in his head.

 ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  .. 

“Okay, okay,” you giggled, hiding your face by pulling the scarlet Santa hat down over your eyes. The velvet and faux fur obscured your cheeks and nose, leaving your plump, smiling lips exposed. You pressed them together before grabbing the snow white pom-pom dangling from the pointed end and tugging it back up. “I’ve had a few glasses of eggnog, so,” you shrugged, another giggle tumbling free as you held up one finger and tilted your head to the side, your focus directly on the camera. “So be nice, Lieutenant.”

Christmas never really mattered to Billy- not since he was conditioned not to have his hopes lifted while living at the group home. It always felt superficial to him; the thin, chintzy dollar store wrapping paper covered in grinning snowmen and prancing reindeer, cheap red plastic coverings taped down to the card tables, the chipped trays of store bought, tasteless cookies. It was always clear to Billy that these things were simply props, for show. There was no thought put into the matchbox cars or wiffle ball sets, the dolls and yo-yos and donated items that got passed along to the kids. There was no added warmth in the room from the dated foil garlands or bare, bottle brush tree. There was no Christmas in the Christmases he spent there, so he learned not to need it, not to want it. If you don’t want something, you can’t be let down when you never receive it. Christmas was for other people. Until he met you.

You’d decorated your apartment the same way you had the previous year, your tree in the corner, filled with glittering lights and dozens of ornaments, red and green candies in a bowl on the coffee table, a wreath on the door. His heart lurched when he read the gold embroidery on the stockings that you’d hung on the wall beside the tree- yours on the right, older, well-loved, the fabric wearing thin in some places from being over-stuffed through the years, and his on the left, brighter, newer, only used once. Nervously fixing your hat one last time, you settled on your knees in front of the tree, and closing your eyes, you started to sing. “I don’t want a lot for Christmas, there is just one thing I need…”

You were in no way a talented singer. Your voice broke and warbled, you were off key, and you even flubbed the lyrics at one point. But by the time you wrapped up your performance, Billy had moved himself as close to the screen as he could get, one palm pressed to the monitor as though he could reach through and grab you, pull your giggling form against his chest, kiss your neck until your song turned to sighs. He’d almost forgotten that it was sand, not snow outside his window.

You took a long sip of your eggnog, cheeks rosy from the alcohol and from plucking up the nerve to record your carol for him. Setting the poinsettia patterned glass back on the table, you spoke to the camera again. “I hope you enjoyed your private concert, Billy.” Your eyes widened then as your smile wrinkled your nose. “And I hope it was a private concert, and that Frank isn’t over your shoulder filling up on blackmail!” You dissolved into laughter, the sound sending a flush of warmth through him in the chilly pre-dawn desert. “Anyway, Merry Christmas, Billy Russo. Oh, and don’t worry, that wasn’t your only gift.” You pointed to an emerald green package wrapped in sparkling red ribbons that had been placed beneath the tree. “But you’re gonna have to come get the rest. You gotta come back to me, Billy. You’re all I want…all I ever want.” You’d wished him Merry Christmas once more, told him that you loved him, that you couldn’t wait to have him back, and then the video had ended with you reaching towards your screen to tap the button to stop the recording, and he was left in the communications tent, alone.

“Merry Christmas,” he said to his inbox as he closed your video attachment and logged off. He wanted to sit in that tent all damn day, replaying your video, watching you fidget under your hat, listening to your laughter as it interrupted your song. But his time was up, so he pushed back from the desk and stood with a sniff, clearing his throat.

“All good, Bill?” Frank clapped him on the shoulder. “Your girl send ya a nice Christmas message?”

He forced a smile, wondering how Frank had been able to spend so many Christmases, holidays, birthdays, so much time away from Maria, away from his kids, wondering how he was ever going to leave you again once he had you back in his arms. “Yeah, Frankie, she did.” He nodded to the monitor behind him. “I’m sure you got somethin’ just as good from Maria and the kids.” Frank nodded and grinned. “Merry Christmas, brother.”

..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..  ..

Billy paced back and forth, staring at the debris of the laptop he’d taken from Madani’s apartment. He hadn’t meant to take anything. He’d had a very clear mission when he arrived in her parking garage, and he’d meant to stick to it when he found himself in front of her door; revenge, that’s it. One motive, one punishment to carry out, and then on to the next mission. Just like back in the desert- complete the task, fulfil the objective, await future orders. Knowing that the door would be locked, bolted, likely, Billy planted his left foot and cocked his right leg back, knee to chest. Might take more than one kick. A memory sliced through, and he saw himself, in a suit, undoing his tie as he fastened the locks and chained the bolt, with her behind him, already pawing at him. I can handle more than one kick. 

With a grunt and a shout, he forced all of his weight through the door via the boot sole of his right foot, planting it as close to the locking mechanisms as he could. The door frame splintered, a satisfying crunch accompanying the kick as the bottom two locks broke, clattering heavily to the floor. Billy nearly lost his balance at the door’s resiliency, but a quick shuffling hop righted him once more. He peered through the small opening and saw that the entrance was only being barred by a short length of chain. One more good one. He squared up again, knee smacking his sternum as his heel, then arch, then toes made contact with the weakened door, popping the remaining locks free from the destroyed frame, sending the metal chain scattering across the floor inside. 

The victorious feeling was cut short, as the unmistakable sound of a gun firing cut the air and filled his ears, a bullet ripping through the busted door and just missing him as he spun away. Alright. He pressed himself against the wall next to the door and took a deep breath through his nose. Alright, the bitch has a gun. You knew she’d have a gun, just get it out of her hands. Adrenaline pumped through his veins with every beat of his heart, the muscle working overtime to flood him with the necessary strength and steel to carry out the rest of the mission. Get it out of her hands and kill her. 

“Russo!” Her voice shot through the bullet hole in the door, two footsteps punctuating her presence. “I know you’re there, I know you are. Show yourself you piece of shit!” 

It was strained, cracking, uneven, her voice. It was scared, unhinged, broken like the locks she thought would protect her. She’s off her game. Not gonna be able to aim for shit. Billy waited another couple of beats, listening closely for any sign of movement or any clue that there was anyone else there with her. Five seconds of silence went by. She’s alone and she’s off. Go, now. 

Your face filled his mind in a flash of light, and for the briefest of moments he could feel you in his heart instead of the hate and the anger. But as quickly as you’d come to him you vanished, and he was reminded that you were gone in part because of the woman standing on the other side of this wall. He loaded up one more good kick, all the hatred and anger, all the rage and pain centralizing in the force of that kick to bring the rest of the door down with an inhuman scream. Before the door had hit the ground, she’d pulled the trigger twice. Billy had been right- she was off, her aim- if ever she had it to begin with- compromised by the situation. He took one bullet in the bicep of his left arm, through and through, the second one lodging itself in the remnants of the door frame. Feeling nothing but the pulse of adrenaline, he advanced on her as she clutched her weapon in trembling hands. 

“You had to bring her into it, didn’t you?!” His own voice sounded foriegn to his ears, the way that it was shaking and the tone that it took completely new to him. “You had to make it about her!” 

Madani’s eyes grew wide as she realized that she wouldn’t be able to get another shot off before his hands were on her. Billy saw her fingers freeze in terror as she tried and failed to squeeze the trigger again. He closed the remaining distance in one long stride, turning his palm outwards, fingers wrapping around the barrel she’d held pointed at his chest to push it away, two more shots ripping into the floorboards and drywall. Wrenching it free, he tossed the gun aside. Won’t be needing that, not for this one.

“Answer me Dinah, goddamnit!” The hand that had disarmed her grabbed at her throat, the other wrapping around one of her wrists. “Why, huh? Why’d you have to drag her into it? She’s dead because of you now!” He hadn’t noticed the tears gathering in his eyes, and they surprised him as they fell onto her face as he held it inches from his own. 

“I...didn’t…” she choked out against the pressing of his fingers on her trachea. “You...did, Billy...You...she died...because of...you.” 

“Shut up, bitch!” Spittle, tears and sweat flew from his lips as he throttled and shook her. She’s right. It’s your fault. “No! No. No...I loved her...I loved her and she’s...she died because you wouldn’t leave her alone. She was safe! You kept pushing, and pushing.” With every word he spoke his grip tightened. “You shoulda just left her alone!” A mad sob tore through his vocal chords. “You shoulda let her forget me...it’s me you wanted, right Dinah?” With that question, he pulled back to look in her eyes, and the fear that he saw there was nearly as satisfying as the sound that the door made when he parted it from its hinges. “It’s me you wanted. And here I am, just like old times, huh?” 

She tried to shake her head under his grasp but the force that he held her with stifled her movement. “Fuck you, Russo, you’re not getting away with this. Frank’s on his way and-” 

“Frank?” He cocked one eyebrow high and regarded her with mock curiosity and a sadistic smile. “Frank’s on his way?” The smiled dropped like a ton a bricks. “No shit, Dinah. I know that!” He shouted into her face again until she whimpered from behind shut eyes. “I know that you called your little dog to come deal with your garbage. But I’m gonna be long gone before he gets here.” She tried to shake her head again, this time a small cry coming from her throat. He released her wrist and covered her mouth, palm pressed against the hot breath spouting from her damp lips. “Oh yes I am. And so are you, come on.” 

Blood soaking through the sleeve of his shirt and dripping down his forearm, he dragged her by the face, fingers digging into her cheeks and causing her to bite the insides of her mouth. She tried like hell to grab onto anything- the couch, the doorway to the hall, the walls themselves. Billy turned his head in time to see one of her fingernails snap from the nail bed as she tried to claw at the textured wallpaper. But he was stronger than she was, gunshot wound or not. “Oh, come on, Dinah, we’ve done this before, you and me.” She splayed her legs out at the entrance of the bathroom, digging her heels into the carpet and catching them on the marble tile. Billy huffed. “Shoulda done this then, better late than never though for a goddamn bitch like you.” He scooped her up, flailing limbs doing little to hinder him, and dumped her hard into the stark white porcelain tub. 

Wincing and whimpering in pain and fear, she crept back into the corner of the bathtub, cradling her head where it had hit the hard surface, but Billy didn’t let her get out. He held her down with one hand, using the other to start running the water, soaking Madani’s pants. “What are you doing, you sick son of a bitch?!” She spat at him, blood from where she’d bitten her cheeks mixing with saliva and landing on Billy’s chin. 

He wiped it with his elbow, a smear of his own blood, dripping down his arm marking his face. “Just getting you cleaned up, Dinah. Like last time.” He pulled a knife from his jacket- the one he’d pocketed when he’d scored himself his new threads- and flicked it open. The water thundered from the faucet as he stared at the blade. “You know, they say that suicide rates are highest among the more stressful profesisons. Doctors, lawyers…” he raised his eyes to hers then, her body half submerged, steam rising in foggy clouds. “Law enforcement.” He gripped the dampened curls at the base of her neck and dragged her face close enough to speak into her ear. “I thought about doin’ this after I killed your partner, Dinah. I shoulda. No one would blink at an agent killin’ herself after she fucked up and got her partner killed. But I didn’t. And I been livin’ with that regret ever since that night on that fucking carousel. When I saw her. Behind you.” He pulled back, still grabbing her hair, feeling a few strands come free under his fingers. “I shoulda. But now I will. And no still… no one’s gonna blink at an agent cuttin’ her wrists after her ex-lover freed himself from the loony ward and started off on a killing spree.” 

Hurry up, you don’t have that much time, Frank’s comin’. He reminded himself not to get carried away by the theatrics of revenge. Kill the bitch and get out. She’d dissolved into a crying mess, muttering the word “no” over and over and over. “Weak. You’re weak, Dinah. It’s why you couldn’t kill me. Why you couldn’t take me down on your own...why you needed to get her involved, why you need to call Frank...you’re weak. And no one’s gonna blink at a dead, pathetic, weak bitch.” Before she could say another word or move another muscle, Billy dragged the sharp edge of the knife against the underside of her forearm, opening it from wrist to elbow, the water swirling a bright red ruby color before deepening, almost to black. She gasped, her chest spasming as she tried to gulp at the air, but Billy made quick work of her other arm before curling her fingers around the handle of his blade. He rinsed his fingers quickly before shutting off the tap. Without blinking, he stood from where he knelt beside the tub, and left her there for Frank to find. 

He was all set to leave the scene having completed the task, when the laptop that had fallen from the kitchen counter in the fray caught his eye. It was open, the cracked screen displaying a file of video clips. Normally he wouldn’t notice. Normally, he’d stride right out the door and down the emergency exit stairs, pulling his hood up and hiding his bloody hands in his pockets. But these files were labeled with your name. These files were displayed with thumbnail images of you, and it knocked the air from his lungs. He reached out slowly, placing his hand on the screen as his heart ached and burned. He whispered your name in the dead agent’s house, and immediately regretted speaking it there. Closing the screen, he grabbed the computer and the sleek black phone that had tumbled to the ground with it, along with the gun he’d stripped from Madani’s hands. 1 Missed Call - Unknown blinked at him, and he stuffed the phone in his pocket, and headed into the hallway, looking over his shoulder as he lifted his hood and made for the stairwell. 

He’ll call back. Frank always calls back. 

.

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @gollyderek @thesumofmychoices @obscurilicious @traeumerinwitzhelden @jigsawlover10 @getlostinyourparadise @breanime @nananananananananananabatman @lexxierave @songforhema @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @roses-in-your-country-house @ymariejp @belladonnarey @audreychaz @songtoyou @stories-you-wont-hear @luminex3 @ificouldhelpyouforget

Please let me know if you’d like to be added or removed! 

[0idril0]

Evan 8

Thanks @whumpywhumper for beta reading and letting me reference your OCs Markus and Illyn! Thanks @captivity-whump for beta reading!

This one is a little slower paced/not as much whump. More story building than anything, but i hope still good!

Ps. This post mentions going and finding purslane/little hogweed, an herb/weed. Please, if you don’t know what you’re looking for, leave it alone! There are look a likes that are poisonous.

As always, here’s the rest of the series, and you can always ask me questions!

———————————————————————

Where was Martin?

Two hours had passed since Clint carried Nico’s emaciated frame through his kennel and dumped him on top of the small surgical table. It had to have been at least three since Brian stumbled onto Nico tied to the porch swing like whoever left him thought he’d be able to run away.

So where the fuck was he?

Evan channeled his rage into ripping open the flimsy blood pressure cuff Brian had bought. One of the automatic readers for elders who couldn’t see. He hoped Nico's blood pressure was high enough for it to read accurately.

Evan tensed as Brian dumped metal bowls and instruments into the sink outside his surgical area. The young man was braced against the sloshing sink, visible through the observation window.

He tried to soften the rough edge of his voice as he approached. “You okay, B’?”

“Yeah, yeah... just... a little shaky, I guess.” Brian looked more than that, his clenched fists trembled where he’d placed them against the sink, his dark blue eyes striking against red sclera, bright with suppressed tears.

Evan hummed at the statement, glancing back to Nico and Clint. Nico lay deathly still against the steel table, fresh quilts and towels from the kennel propping him up to breathe. Need to get him off of that table.

Clint had maneuvered himself to where his cheek pressed against Nico’s, and Evan couldn’t hear if he was whispering or simply being close to the boy over the hiss of the oxygen mask on Nico’s face. He’d need to put some sort of dressing on the deep sores framing Nico's face eventually. Grimacing, Evan turned back to Brian and placed a thin hand against his shoulder to stop the frantic scrubbing of bloody instruments that had commenced.

Brian stopped slowly and turned to Evan. His eyes were distant, barely registering Evan as they looked towards him. Bloody soap trickled from his fingers. He gave the younger man a thin smile and pulled him forward, wrapping slender arms around the half siren. “It’s all right.”

There was a wet huff of air against his shoulder before Brian sobbed, bringing his wet hands around to cling to Evans thin shirt. “It’s not... I didn’t... I should have...” The boy's voice was thick, and he shuddered as he sobbed, pressing his forehead against Evan’s neck.

“It’s okay... it’s all right... this isn’t your fault...” Evan rubbed a clean hand through Brian’s thick hair, scratching at his scalp for a moment. “You did good. Thanks for being my assistant, huh? I know you’re not used to this stuff.”

Brian shook his head roughly, sniffling into Evan's shoulder. “I.. I just thought he’d dropped out... or decided to move and not tell anyone. He’s so private... I didn’t even imagine something like this...” He lifted his tear stained face, wiping at his eyes with a thick wrist. “Who would do something like this?” Evan stares into the wide, innocent eyes grimly, debating his answer.

He worried at his lip, looking back towards Nico. “No one good.” He patted Brian’s arm gently. “Go call Martin, see where he’s at.”

Leaving Brian to his task, Evan crept back into the surgical room with the blood pressure cuff. There was a thick growl from the table and he huffed reproachfully. “You’re not going to be able to keep me away, Clint.”

“Hmmm??? I’m sorry...” Clint looked up at Evan slowly, yellow eyes dazed. “I didn’t mean to, it just came out.”

Humming noncommittally, he approached the table, snapping on fresh gloves. “You back with us? You looked a little zoned in a minute ago.”

Clint’s cheeks pinked, ducking his head until his forehead met Nico’s cheek. “Yeah....The bond's stronger, easier to sense...Kind of overwhelming.” Clint swayed slightly as he spoke, words slurred and lax. Almost as if he was drugged. “I can feel him... his emotions...his spirit and my wolf connected.... my wolf likes it....” Clint looked up, giving Evan a dopey grin. It slipped from his face quickly, replaced by fear. “He’s gotta be okay, Evan.” As he watched the wolf’s eyes flickered between green and yellow, pain obvious in the eyes.

Before Evan could respond the door opened, banging against the far wall. Clint tensed, half standing from his chair. Another growl rumbled through the room. It halted as Kristy peeked around the corner, hands full. “Oops.” She grimaced as she walked forward, cradling a steel saucepan, a mug, and an old fashioned pour over he used for coffee.

There was a small grumble as Clint settled back in his seat, and Evan slotted the blood pressure cuff onto Nico’s arm, hoping it wouldn’t damage the shoulder more.

“Illyn gave me to Markus, instead. Said that she’s only the apprentice or something. I don’t know, either way, I’ve got something Markus thought would help. Evan had most of the ingredients in his office, oddly enough, Markus let me know where the stash was kept. You keep a lot of weird animal parts, you know that?” Kristy glanced at Evan reproachfully over the pan of boiled animal parts she’d placed on the counter, and he shrugged. There were some benefits to being a Beast Master since people from all over the world brought him their exotic creatures. So what if he kept some pieces?

“Anyway, I’m missing two ingredients, blood from the intended recipient—” she arched a brow towards Nico, “— and something called little hogweed? I couldn’t find anything like what Markus was describing in your herb cabinet.”

“You wouldn’t,” Evan grimaced as the blood pressure cuff showed Nico’s pressure. 88/46. Not good. “It’s a weed, a prolific weed, you can find it pretty much anywhere. It’s also known as purslane.” Evan rubbed at the tape holding his only venous access in place, the worried furrow on his brow growing deeper when the tape was saturated with fluid weeping from the boy’s ulcerated neck. He pulled at it carefully, “I think there’s some growing by the air conditioner out back.”

He guided Clint’s hand away from Nico’s cheek and onto the catheter. "Hold that.” Evan peeled a generous amount of fresh tape before tearing it into strips and calling to her retreating figure, “You’d better wash it too! I let the dogs out back there.”

“Wait, what?” Brian’s confused face peered into the room.

“Doesn’t matter. Where’s Martin?” The look on Brian’s face wasn’t comforting, “B’. Where is he?”

“He said he got caught up in the class he was teaching; he’ll be here in ten minutes.” Brian’s face was troubled, and Evan understood the feeling. Martin had been distant—for a while. The mage had gotten caught up in a new crowd when he started researching for a new doctorate. He’d neglected pack meetings but been particularly involved with the younger pack members. It didn’t set well with him. Evan hummed unhappily as he retaped the catheter. Maybe he doesn’t know how serious this is.

Evan shook his head and turned back to his patient. He wished his patient were more responsive. He might be able to help more. Nico’s breathing was audible in the quiet room, crackling against the plastic mask. But his nose and lips had lost their purple hue. He felt at Nico’s abused throat, the strained pulse barely palpable and still too fast. He thumbed open Nico’s eyes, troubled. The pupils were large against the bright room and he quickly released them. Clint’s knuckles cracked as Evan pulled away but he ignored the wolf.

“Hey—” Kristy stomped back into the room, holding a small handful of green weed, “—is this right?” Peeling the used gloves from his hands, Evan peered at the small clump before nodding. Stripping the leaves from the thick stem, she stirred them into the pan before turning back to Evan. “How do I get his blood?” The question was callous, and Evan grimaced when Clint snarled and caused Kristy to flinch.

“Stop.” The command was weak, but Clint squeezed his eyes shut and stopped growling. Evan plucked at the bandages at Nico’s wrist, exposing a deep wound. He scraped a nearby needle through it. Damaged fingers twitched in protest. A small amount of blood swelled to the surface, and he motioned at Kristy to bring the pan over before tilting the wrist towards it.

Kristy stirred the mixture before pouring it into the pour over and pressing until a thin liquid dripped through the filter. It looked.... gross.

“Is he supposed to drink that?” Brian’s tone was disgusted, and Evan shared the sentiment. There was another more immediate problem. He doubted that the boy could swallow it. Nico was barely breathing, let alone swallowing. Evan was surprised he hadn’t choked on the fluid in his lungs.

“Markus said it’s a fortification potion, it should help Clint’s blood and whatever Martin does work more efficiently.” Earnestly, she pushed the glass towards Evan.

“He also had me put something in there that might help with pain. He gave me two more potion recipes that should help with his lungs and a recipe for a salve for his face and hands.” Kristy nervously picked her own hands, rubbing at the wet skin. She gave him a deprecating smile. “He also said it wouldn’t work as well because I don’t have true magic, just my succubus thing. But he said it would still work.”

“But is it supposed to look like that?” Brian looked green, mouth covered with a fist.

Kristy’s face scrunched, troubled, as she peered into the mug. “Umm… I think so?”

Clint reached towards the small mug, placing a large hand against Kristy's petite one. “Thank you, Kristy.”

Taking the mug, he leaned over Nico’s pale face. Cradling the lax head in a meaty palm, he rubbed at Nico’s temple. “C’mon Sugar, I need you to take some medicine.”

Clint’s yellow eyes shone against his suntanned skin, and Evan was surprised when Nico’s eyes fluttered against his cheeks. He could have sworn the boy hadn’t been that responsive. Clint pulled the plastic mask from Nico’s face before pressing the mug gently against his cracked lips. “There ya go, little at a time, huh?” The thin liquid trickled into Nico’s mouth, and the boy coughed weakly. There was a soundless gasp of protest from Nico as Clint pressed the mug back to his lips to pour more in.

“I know, Baby, I’m sorry... this’ll help, I promise.” The icy blue of Nico’s eyes was briefly visible, betrayal staining them. Clint caressed Nico’s eye socket gently before tipping the remaining liquid into his mouth.

Nico struggled briefly before swallowing, a small sob leaving his mouth. He shook his head weakly as a wet cough tore from his throat. “Easy... easy... it’s okay.” Clint shushed him, and Evan pushed forward, helping Clint sit Nico up further.

Nico’s unfocused eyes opened briefly, gliding past Clint’s face, before closing again.

“Should I be concerned about the number of supernatural creatures huddled over a half dead human, or is this what you wanted my help with?”

There was a collective gasp of surprise from the room and Clint snarled before curling protectively over Nico, whose breathing had turned quick and strained.

“Calm down Fido, I’m here to help.” Martin leaned nonchalantly against the door frame, suit jacket slung over one shoulder. His brown eyes studied the room briefly before settling on Nico, a small furrow gracing the man's brow. Fat tears had started to fall down Nico’s face, and one of his hands had found Clint’s shirt. He clung to it weakly, pulling at the fabric.

Martin studied the motion, pushing away from the frame. Leather shoes clicked along the linoleum as he approached the table. Clint continued to growl, the sound quiet in the tense room.

“Martin.” Evan nodded at the middle aged man stiffly, hard pressed not to interrogate him. “Glad to see you could make it.”

Martin met his eyes briefly, clicking his tongue and giving a rueful shake of his head, before turning back to Nico. “Oh, you know, anything for old friends. He looks kind of rough.” He strode around the surgical table, putting it between himself and Clint.

“What exactly are you wanting me to do for him? I’m not a priest, it looks like that might be what you need. Or a necromancer.” Martin gave a hollow laugh, and Clint’s growl made the table rumble. “Bit on the darker side of what I do but it might be more appropriate.”

“Fuck Martin, what the hell is your problem?” Kristy's voice cut through the tension in the air, and Martin pursed his lips.

“You're right. Not the time for dark humor.” He tossed his jacket towards Brian before holding out a manicured hand to Clint. “Now, are you going to let me work on your human or are you going to bite me?”

Clint snarled, pulling Nico’s trembling frame closer. Evan grimaced at the reaction, they needed Martin’s help. Even if he is a dick.

“Clint. Stop. Back away.” Evan pushed at the command, vision flickering red. The wolf resisted, clinging to Nico. “I said back away.”

Clint’s face elongated, thick fangs pressing into his lips before he took a single step back. “If you hurt him I will tear your heart from your chest.” The words reverberated through the room. Clint’s yellow eyes bore into the mage’s, and Martin gave a small smile.

“Now, I wouldn’t dream of that.”

[blueyesandleatherjacket]

A Taste Of Christmas, 1/6

Volume: 1.

Number of parts: 1/6.

Pairings: Metacrisis Nine x Rose.

A/N: Sequel for The Summertime Of Our Lives. Written for doctorroseprompts' fall fic bingo and ficmas challenge. Fall fic bingo: Mist, Jumper, Spice, Gold, Paint and Cider. Ficmas challenge: Workshop (D1), Tinsel (D2), Cider (D3), Tree (D4), Ugly Sweater (D8). Tagging @thebookster on her demand.

“Christmas is a time when you get homesick - even when you're home.” - Carol Nelson.

CHAPTER 1:

Rose was an artist. The Doctor had always known it. One day, she had forgotten her sketchbook on the pilot seat and he had flipped through it while she was asleep in her room, somewhere in the TARDIS. There were several drawings inside, drawings of him, drawings of her, drawings of them. She had spent a lot of time studying him, studying his faces, studying his bodies and his every gesture and she had drawn it all in her sketchbook. He had kept a page, had taped it on the wall of his bedroom in the TARDIS. The other hm was probably looking at it every time he was getting in his room. Or had he forgotten about her? Was he refusing to even think about her now that they were forever separated? That was what he would have done. Rose Tyler had brought him back to life when he only aspired to die and fate – with the faces of Daleks and Cybermen and new Doctor – had ripped her away from him. And it had reunited them in the most unexpected way years later. Their story was art too. He was a broken person. He was broken in so many pieces that sticking them back together to recreate the man he had once been before the war was impossible. Yet, the brave and compassionate Rose Tyler had taken the pieces she could find and had assembled them together. Instead of trying to reproduce something she had never known, she created a new version of him and added colours to his dull dark world. She was done just in time for him to regenerate into this pretty boy who forgot how to take care of her or how to cherish her. This time, she had been the one who was shattered beyond repairs and no one was there to help her. Her family had let her down slowly. They had thought that as a responsible adult, she could handle the situation and she had thought so too. Working on finding him – the other version of him – had kept her busy but the many failures had weakened the already fragile shell she had built around herself. She hadn’t given up on art as he found out after his arrival in this universe. Her flat had a couple of frames on the wall from artists that never made it in in their original universe and there was one of hers. An original production called “Night sky from Barcelona”. He had never taken her there with this face. The pretty boy did. Yet, it wasn’t him standing next to her under the starry sky. It was him with his leather jacket and short-cropped hair. It was his back and it was his hand holding hers. All this time she had been wanting him back. The broken, brooding soldier. It had taken him some time to accept this truth but the events of last summer had convinced him of it. It had been a long path. Now they were as happy as they could be. Which wasn’t an easy task when you had Jackie Tyler as stepmother. When she had found out about their matching tattoos and the meaning behind, she had completely lost her mind. He had never been so insulted and slapped in all his life. They had settled down in Broadchurch. After the end of the summer, they had gone back to London and the Doctor had soon dived back into his old quirks: pacing around the house, refusing to eat, depressing, stressing and having troubles to sleep. The town was having a terrible effect on him because of everything that had happened there in their original universe and for Rose, it was obvious that they couldn’t live in London anymore. It hadn’t been long to find a house thanks to their new friends – mostly Ellie Miller – help. Before the end of October, they were settled down in their new and cosy place in the heights of Broadchurch with a nice viewpoint on the cliffs and the sea. That had been an important point for the Doctor: having a viewpoint on the infinity of the world. This was reassuring him. The world was bigger on the outside. During all November, Rose had watched him as he sat in front of the large patio door and observed the waves crashing on the shore. As it was getting deeper into the autumn season, it would get darker earlier and mist would cover the land plunging the land in the creepy atmosphere of horror movies. Rose never got the right to go out when it was dark and misty. At least, she couldn’t go alone. He was insisting on going with her. She had proven her bravery and her fearless attitude by traveling by his side, by working with Torchwood to get back to him but he was firm in his decision to accompany her out whenever the mist was spreading. She had missed this overprotective side of his when he changed and even as a former kid from the Estates who had grown in a strong and independent woman, she liked this particularity of his. She had stopped working for Torchwood shortly after their summer vacations. The Doctor still didn’t what was the reason behind such a mystery around the agency. He wanted to nose around, to find out what was so wrong with them and he actually was doing it behind Rose’s back. The only fact that they had led experiences on her convinced him that they were doing wrong and had to be stopped. Obviously, this wasn’t without danger and it was harder to operate without access, without a TARDIS, without a trustworthy companion. Rose would lecture him if she was told what he was doing and he knew no one else that could travel and work with the way he used to be working with her. He doubted he would have taken any other companion on board if Rose had still been around. She was the best. As were Jack, Martha and Donna. But Rose was Rose. His Rose had given up on her job for him. She was unemployed because of him. Broadchurch was a small town and it was hard to find a proper job. She tried the police, the Broadchurch Echo, the schools – Torchwood had had the advantage to have trained and given her the proper diplomas – and every little job she could find in the classified ads but she never got anything. He had suggested her to try and make a living of her art. From them on, he had sort of lost her. Together, they had sacrificed a large room of their house and turned it into a workshop where she could unleash her creativity. It was already filled with loads of artistic materials he didn’t even know they had. Now, she was spending all her time in this room while he got lost in his thoughts in front of the patio door. Not a normal relationship, but they were far from normal. Today, he wasn’t in the living room. He was in the kitchen. Rose hadn’t checked on him in a while, and neither had he gone to check on her. He was concocting spiced cider from a recipe he had found in a local magazine. From the tiny drops he had licked on his fingers, it didn’t taste bad. It even sounded really good. Why had he never tested the whole cooking world before? Domestics. He was refusing the domestics he was now doing. Also, he had had other preoccupations in mind back then. But the pretty boy’s eccentricity and Donna’s seek for a family were running in his veins now. Admitting his feelings for Rose was an opening on this life and he honestly didn’t regret it. He was living the life he thought he would never have with the woman he thought would never love him and he couldn’t happier than that. The Doctor added the final touch to his drink and poured some in two glasses he took to Rose’s workshop. He knocked on the door. Got no answer. Rose surely was working with her Pods on. In this world, there weren’t such things as headphones. They were selling small round devices you were placing behind your ears. They were analysing your musical tastes from the information given by your brain and creating a whole playlist according to them, to your mood, to your current activity. It was totally obliterating the world around you and you could hear the music straight in your head. Great technology, but it also was increasing the percentage of unsolved crimes. With people being deaf to their surroundings, it was easier to rob, destroy and kill without being heard. It was also easier to get hit by a vehicle in the streets. Thankfully, Rose was using them when she was in her workshop and only when he was home. Opening the door confirmed what he thought: Rose had her back on him and soft green dot was blinking behind her ears. The room was a real mess. There was a tarpaulin covered with paint stains of all colours on the ground; on the wall on his left, there were empty and unused frames, blank and used canvas of all sizes. On the wall facing the door, there was a long table – actually the table was composed of planks on trestles – that was weighting down under the numerous and various art supplies. Boxes with their contents written in large black letters were stacked under the makeshift table. The third wall of the room was taken by easels and other boxes. Rose wasn’t only painting. She was doing all sorts of art including manual works. This explained the different materials lying around the floor, the glue gun in her hand, the brush and pen stuck on her ears. She had an old apron tied around her waist. An apron that had definitely seen better days and many artworks. He put the glass of warm spiced cider on the free and safe area of the table. Rose hadn’t seen or heard him coming. The sudden move beside her and the hand appearing next to her caused her to start and she was gonna attack when she realised it was him. She slapped his shoulder and switched off her Pods. He just smiled at her messy bun, at the paint on her face, at the unfinished work before her. “You scared the shit out of me, you idiot!” “Oi! I have nothing of an idiot!” “My clever idiot.” “Take that back.” “My handsome clever idiot.” “This won’t work.” The Doctor was playing offended but Rose’s messy look and the golden flakes spread all over her hair, cheeks and hands were quite funny. It reminded him of the golden light surrounding her, burning in her eyes, when she came back for him that day. A terrible, terrible day. His fingers brushed over her face, wiping away the flakes stuck on her cheek. He was always having nightmares of that day. He remembered all too ell the molten lava when he absorbed the Vortex that he was killing her, the cells of his body dying one after another, slipping into another skin and losing everything and everyone he loved, watching through new eyes what he could have lived, watch his new self screw up everything with Rose, the rage and pain of losing her and moving on, the joy and fear to be born again, the rejection and terror of a new limited human life, the doubts eating him out and the dread of losing Rose or himself one day. Her hands found his face. She cupped his cheeks, spreading flakes on his skin, rubbed her nose against his softly. She had sensed his change of mood. She had seen it in his eyes. His memories had come to bother him when they were playfully arguing. She didn’t know the cause of this sudden mood swing, and she didn’t care at the moment. She just wanted him back. “The golden flakes suit you well,” she joked. She rubbed her hands on his face and ran her fingers through his hair to share her flakes with him. Of course this wasn’t gonna please him. He was no man to go around with golden flakes everywhere. He had a bit of an ego and was quite a macho man. He did nothing that could make people question his masculinity. Even if the concept of masculinity and femininity were slightly different in this universe. After over 900 years of living by the same rules and concepts, it was hard to let go of them. “You know what would be great?” She let go of him and rummaged through the many boxes stacked under the table. A couple of them had the mention ‘Christmas’ on it and that’s naturally where she found what she was looking for. She pulled out a blue tinsel and wrapped it around his head like a crown. “Oh, what about a jumper too?” “Blue to go with my eyes?” “If you want. As long as it’s one of those ugly Christmas sweaters.” “No way. Don’t wanna be ridiculous, me.” “Though you feel ridiculous already.” “Maybe.” “How do you feel with that tinsel on your head?” “Like your human Christmas tree. And according to this beautiful wooden Advent calendar, I suppose you miss the holiday.” “This is stupid.” Rose humphed and hit the table with her fist. She caught the glass of cider before it spilled on her work. That was the first time she noticed it. The Doctor had one in his hands too. She took a sip. Took another. Licked her lips. That tasted amazing. She had been too young and too busy to have some in her original universe and this one had a very different way to celebrate the cold season…

To be continued...

A Taste Of Christmas © | 2019 | Tous droits réservés.

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[whumpers-in-the-dark]

Whump Snippet #6

Prompt: Sound Whump

A awakens to the familiar sight of darkness. 

All around him, he only hears the strain and creaks of the walls and possibly a pipe dripping somewhere behind him. Memory still groggy upon waking, he moves to wipe the water from his face, only to be met by the cold steel of restraints sealing his arms to a chair. Panic coursing through him, he protested with his mind to recall the turn of events that led him here. He was brought in as a specialist and assigned a squad to locate...locate what? Voices of his men sounded through his memories as he recalled an explosion...and then an avalanche? 

The mountains had shook with rage as tons of snow and debris crashed towards them. He was meant to stay with his handler but something went wrong. The dull ache that had been present since he woke up, along with the restraints told him what had happened: someone had knocked him out and stole him away from his squad. 

Before he was allowed anymore time to think on the matter, a sharp, but low hum began to reverberate through the room. He recognized the frequency as one not many would be able to hear. Clenching his hands into fists to calm the wave of uneasy that washed over, he attempted to steady himself.

The enemy knows him specifically. His strengths...and his weaknesses. 

The hum grew not in volume, but in wavelengths as A could physically feel each wave surge through him. The highs causing a subtle pang in his chest as his stomach protested against each low. Trying to focus on anything but that godforsaken noise, A thought of music. A tactic he had learned early on in his disability when he began to feel overwhelmed from the cacophony around him. 

Imagining himself anywhere but here, preferably a tropical beach, he let the music play in his mind. Hours, seconds, minutes, he lost all sense of time in his dreamscape, but it was working. He could barely hear the hum over the roar of the ocean and the calls of the seagulls. 

Click…

A door?

Click…

A bird?

Click…

Counting it out, every fifth second resulted in one of these mysterious noises. One. Two. Three. Four. Click. One. Two. Three. Four. Click. The image froze.

The tide stopped. The birds remained stock still. The warmth he had felt began to drain away as the world dissolved. Back into the cold. Back to the dampness clinging to his bones. Fighting back the feeling he began to count once more. 

One. Two. Three. Four. Flick. He flicked his margarita and continued walking alongside the incoming tide. The image moved again as he now felt the lick of the water at his feet. Striding forward to the beat in his head, he shook his glass on every fifth step. A heavy crash ripped him from his reverie as his eyes shot back open, warmth fading away once more to be replaced by the unfeeling cold. 

“Morning there, Sleeping Beauty.” This new voice was deep. Gravelly, definitely a smoker A thought. Now on high alert with another person in the room, the hum from earlier was still playing as A tried to block it out to focus on the other. 

“What’s wrong? You hear somethin’?” A could hear the rhetoric in the man’s tone and turned his head in answer. “The quiet type then, eh? I can deal with that. Listen, this’ll be real easy for ya. I’m going to ask you a question, you answer, and then we both go our separate ways.”

Still refusing to answer, A waited for the man to continue. 

“I want some coordinates. The underwater base where they keep X’s research. Where is it?” 

Silence filled the room as the man waited for A to answer. Eyes blinking unseeingly, he raised his head to (hopefully) meet the other’s eyes as he cleared his throat. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Before he could even take a breath, a force slammed into the side of his face as his head snapped to one side. Pain radiated from his cheek where he had been presumably punched. 

Angry footsteps indicated the man drawing closer as A’s head was yanked back up by his scalp. “Don’t play dumb with me. I said this can be easy, so don’t make a fool out of yourself.” 

Defiantly, A spoke up once more. “I told you, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can't tell you something I don't know.” 

Throwing A back into the seat, V released him and took a couple steps back. The room was back to being silent which set A on edge even more. The sound of the door opening was the only indication of the other leaving, which he wasn't sure if that was a good sign or bad at this point. 

Left to his own thoughts once more, A wondered what the lab had that interested V. His squad would occasionally escort people to and fro the dropoff for that location, but he was never directly present. What use was a blind person on an escort mission? However, he DID know the coordinates despite never once setting foot on the grounds, but how could he face his squad if he gave that up now? And besides, he knew what happened to prisoners that expended their usefulness…

Door swinging open, A closed off his thoughts and waited for the other to speak. 

“So this is how its gonna work. I’ll leave you here with some of my favorites, and when you’re ready just shout, ok?” Without warning, something was placed over A’s head and clamped to his ears. Headphones? The soft foam discs were practically suctioned cupped to his ears, effectively killing any outside noises. On one hand, A was finally rid of that damn hum, but on the other, he now had no idea what his captor was doing. Blind and deaf to everything. And that terrified him more than the hum. 

A was blessed with a minute of apprehensive peace before it was all swiftly torn away when the headphones sprung to life. His already sensitive ears were barraged by ruthlessly loud music, leading to him cry out in surprise. Thrashing back and forth, A was relentless in his pursuit to rid himself of the headphones, but they refused to budge. He couldn’t lose his hearing too. Not when he relied on it as heavily as he does for both his job and his life. Back and forth, side to side, he threw his head, feeling them inch ever so slightly off their mark. Encouraged by the movement, he put just a little bit more into it. With one final push forward, the headphones fly off and clatter to the floor. 

Panting profoundly, A was still deafened by the ringing in his ears. How long were those damn things on? Minutes? Hours? Whatever it was, he wanted no part in it again. Unfortunately, his ‘friend’ had other ideas. Footsteps signaling the man’s return, he could hear something being lifted from the ground. 

“What’s this? Don’t like my music? I promise it gets better the more you listen to it.” And with that the headphones were placed back around A’s head as he violently thrashed to avoid them. 

“No, no that won't do.” Unable to hear anything else once they had been readjusted, a tight pressure wound around his head. The bastard was duct taping them to his head. Around his ears as well as effectively gagging him, V went around multiple times. Breathing harshly through his nose, A began to panic. The switch was flipped and the music came roaring back on. A again tried to free himself, but with everything taped down, there was no getting away this time. 

Tears pricked at the edge of his eyes as the music shot through his entire body. He tried to go back to his beach, but the intensity made it impossible. He took short, sharp breaths as tremors ran up and down his spine. Longing to place his head between his legs and hide from all of this, the restraints are a grim reminder of his hapless situation. A tightness envelops his chest as his lungs protest for more oxygen. The small breaths nowhere near enough for his frenzied state.

Unsure of how long this run has been, he screams into his gag just to make some noise. To feel something other than the assault on his senses, but even his cries he cannot hear. The only evidence of it being a dry throat and less oxygen than what he started with. 

All of a sudden, a red-hot shooting pain erupts from his already hurting ear. The sensation of someone driving a knife straight through his ear lights his whole body on fire and he screams again. 

“Mmmmph!! Mmmph! Mm-“

The headphones are swiftly pulled down as the tape is ripped from his mouth. He can feel something warm coming out of one of his ears: blood. 

“Who’s making such a raucous in here? That’s my job.” V laughs to himself at his own joke before taking in the sight of A, gasping for air. Suddenly the bound man turns to the side and empties his stomach content all over the floor. 

“Pl-please...n-no more.” He hated himself for pleading, but the pain in his head only grew with time and he wasn’t sure how much more of that he had before his other eardrum burst. 

“You know what I want.”

Despite everything, it was the one thing A couldn’t give up. He clammed up once more and tried to calm his trembling, and remained silent. 

“Round 2 it is then. Wait til you hear this next album…”