#ive only been flexing it for a few years

[starlightazriel]

bee 8

desc: modern day bestfriends>lovers azriel au (fem reader)

warnings: lots of time jumps, rhys being rhys, arguing/angst, lying, az being unhinged in vegas (leave my bby alone he's not used to serious relationships), reader being insecure , SMUT ! (oral, az eating the booty like groceries (we been over this guys hes a freak), raw dogging, soft dom, self gratification,vibrator, squirting, spanking, cream pie), fluff, drug/alcohol addiction

A/N: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG MY LIFE IS V V MESSY AND UNHINGED ALSO THIS ISNT FULLY PROOF READ

MOOD FOR THE BEGINNING OF THIS

wc: 5.9k

other parts can be found on my masterlist under azriel

eight

"I got us a massive suite at the four seasons for our trip this weekend," Rhys is grinning while showing Cassian a photo of what he had booked for them. Azriel suppressed the urge to roll his eyes, only Rhys would drop that big of a bag on a weekend work-stay, they were supposed to be location scouting. He didn't want to be ungrateful, but him and Bee were in their honeymoon phase... Everything was just going right, everything except the fact that Rhys wanted to move him hundreds of miles away.

"This weekend?" Azriel grimaces, leaning against the reception desk in the shop. Kat had gone home already and it was just Rhys, Cass and Azriel left. "What if I don't want to uproot my entire life here and move to Vegas?" he asks then, Cass shifts uncomfortably on his feet, looking between his two best friends.

Rhys' jaw flexed and he leaned back, tilting his chin up at Azriel in that power tripping way that he did so often. Azriels jaw flexed, his hands balling up at his sides as he stared Rhys down, not shying away from his intimidating frame. He knew challenging Rhys never ended well, sometimes he just couldn't help himself.

"You do realize that you have a contract, right Azriel? A contract that you signed, a contract that includes relocation if I see fit," Rhys voice is cool and unwavering as he assesses Azriel. "Maybe, if you had been sober while reading the contract, you would have known that was included," Rhys eyes narrowed, the tension in Azriels jaw grew, his temper flaring. "And maybe if you had been sober when we were talking about this trip weeks ago, you would have remembered that we were going this weekend to scout out a few potential new spaces," Rhys tone was unwavering, Cass winced behind him, it was always his job to keep the peace, usually between the three of them it was almost always Rhys and Az butting heads.

"Fuck this, I got dinner plans to get ready for," Azriels voice was a near growl now, and he didn't even bother to say good bye to either of his closest friends before he left them in the shop with a slam of the front door, the bells rattling at the top as it slammed shut.

His annoyance and Rhys' sheer entitlement had him needing to take the edge off. Az loved Rhys, of course he did, he was basically his brother- but that didnt mean they always agreed. Azriel tried not to think about Rhys' jabs at his sobriety while he took a quick sniff from his vile before heading home.

-

With Bee, it was just easy. Azriel didn't seem to have the same issues he did in the past with other women, being faithful to her came easy. He guessed it was because he always had been loyal to her in a sense, since they were just kids.

The past weeks had been a type of bliss that Azriel had never known, a different kind of high than the one he got from his drug of choice. They were fucking constantly, waking up together every morning, going on dates whenever they had time, fuck, he had even posted her which he had never done for anyone else... It was a picture of her at the beach, grinning so brightly it made his chest feel tight because he put that smile on her face. ive been so blind, was his only explanation under the photo.

And still, he wasn't able to bring himself to tell her about Rhys' Vegas plans for the next year. Everything was too perfect right now. Granted it had only been a few weeks since their first date, but he just didn't wanna mess everything up so soon, he wanted to live in this perfect little bubble just a little longer.

"Az? You with me?" she giggles softly, her dirty martini pulled to her lips, her eyes glowing as she looked at him from under dark lashes. "I think I want to get the vodka pappardelle," she places her glass down again and points to the menu.

"Yeah, whatever you want baby, sorry," he ran his finger through his hair, leaning back into his seat, flicking his eyes back down to the menu. "Just- I know it's last minute, I'm going on a little Vegas trip this weekend with Rhys and Cass," he waited a second before looking up and studied her face, absentmindedly messing with the straw in his own drink.

"A Vegas trip?" Bees eyebrows draw together, her attention was already on him, the menu forgotten, he swallowed. "Like Las Vegas?" she asks, a little more slowly this time. "Why are you guys going out there?" the concern, the uncertainty in her eyes made Azriels gut wrench. He knew he should tell her everything now, tell her that the possibility of him living there next year was becoming less of a possibility and more of a reality. Sure, when she was done with school, she could be a nurse anywhere... But that was still a ways away.

"Boys trip," he shrugs, and it wasn't exactly a lie, it just wasn't the full truth. She looked back at him skeptically, and he knew he had to change the subject soon.

"Boys trip, huh?" she leans back, raising an eyebrow skeptically. In the past- boys trips were really only meant for single Az.

"I'll be good," Az flashes her a smile, he knew he may have used the wrong choice of wording. A year ago, a boys trip to Vegas would have meant unlimited blow, maybe even a threesome, hooking up with randoms, losing all of his money. "Gonna gamble for sure though," he sips his drink, she's still looking at him with a skeptical look as if she knew there was more to the story. Luckily for Az the server came back for the rest of their order.

"Have we made some decisions?" she asks, looking between the two of them, Az only jerked his chin toward Bee, he liked the smile it put on her face to be able to choose everything for them so they could try it together.

"Yes we are going to share the duck pizza and the vodka pappardelle, you want oysters Az?" she lifts her eyes from the menu to look back at Azriel, he smirks and glances up at the server.

"Yeah, we'll start with a dozen," he shrugs and the waitress beams, making sure she had everything correct before leaving the table. "Thank you," he adds, but his eyes are back on Bee.

"So boys trip to Vegas, kinda last minute huh?" she quirks her brow again, leaning forward, her elbows on the table, Azriel tried not to let his eyes settle for too long on her breasts as they spilled slightly out of her top. Of course he wasnt lucky enough that she'd already forgotten about it.

"Yeah, I mean, I knew about it.. Just forgot," he shrugs easily, nudging her foot under the table, her eyes are hazy but he can still see that skeptical glint in them. He didn't want to lie, or leave parts of the truth out... But he also wanted to have a good night before he had to leave in a couple days, plus, she was working the rest of the week until he was gone anyway.

"Interesting," she murmurs, rubbing her finger against the base of her glass. "Anyway, you better bring something back for me," she shrugs before taking another sip from her martini.

"I wouldn't dream of coming back without something for my girl," he licks his lips, nudging her foot gently again under the table, her cheeks warm at his words and she rolls her eyes playfully at him. Az knew he was good at distracting her, though he wasn't sure if that was really a good thing or not.

"Yeah, yeah," she laughs softly, the sound made Azriels chest swell. "Thank you so much," she smiles softly as the runner sets the oysters down on the table between them.

"Can I grab you anything else?" the boy flashes her a cheeky grin that Azriel doesn't miss, he clears his throat as if to remind him he was sitting there across from her.

"More lemons," Az says boredly but there was an edge of annoyance in his tone, making the boys head snap to him and he blushed slightly, nodding his head. He didn't need more lemons, he just wanted to be difficult, the level of jealousy he felt when anyone even spoke to her was something he'd never experienced.

"Oh, of course, I'll be right back," he swallows, before running off back to the kitchen. Azriels eyes snap back to Bee, who's looking at him with pursed lips.

"Azriel, lay off the poor kid he's like eighteen," she shakes her head slightly, he noted that her martini was almost gone now, she was definitely feeling it. He only shrugs, smirking at her, stretching his legs out under the table so they were more than in her space, the skin of her bare calf pressed against his pants, she's nibbling on her lip, her eyes growing darker with lust. He loved how easy it was for him to get her going.

"Here you are, enjoy," hes back quickly and he places the small dish of lemons in front of Azriel.

"We will," Az only nods, Bee makes sure to utter a rushed thank you to him, shooting Azriel another look. "Don't look at me like that, lemme see you swallow," he smirks suggestively and she lets out a little puff of air her jaw dropping slightly but she couldn't help but smile.

"Azriel, don't be gross," she giggled quietly but she was still squeezing lemon onto the first oyster, he watched as the juice dripped off of her fingertips and she picked up the oyster, her eyes meeting his.

"That's it," he murmured, watching her tip her head back slightly and open her lips, her cheeks warmed at the gravelly tone of his voice. "Good practice for when I make you swallow something else tonight," he smirked, sipping from his drink while he watched her rest the shell on her lower lip, he watched her throat bob as she swallowed, humming softly in approval.

"Mmm those are good ones," she giggled softly, turning the shell over and placing it back on the ice.

"Youre a good one," his lips twitched in a sheepish smirk and she held his gaze, her own full of so much love it made his heart rate pick up.

"Az Im worried about you, cheesy much? youre definitely going soft on me," she grinned so brightly it made heat crawl up the back of his neck and onto his cheeks.

His cock was aching in his pants, he couldn't wait to get her back home. His jaw flexed before he muttered "you're going to be my end I swear."

-

"I should have stopped after the first two," I giggled quietly as I stumbled into my bedroom, kicking my heels off behind me, Azriel was right behind me, I could almost feel his eyes burning into my backside.

"I told you," he says in that low husky tone he often used with me these days, it was laced with so much need it made my head spin. "Anyway, Im glad now because it will give you courage for our reenactment."

"Reenactment?" I ask, turning to look at him now my brow slightly furrowed. "Of what?" I ask curiously, taking each of my earrings off, I had obviously been wearing the ones from Az, I had every day since he had gifted them to me. I had learned that he liked to get rough often, I didnt want to chance losing them so I tucked them away carefully in my jewelry box.

"Of the day I walked in on you," his voice was so calm and commanding it made my toes curl, my breath hitched, a warm tingling sensation spreading throughout my pussy. My cheeks warmed at the thought.

"Az- I can't..." I breathed out, my heart rate picking up at the thought of just purposefully touching myself in front of him.

"I didnt ask if you could. You will," he says, his voice so sure, and he was right. Knowing what he could do to me... Anything he told me to do, Id do it. Especially when he sounded like that. "I'll give you about five minutes to get situated, ten if youre lucky but I don't think I can be that patient. Im going to show you what I wanted to do to you," he adds, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. I was already moving before my brain could even process. My throat bobbed, my cheeks embarrassingly red as I retrieved the toy I had used that day from my top drawer and I left him alone in my room. It was annoying how easily he could render me speechless these days.

I slipped out of my dress and my panties, leaving them both on his bedroom floor, I didn't dare look at myself in the full length mirror he had. I let myself fall back onto his bed, inhaling his cedary scent just like I did that day he walked in on me.

My heart was racing as I spread my legs and placed my rose toy on my clit. I let out a small huff my eyes on Azriels open bedroom door as I let the toy suction softly to my pussy. My hand traveled up, caressing my skin gently before settling on my nipple, I rolled it gently between my fingertips. My breath hitched when he appeared in the door way, looking handsome as ever, my cheeks warmed at the sight of him. How had I gotten so lucky?

"That's my baby," Azriel chuckled darkly as he leaned against the door frame to his bedroom. I moaned softly when our eyes met, my cheeks turning pink. "Now if I had been bold enough that day, I would have got down on my knees like I'm about to now,"

"Az," I whimpered softly in desperation, the need for him starting to outweigh my nerves. It was hard to want to hide when he made me feel so sexy. A single look was enough to do me in.

"Shh baby," he hums softly and in one fluid motion, pulls me to the edge of the bed and slowly drops to his knees. I whimper softly as he brushes the sides of his face against my inner thighs, inhaling my scent before spreading my legs. I gasped softly my hand shaking slightly as I held my toy between my legs.

Azriel sucked gently and bit at the sensitive skin on my inner thighs, a guttural moan escaped my lips at the contrasting feeling. The sting of his little nibbles mixed with the soft buzz and suction from my toy had my back arching up. "Please Az," I gasped softly, I knew there would be little bruises peppered over my delicate skin.

"Please what baby?" he breathed out, his breath hot against my sensitive skin. My head was spinning, I didn't know if it was from the alcohol I'd drank at dinner or from the way he touched me, the way he took control, guided me. It just felt so right, so perfect.

"Please," I let a heavy breath pass through parted lips, my heart beating rapidly against my chest. "Please taste me, I need you," I begged softly, gasping as he pushed my legs up, the delicious scrape of his rough hands against my skin sending heat slithering down my spine.

"That's my good girl," he licked his lips at the sight of me, my legs spread and up in the air, bared to him except for my clit, the vibrator still buzzing around it. I was already so close, my cunt pulsating with need for him. My breath hitched when I felt his mouth on me, the slow lazy roll of his tongue on my second hole sending stars dancing in my eyes. I hummed softly, tossing my head back and letting my eyes squeeze shut, goosebumps raising all over my skin.

"F-fuck Az," I breathed out, the new sensation making my mind go numb. His thumbs pressed harder into the backs of my thighs, I arched my back slightly, gasping again for breath as he circled his tongue around and around my opening. He held my legs open as they threatened to close, quivering pathetically underneath his touch. It was only a matter of seconds before I was cumming, his name ringing out through the room, making him moan against me. My vibrator fell from my hand, gently hitting his cheek before rolling onto the floor next to him. I panted, my hips wriggling underneath him as he sucked the sensitive skin between my pussy and my ass before covering my entire cunt with his mouth. "Ohh my- fuck-" each word came out in a pathetic broken moan as he shook his head between my legs. I couldn't hold it back anymore and I was squirting all over his face, he moaned against me, pulling off of my pussy with a soft sucking sound.

He gently licked me down from my high, my body jerking with the aftershocks of my intense orgasms. "Damn baby I didnt know you could do that," his eyes are so dark and hazy with lust as he kisses back up my body, hes back on his feet now, hovering over me. "My little sprinkler," he teases before biting down softly on my nipple, I yelped softly, my body jerking.

"Az, I need you so fucking bad," I breathed out my eyes meeting with his. He grinned in that lazy way he did his face still glistening with my cum. He looked so damn happy, it made my heart sing. It had been a bit of a rare sight these last couple years... But these past few weeks? He had been nothing but happy, it made my chest swell knowing I was the cause of that happiness.

"I was gonna put my cock in your mouth first but since you've been so good we'll save it for later," he stood up straight, looking down at me hungrily, my legs laying lazily over the edge of the bed now. He undid his pants, his eyes never leaving me as he dropped them to the floor. "Lay on your stomach," he commanded, his voice gravelly. He watched me readjust myself, cursing quietly under his breath as I lay on my stomach across his bed before him.

I let out a moan when his hand unexpectedly connected with my ass with a loud slapping sound, the sting sending my toes curling. He gently lifted me up, his arm wrapping around my torso and lifting up with ease. He slid a pillow underneath to prop me up perfectly. Azriel gently rubbed his rough fingers over the tender spot he had smacked, humming in approval. "Ive wanted to do that since I watched you walk away from me in the hall that day," he admits, only earning a whimper in response from me. I was so ready for him to fuck me into nothing.

I shivered as Azriel slowly slid his fingertips over my shoulders and down my arms gently wrapping his large scarred fingers around the tips of his fingers pressing into the insides of my elbows as he pulled my arms behind my back. He used one hand to pin my wrists to my lower back, I whimpered softly, begging him for his cock again as his hand tightened on my wrists, his large hands finding no trouble.

He used his other hand to guide his cock toward my pussy, not bothering with a condom. If it was one thing about Az, we were fucking raw, every time. He slid his tip over my slick cunt, teasing gently before sinking into me, cursing softly under his breath as he did. "Yes please fuck me, please," I begged desperately, the side of my face pressed into his bed.

"That's my girl, so wet and tight for me," his fingers were gripping the bed beneath me, his mouth almost by my ear now as he moved in and out of me his cock filled me up over and over.

I moaned his name again, arching my back up for him, he hissed under his breath and spanked me again, I felt my ass jiggle under his big hand, the sting made my body jerk. "I love how you fuck me," I whimpered softly, feeling like a puddle beneath him, he still my hands pinned to my back, he let out a low groan from deep in his throat, up on his knees as he slammed his hips over and over against my ass.

I let out another broken moan, his considerable length dragging over my g spot every time he thrusted himself into me, I couldnt hold it in anymore and I came all over his cock with my third orgasm of the night, stars danced behind my eyes my body tensing underneath him. I couldnt stop the scream that left my lips as he continued fucking me, cursing again softly and squeezing my tender and red flesh from his spanks. "Ohh yesss Az..." I moaned again, his thrusts lost their rhythm as he grew closer, his breath heavy and erratic behind me.

"Mmm baby you're so fucking sexy," he breathed out before letting out a low guttural groan. "I'm gonna fill up that pretty little cunt," he grunted in my ear and with a few more thrusts I cried out softly at the feeling of his thick ropes of cum spilling into my pussy. So damn good. "Fuck," he breathed slowly pulling his hands from my wrists, my arms fell back at my sides and I whimpered softly as he slowly pulled his cock from my pussy. He swore again under his breath, "Stay just like that," he muttered, leaning over and grabbing his phone from the bedside table, and I felt him slap his still semi hard cock on my ass cheek. "For later," I could hear the grin in his voice as he snapped a picture of his gleaming cock against my ass. I just whimpered softly in response, my body feeling limp my mind numb. He tossed his phone aside on the bed and flipped me over onto my back and placed a soft kiss to my lips.

I had been waiting to get fucked like this for years. None of my past lovers had ever been able to compare to the way that Az made me feel, though if things hadn't gone the way they did with Az I probably would have ended up giving Eris another chance.

"You're so damn good at fucking," I huffed out, looking up at him with hazy satisfaction. "It's not fair," he just laughed and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead and then my lips. I let my eyes flutter shut again as he tucked my hair behind my ear before he muttered "let's get you cleaned up baby."

-

"Send me lots of pictures," Bee flashes her biggest grin, hugging Azriel so tightly. He smiled down at her, squeezing her back and pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. He was glad she had brought them to the air port, it gave him just a little extra time with her.

"I promise baby I will, I'm gonna miss you," he rubs small circles into her back, savoring the last few minutes they had together before he was on the plane.

"Be good okay?" she drops her voice lower, Rhys and Cass were standing off to the side waiting for him while he said his last goodbyes. He could tell she didn't want them to hear this part. "Just like- stick to drinking and bud okay? Just don't want you to buy something without knowing what it is for sure first.." she mumbles softly, biting down gently on her lip.

Az sighs quietly, pulling away slightly at her words, he knew she meant well but he couldn't help but get the tiniest bit annoyed. "I'm gonna be fine, chill off me," he chuckled quietly but leaned down and pressed one more kiss to her lips, because he know she was only saying that because she cared about him... She had never exactly supported his extracurricular activities. "I'll be good, and you better be good too," he warns playfully, but there was a slight edge in his tone so she would know he did mean it. "You're mine now, I don't want to hear about any red headed visitors," he raises an eyebrow and she pursed her lips, glaring lightly at him.

"Azriel. You know I would never-"

"I know," he cuts her off, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I gotta go baby, text me when you're home safe alright? I'll text you when I land," he opens his arms one last time to crush her in good bye hug, she hums softly tucking her chin into his neck and inhaling his scent.

"I love you," she mumbles softly, he just grinned and hugged her even tighter, he kissed the top of her head, not daring to utter it back yet. Some things he just wasn't ready for.

He had told her he loved her dozens of times, but he knew the next time he said those words to her, they would carry a whole different weight.

-

It was evening on the second day when they finally made it out onto the strip, the first day had been filled with scouting out locations. Rhys had already signed a lease, much to his own surprise, he thought he'd have to come back a few times before finding the perfect spot for their new shop. The signing was followed by a very late dinner and a few bottles of champagne before they retreated back to the massive suite Rhys had got for them.

Azriel had to admit, he liked it here. He was having a blast with his brothers, and he hadn't wanted to admit it before but he could see himself living here. He knew this would be a level up for him, he would make way more money out here... Plans were already stirring in his head for how he would convince Bee to move out here with him, she would have to transfer schools, quit her job... He knew that was a lot to ask. He couldn't imagine not living with her anymore...

"Sin city baby!!! AZ! Get outta your head man do you see this shit?" Cass had been excited since the moment they stepped off the plane yesterday, they were all quite fucked up now. They had been gambling all night, winning and losing money and had now settled in one of the nicest clubs Azriel had ever been in. There was half naked bottle girls everywhere, and of course Rhys had got them a VIP section with bottle service included.

"Oh I see it," Azriel laughs softly, catching the eyes of the bottle girl who was leaning very close to him as she poured shots for the three of them. She was definitely giving him the eyes. Azriel had to look away then, turning his head back toward Cass. "I'm just fucked up," against Bees wishes, the first thing he had done this morning was purchase a gram.

"Better hope that shit didn't have fenty in it," Rhys turns his head to look at Az, who rolls his eyes in response.

"It's doesn't," he snaps back, before downing another shot, he didn't even know how many he'd had at this point. "It's just good shit you want a line?" he raises his eyebrows, there had been a time the three of them did this all together. Az just never grew out of it...

"I'll take one man, I'm in fucking Vegas!" Cass shouts, earning a laugh from Az who simply passed the little white bag over. This was one thing about Vegas he liked, the freedom of just being able to do a line in the club and no one even batted a single eye because it was Vegas, and obviously one of them had money if they had a VIP here.

"Some day the two of you will grow up," Rhys sighs before beckoning the bottle girl over for the list of bottles they could purchase.

"Get the Clase Rhys we are celebrating!" Cass voice boomed out and he shot to his feet, shaking his head with the effect the drugs had on him. Azriel just laughed and snatched his little bag back from him.

"Easy," Az laughs again, catching the bottle girls eye again, he didn't mean to, she was fucking staring. She flashed him a seductive little grin before retreating to get the bottle that Rhys had ordered.

He knew a few months ago he would have flirted a little and ended up taking her back to the room. He wasn't single anymore though, and the pain it would cause Bee just for him to get his nut off for a night while he was on his boys trip, it just wasn't worth it. Plus, he needed her to know he wasn't that guy anymore. He wanted to be everything for her.

-

"No fucking way," my phone tightened in my hand as I stared down at it, Kat and I were out to brunch, she figured we should have a little girls weekend while the boys were away. So finally we were able to do something since I had Sunday off, Az wouldn't be landing back home until late tonight.

"What is it?" Kat asks, lifting her eyes from her plate.

"Go look at fucking Cassian's instagram," I said through gritted teeth as I swiped through each photo from their apparent escapades lastnight.

There was my Az, my Az... Grinning wickedly, leaning over, face smushed between the tits of two bottle girls who were wearing nothing but lingerie to cover their most intimate bits. He had his arms around each of them, a drink nearly spilling over one of their shoulders. His pupils were blown out, clearly he hadn't listened to me about staying away from drugs out there. My heart was sinking further with the scroll of each photo. There was another snap shot of him dancing with one of them, she was bent over, her ass shaking on him, one of his hands loosely on her waist.

"Oh fuuuck.." Kat drew out the word, her eyes widening as she looked down at the photos on her phone.

"Yeah fuck is right," I locked my phone, tossing it on the table next to me before downing the rest of my mimosa. "I fucking knew it, he hasn't changed even a little bit- As soon as he said boys trip I-"

"Boys trip?" she asked, drawing her eyebrows together. "That's what he told you?" she asks, biting her lip and gnawing on it a bit. What the fuck did she know?

"Kat...?" I say slowly, meeting her eyes, her cheeks are flushed as if she had just said something she knew she shouldn't have.

"I- I'm sure Az is going to tell you- I don't think it's my place to-"

"Just spit it out," I was starting to get more angry, the gnawing feeling of shame starting to eat at my stomach. "What do you know?!" I demanded and she loosed a breath, leaning back in her seat.

"Bee- I swear I thought he told you- Please don't tell him it was me that said anything I'm sure he's just waiting for-"

"Just spit it out Kat," I repeat, an impatient edge to my tone. What had he kept from me?

"It was a location scouting trip- For-for the new shop that Rhys is opening up with Az and Cass in Vegas," her voice is soft now, and she's almost wincing as she waits for my reaction.

Just like that... It felt like everything had been some sick game to pass the time. My stomach turned, I felt like I was going to lose everything I had eaten on our little brunch date.

"I'm so fucking stupid," I breathed softly, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. I really thought I knew him better than that... I never expected him to pull some shit like this. To keep something this big from me.

-

Azriel groaned loudly as he rolled over, the silky sheets slipping from his skin as he reached for his phone. He smiled, noticing the few notifications he had from Bee, his face quickly fell, and he was sitting up straight in an instant rubbing his eyes.

good morning!! can't wait to see you tonight

Normal, but the message below that one, and the notification that she stopped sharing her location? Definitely not normal. They had been sharing location for years, basically since it had become an option.

going to visit my family for a couple days i'll talk to you when i get back.

He quickly typed out a response.

everything okay baby?

He knew he had forgotten to face time her lastnight before he went to bed, but he was so fucked up he couldn't even remember getting home. And it had to have been almost 5 am when they had gotten back to the resort. She had asked him before they left to face time her before he went to sleep both nights, surely she couldn't be that mad over that, could she?

As he padded into the little kitchen that was built into the suite, his eyes were glued to his phone. He opened instagram next, and his stomach twisted slightly when he pressed her story and it was one of those dumb quotes girls tended to post after getting dumped about never really being able to know someone.

Fuck what did I do? his face had gone a little pale, the contents of the michelin star dinner they had lastnight and all the alcohol he had consumed bubbled in his stomach, he was racking his brain, trying to piece together the night, he couldn't really remember much of anything once they had left the casino and got to the club.

All he had to do was scroll down to the top post on his feed and his face paled. "Cass are you fucking dumb?" he's in Cassians part of the suite before he can even think shaking him awake.

"What the fuck man?" Cass groans, rolling over and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Rhys was behind them now, he had been up for an hour or two already.

"You saw the instagram post didn't you?" Rhys chuckles from behind him, holding his coffee cup in hand, leaning against the door frame.

"You think this shits funny?" He demands, whirling around to direct his attention to Rhys. As angry as he was at Cass, he knew it was only his fault that he had bought coke and got completely black out shit faced drunk. "Man fuck both of you," he growls and turns on his heel, storming to the bathroom and slamming the door behind him.

-

a/n: sorry but if it's one thing abt me yk i love drama

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[daughterofcain-67]

𝙾𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝙾𝚞𝚛 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 (𝚙𝚝 2)

(Soldier Boy x Female Reader)

(masterlist)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: after his release and escape from Russia, Ben finds himself back in the states but it’s not the same place he’s known before. nonetheless he is determined to get his revenge on Payback for setting him up, and perhaps he’ll finally reunite with you after all these years. He can’t help but wonder… did you wait for him the whole time he was gone?

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: minor spoilers to season three, Ben’s point of view when he saw The Legend when he returned to the states. no major spoilers.

Russia…

God what Ben would give to get the Hell out of this country.

Yes, he was conscious but barely because of the fumes that were held up to his face. He lost track of so much time and he didn’t even know what day it was anymore. Let alone what year.

Ben didn’t feel strong enough because of these blasted fumes, he couldn’t even break out of a stupid metal box. He felt the worst feeling a man could feel when he was tortured and experimented on. He felt helpless, humiliated, betrayed by his own teammates.

Did they really hate him that much? Sure he was a bit hard on them, gave them a few beatings here and there to knock some sense into them. But was it really enough to try and get him killed?

This whole time his hope was that Crimson Countess would come and find him. After all, he hadn’t broken up with her yet and he thought she still loved him. After all, with you being retired, there was no way Vought would ever tell you what part of Nicaragua he was stationed, or even what his own team did behind his back.

You were right though, and he wished now that he would have listened to you.

Outside of his prison, he swore he was able to hear some voices. Probably those damned Russians coming to pull him out for more experiments. Maybe that could be his chance if they didn’t sedate him this time.

The next thing he knew, he could hear some sort of alarm going off and he was still motionless. It was like he was in some sort of coma and he hated that he could hear a lot of what was happening, but he couldn’t do anything about it. It was his own personal Hell.

Then everything went quiet after the gunfire. He wondered what the hell must’ve happened, what went wrong?

Ben didn’t believe in miracles, but the next thing he knew he could here someone stepping up to this damned metal box. It had to be some supe because no human could take off the front of this damned thing so easily. Was it Vought?

If it was Vought, there was no way in Hell he would ever go back there. Not after the shit they did to him.

As the fumes inside of the vault finally seemed to dissipate, he felt like some kind of fog was finally being lifted. Ben slowly tilted his head to see if he could actually move and to his surprise… he could. He slowly opened his eyes, and at first his vision was a little blurry, even he had to admit that. Who knew how long they had been closed since he hadn’t used them after all.

Once the fog was lifted for him, however, he looked down at his restraints and all it took was a bit of a flex to tear them off. Must’ve been old material by now. Ben took the IV’s out of his arm and whatever sticker things were on his chest and he tossed them to the side. He took off the mask that was blowing the fumes into his system and he felt more alert after that.

He lifted his arms out and gripped onto the outside of the vault to steady himself as he prepared to use his legs again for the first time. One step forward, then another, then he was out of the vault.

He lifted his gaze, realizing that his vision was clearing up nicely, only to notice a group of people were standing in front of him looking stunned. One of them looked like he was about to shit himself.

As he walked further into the room, he realized he had this new sort of energy rushing through him. Something that was much more than just some kind of adrenaline rush. This was different, new, something that had to be the result of whatever radiation the Russians filled him up with to see what could kill him.

He looked down and closed his eyes, concentrating to see exactly what would happen if he focused. Then he started feeling something from within his chest. It felt like some sort of heartburn, but it wasn’t really painful like one.

Nonetheless, the feeling was intense and his chest began to glow and as he tried to release the power, this energy blast escaped from him and it destroyed the back wall that was blocking his way.

When he looked up and saw the damage he had done, he had to admit it was a little surprising that he could do this sort of thing now. Maybe that was the only thing he could thank the Russians for. Not that they’d get his thanks after the shit they put him through to get to this point.

Ben looked forward, not really giving much of a damn to get to know the people that released him, and he walked out of the room and into the hall.

Eventually, he found some guy and knocked him out so he could take his clothes. After all, there wasn’t much of a reason to have your junk out unless he was at herogasm. Once he was dressed, he felt something fall from the pocket of the pants he was putting on.

When he looked down, he saw some rectangular screen. Ben lifted a brow as he bent over and picked it up just to see that it lit up. He squinted a little before he blinked again and saw some picture on the screen. There was even the date and time on this thing.

“What the fuck?”

Well he didn’t exactly expect to live past the turn of the millennium. The 2000’s? Well, according to the lit up brick it was the 2020’s.

That was more time than he expected he lost while he was there. He wondered if you had still waited for him all this time or if you had forgotten about him after a few years of him being gone.

You…

He had to get back to you, Everything in Ben was screaming at him to make it back to the states to get back to you somehow. He wondered if you were even still alive or if you’d be alive and.. well a bit older now with how much time has flown by.

Then he remembered the one thing he promised himself that he would do. He never broke things off with Countess. Well, after what she and the rest of his team did, he was pretty sure it was already over but Ben? Well, Ben wanted to make sure things were more than official. Make her and the rest of his old team pay for the time he’s wasted being here when he could have spent the last several decades being with you.

1984…

After he shut the door behind your apartment, he looked at his team. All of them looked frustrated with him for taking so long. Well, with the exception of Black Noir since his mask was covered.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re looking at? Do you want me to tell you how many damn times I’ve had to wait on all of you when we have to go on a mission? Head out to the car before I crack your fucking skulls open.” He told them and they all started going out to the car so they could get to the headquarters.

Ben looked back at your door with a certain aching in his chest.

He knew you tended to have some sort of intuition about some missions. He wondered since you were clearly worried about him, if he would have anything to be genuinely worried about, or if you were just trying to find an excuse to make him stay.

He hoped that you knew that if he could stay with you, than he would have. But this was Ben’s job, and he didn’t have that much of a choice.

Once Ben made it to the car that took him into that plane so they could go out of the country, his mind started wandering off to you. He wondered if you liked the little gift he gave you. He wasn’t exactly huge on sentimental shit, but you meant something to him and he wanted you to have something to remember him by just in case your little intuition was right and he did have something to worry about.

Eventually, Ben made it to an airport and snuck his way into a cargo plane. It was an easy enough way to not get caught since it seemed entirely too complicated to sneak in the actual airport. Nobody would believe he was Soldier Boy, and he highly doubted people would believe it anyway since it’s been so long.

Anyway, once he got onto the cargo plane, he did what he could to make himself at least semi-comfortable since he had a feeling this would be a long flight.

The one thing he was looking forward to, though, was seeing your smiling face again after so many years.

He was finally coming home.

A few days had gone by and you knew Butcher and his little team must’ve made it to Russia by now. Well actually, they may have even arrived back in the states if they’ve successfully found what they were looking for. You just hoped they would find the answers so they could end Homelander. The world deserved to know the truth about their beloved heroes and their many imperfections.

On the other hand, you had a feeling that such a weapon couldn’t actually exist. It was just some kind of folklore at this point, a legend that you genuinely thought to be myth. If that were the case, though, you wondered how they would end up defeating Homelander.

Then again, if what you heard was correct and that group that came to visit you was really involved in the death of Translucent, you were sure they would find an alternative way of taking care of Homelander. They seemed like a smart enough group to improvise something if things weren’t going to go their way.

For the time being, you were at the store, just getting some groceries you needed at the house. It gave you an excuse to get out and about somehow without drawing much attention. Plus you needed food before you got hangry.

While you were grabbing some ingredients you were planning for some meals that week, you could hear a few other shoppers talking about the news and when you looked over at one of them, they were pointing at a television screen.

You glanced up at the tv at one of the corners in the store, your eyes widened when you saw the reports of a building that experienced some sort of explosion. It wasn’t released to the public how many people suffered or died because of what happened, but you knew the numbers would be released eventually.

“Do you think it’s another Super Terrorist?” One person asked their friend.

“They’re called Super Villains. Didn’t you hear Homelander? That’s the better term, obviously.”

You couldn’t help but to roll your eyes at the conversation. Just because some famous guy says one thing sounds better shouldn’t mean the whole world has to stand by it. People were allowed to have their own opinions and they should learn to think for themselves rather than look to supes for political accuracy.

Your eyes widened when you saw the footage released on the news. Some terrorist used some sort of energy blast to destroy that building. How many people did that person kill?

There were times you couldn’t believe the kind of monsters that were out there today. And you thought Hitler was bad, having lived through that. Why were people so insane? You couldn’t believe what this world was coming to and you couldn’t help but feel out of place sometimes.

Shaking your head, you went back to minding your own business as you tried to think of what you should eat for dinner that night and what ingredients you needed. Some Italian dish came to mind so you picked up some pasta, Alfredo sauce, and some seasonings you needed. Then you went to the meats, you grabbed some chicken and you picked up some shrimp and garlic bread from the frozen aisle.

After that, you went to the wine area and tried to think of what sort of wine you were in the mood for that evening.

Gosh, you could hear Ben’s voice in your head making fun of you for being a wine drinker after all the times you both would have some beers together, or maybe the harder stuff after a long mission he had. Although it’s not like either of you could get drunk unless you had a full bottle or two for the each of you.

You smiled to yourself as you remembered some of the drinking games you two would come up with when you would watch old voices. You knew Ben hated watching romance movies but one time your forced him to watch Gone with the Wind with you, and he made up the bright idea of making a drinking game out of it. Anytime Scarlett would flirt with, kiss, or even hug Ashley it was one drink. That was just an example of the nonsense he’d come up with in the movie.

In the end, you decided to pick up some Franciacorta, just some sparkling wine for your supper that evening. Maybe you would even watch Gone with the Wind again, without playing Ben’s little drinking game.

After finding everything you needed, you went to the register and bought everything. You walked out of the store you grabbed everything you needed before you started making your way home.

As you walked out with your bags in hand, you started walking to your car when something caught your attention through your peripheral vision. You glanced over and you saw a man in what looked like a grey runners outfit of sorts with a red stripe on his jacket. He had long hair, a very messy beard that was in desperate need of a trim. But he had these eyes that seemed so familiar, eyes that you hadn’t seen in decades.

“It couldn’t be…” You whispered and when you took a step forward, a large bus with some poster for The Seven drove by and once it passed, the mystery man disappeared.

“Ben…”

It couldn’t be true. He was dead. You hadn’t seen him in decades, everyone in Vought said he was dead. The whole world knew he was gone. How was he still alive. That had to be him right?

What if you were mistaken and it was just some kind of look alike? What if it was just some sort of freak coincidence? Surely you were just seeing things because of those people that swung by your house a few days ago.

You went to your car and popped open the trunk so you could set your groceries down. Afterwards, you went into the car and started to drive home, completely unable to get that man’s face out of your mind.

The man’s face, even if it was covered by the unruly facial hair, you knew deep down that was your Ben. But how did he get back into the states if he was out of the country for so many years?

“You’re imagining things. It couldn’t have been him.” You reminded yourself.

If it were really your Ben, he would have contacted you a long time ago if he were still alive. So you had to be reasonable about this. Maybe if you just go on about your business, you would be able to move on and forget you ever saw that stranger. What you saw couldn’t have been a reality.

After a while you had arrived home and you grabbed the groceries from the trunk of the car. The trip from the car to your front door was a short one but you noticed an envelope taped to your door.

You lifted a brow and you shifted the bags from one hand to the other, you were just glad you didn’t have that many bags after all. Taking the letter from your front door, you opening it to enter your home. You shut the door behind you with your heel before entering the kitchen so you could set everything down on the counter. Once your hands were finally free you opened up the envelope to see what was inside.

When you pulled out what was inside, your eyes widened.

It was a picture, a close up, of the man you used to know. He was in the last uniform he ever wore before his out of the country trip. He had his mask off and he was already there in Nicaragua with his team. It was a photo that was never released to the public.

You looked at the back of the photo to see if there was a name, note or anything on it but it was blank. What you found was simply a heart and the date the photo was taken. It was such an old photo and you could tell that Ben wrote the date with the heart a long time ago. So it couldn’t have been recent, unfortunately.

You wished you knew who had this photo for so long. Why did they keep it? Was it one of his teammates?

You wondered if Countess had something to do with it. She never did like you for whatever reason. You didn’t really care to know why though.

When you were about to set the envelope down somewhere, you noticed a little notecard fell out. Your tilted your head a little before you bent down and picked it up and read the notecard. The handwriting was clearly feminine but you proceeded to read.

Hi Miss Y/N,

My name is Annie and I’m friends with Hughie. I’ve found this picture of Soldier Boy somewhere in the files in Vought and thought you might like to have it.

Best regards,

Starlight.

That was oddly sweet of her to give you a picture of Ben. Hughie telling a member of The Seven where you lived felt a little unsettling though. You weren’t sure if you could necessarily trust it, but none of them have exactly given you a reason not to trust them just yet.

The best you could do at the moment was just set the note to the side and went to your little desk in your office. You realized you never put your chest back where it belonged that had all of your letters to Ben.

The events of today were definitely worth writing about. Maybe one quick little letter before dinner couldn’t hurt anything, could it?

When you grabbed your writing paper and a pen, you began your letter which was practically a run down of everything that’s happened within the last couple of hours.

Ben,

You wouldn’t believe what happened today. Supe Terrorists are active and I think I’m hallucinating…

Ben ended up visiting with The Legend after his little mishap with that building after his arrival.

Honestly he couldn’t explain what happened. He was still getting used to his new abilities, sure, but he wasn’t even trying to use them when he killed all of those people. The news released the numbers and he found out he killed 19 people.

“So how did you do it?” Ben’s old friend asked while Ben stood in the bathroom looking at himself in the mirror.

“Do what?” He questioned as he looked at his hair and beard. You’d have his head if you saw him walking around like this. You hated if he didn’t trim his beard, now he understood why.

“You got a razor or a trimmer anywhere?”

“Yeah, second drawer on your left. And you know what I meant. How the Hell did you fake your own death?”

Ben rolled his eyes as he pulled out the drawer to look for the razor. What he saw wasn’t a single blade like he was used to, but it looked like it had five blades.

“Who the fuck needs five blades to do the job of one blade?” Ben asked as he held up the razor and the old man just shrugged.

“Just keeping up with the times, Ben. Now are you gonna answer the question or not?”

“Let’s just boil it down to I got lucky, alright?” Ben finally answered before he looked at the man through the mirror.

“Although… I would like some info on Countess. She still suckin’ in air?”

“Yeah, as far as I know. Although, I’m getting the feeling your little reunion won’t blow over too well, will it?”

Ben just let out a hum, “We’ll see how it goes for her. Do you happen to know what went down in Nicaragua?”

“What do you mean? Everyone said you were killed and whatever supposedly killed you was in Russia.” Legend commented as he stood there, somewhat amused while watching Soldier Boy use a different razor than what he was used to.

“So you don’t know everything that went down?”

“Am I supposed to know what went down?”

Ben sighed. Honestly he wasn’t sure if Legend was telling the truth on this one or not but he did trust him enough to not kill him. No, he just wanted his revenge on his former teammates, “The team set me up. Countess, Noir, Gunpowder, all of them.”

“Shit, Man.”

“They tried to get me killed then they sent me to Russia. I’m just lucky I found my way back.” Ben said and he put the razor down before he picked up some scissors to start trimming his hair.

“So that’s why you’re off to see Countess, huh? Ask her who exactly was behind it and all?”

“Well duh. I just wonder if it was a Vought thing or if it was just the crew wanting me dead.”

“Good luck with all that. You’ve never really had that many problems getting what you wanted out of them, excluding the end of course.”

Then he remembered the woman he saw not long after he blew the building. At first he could have sworn it was you, but he wondered if it was just some sort of relative of yours that looked almost exactly like you. Ben just had to know for sure if it was you or not.

“Have you heard about Quake? Is she still around?” He questioned while he focused on his trim.

“Quake? Last I heard she was alive and kicking. No one’s heard from her in decades though since her retirement. You know how she was though. If she wasn’t really into the fame Payback brought you and your old team, she’s not going to want the public to know where she is or what she’s been up to.” Legend replied.

Ben couldn’t help but to smile a little to himself. You had your little quirks and he thought it was cute that you never cared much about the fame of everything. He thought it was sweet in your own little way that you wanted him all to yourself and wanted him to break up with Crimson Countess before you even slept with him.

“You know, a lot of people speculated after your death if you two had a thing for each other.” Legend said just as Ben finished up trimming his hair and he brushed the remnants off his shoulders.

“So is that why you’re asking about her? You planning on seeing her too?” Ben looked over when he heard the question.

“I need to know who my allies are is all. Clearly Payback doesn’t have my trust anymore.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“Come on, I’ve been gone decades and you’re wondering if I’ve got the hots for Quake? She’s probably moved on by now.” He rolled his eyes. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s lied to Legend, or withheld information.

“Uh huh. Right… well she never ‘moved on’ as you say. She doesn’t have any kids or grandchildren. There’s no record of her getting married either.”

Those words made Ben’s heart swell. You actually waited this whole time? He could hardly believe something like that. Most people would have moved on.

“Right… well… Do you know where Countess lives? I’d better be off before Vought IDs me in the video the news released this morning.” Ben cleared his throat

Legend sighed a little and he walked over to his desk where he had a sheet of paper. He wrote down the supe’s address before handing the sheet over to Ben.

“Watch your back out there, Soldier Boy. Things aren’t exactly the same as how they were when you were still presumed alive. Shit’s changed and they have a lot of security cameras. Vought’s gonna have access to those.” Legend warned.

“Yeah… you’re telling me. Never in my life have I felt out of place. It’s fucking weird.” He said and he took the paper from his friend, shoving it into a pocket.

“Wish me luck.”

Hi everyone!! Thank you all so much for your support and comments in the first part! I am so excited to see where this story will go and I hope all of you enjoy~

Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @fanfic-n-tabulous @chriszgirl92 @hobby27 @nancymcl @globetrotter28 @jackles010378 @capricxnt @k-slla @angelbabyyy99 @david-tennant-obsessed-blog

[numberonetastemakerwhispers]

Lustful Desires

Miguel O'hara series...

Pairing: !pornstarmiguel x !smallcampaignreader

TW: NSFW BELOW CUT ✂️

Miguel o'hara. Known for his work and videos online through his years of working as a pornstar. Hes only posted little to few videos, but the outcome of them all were beautiful.

You had found him after scrolling through some videos on your browser, the title reading 'Lust and Fuck'. You pressed it reluctantly, expecting something boring than what the title was. Instead you were greeted with a muscular tanned man. Your eyes following how his muscles flexed, the way his lips curled up as he smirked. Shit he was hot.

And god you swore you almost came at the sight unraveling. (You did) The end where he was grunting loudly as his hips moved sloppily to where he finally came.

Your hands seemingly moving on their own as they dipped down to your panties, rubbing slow circles on your clit, making you shudder. (rewatching the video, hehe)

You watched the rest of his videos, cumming almost twice as much as you usually have in months. All being breath taking and exhausting as your hand cramped from chasing your high each time.

You were also a pornstar, but not on his level. You usually did solo videos, wearing pretty lacy lingerie, indulging yourself with your sways and swoons as you unraveled yourself for the camera. Maybe even fucking yourself silly with whatever toys you had, having you moaning like a slutty bitch. Your neighbors probably have heard.

Although you did solo, you did take some requests on considering to work with others, maybe those who also did solo, or more experience but god you weren't expecting the email you were just about to get sent...

----

Few hours go by as you were getting settled in your bed, getting ready to knock out when your phone suddenly buzzed. You thought it was from one of your managers, maybe even a notifiction from one of those thristy men on your porn site. You were oh, so wrong, looking at your phone as you gasped. Your eyes scanning the name from whom the email was from before opening it. Miguel O'hara.

You thought you must have been dreaming? The one and only? It couldn't have been! But you read the message over and over and that you almost peed your pants! (or maybe you did. jk)

The message was mind blowing to you, but still it was unexpected.

' Subject: Request ...

Hello preciosa, Ive seen your works and I must say you are a sight for sore eyes...

I was wondering if you would love to work with me in one of my own?

-

Miguel O'Hara.

You squealed as your fingers starting typing faster than your brain could process, having to delete then reform your words as you typed back.

'Subject: yes please!

Ive seen your works as well! I'm quite a fan

... and i would love to work with you. We'll work things out with our managers yea?

-

Y/N.

You sounded almost too excited. Desperate even. But who wouldnt be? When a well known pornstar like Miguel who blessed with a body of a goddess? You thought you had been blessed by the gods, or cursed even. Since you couldn't sleep a wink after that email.

-

6:00 AM

Your alarm had went off on your phone. Grumbling and groggy from your restless sleep as you turned it off, wiping your eyes and the puddle of drool that had been growing from your slumber, as you checked your phone. Another email!

You tapped it as you read it over, your body feeling fully awake now at the message.

Subject: Plan

'Alo, carino you sound excited.. tomorrow at 2 pm at ******.'

-

Miguel O'Hara.

It was short. It spoke truth. it was TOMORROW?! You had thought that a meeting would take a few days even a week but it was happening tomorrow! You felt your cheeks flood with redness as your buried you face in your hands.

What was the theme going to be? Did you have to bring your own clothes of choice? Was the fact meeting him face to face might actually give you a heart attack? Would he even like how you look in person? Would it give him a heart attack?!

Gosh you decided to calm yourself down, seeing how overwhelmed you were getting over a email. You took a deep breath and started typing a reply back.

'Subject: Plan

Im a little excited.. more nervous tho. Ill be there tomorrow!'

-

Y/N.

You sighed as you hoped the day would go by slowly, letting the time for you to consume your inner thoughts and the need to be settled down. You got up and went on with your day. (with the thought of miguel lingering)

-

It was almost 10 as you settled in your comforters after a nice long shower, finishing and editing a draft of yourself up to your site as you yawned exhaustly, ready to knock out. The thought of meeting up with him roamed your mind, making you jitter with anticipation and anxiousness. You pushed those thoughts aside, ready to get back to them when you wake up.

-

You groaned. you couldn't even sleep at all. Only finally falling asleep around 4 in the morning, scrolling through pages and posts to help you fall asleep faster, to no surprise it brought you hell.

It was 10 AM, your meet up was in 4 hours, but you'd be heading there an hour early since the place was pretty far from where you lived.

You called your manager, making sure everything was still in order (it was) as you were up and getting ready. It was scary really, as you did your best to find what would be most appropriate to wear and what wouldn't be.

You decided for a skim black skirt, white sweater with a pink vest over it. Your hair blow, starting your makeup after showering and doing your daily skincare.

You had lipgloss and mascara, a little blush from here to there and that signature mole on your right cheek. You made sure you looked decent as you did last minute sprints of perfume before you trampled out your apartment.

Rushing down your apartment stairs, as you hopped into your Toyota that you had bought off an auction for half the price, starting it up as you finally hit the road, ready for the day to unravel.

You made it, but 30 minutes late. Blaming the traffic that went on your hour early drive over. Always traffic...

You had found yourself talking with your manager along the way, him scolding you back and forth about being late, as you just huffed but apologized. You were lead into a room with lights and cameras scattered around the room, an area in the middle where it must have been where you were going to perform the scene with Miguel. It was all mind blowing, even more when you laid your eyes on him.

He was way more attractive in person, his smile flooding the room. The way his shoulders flexed with every movement, the way he slicked his hair back to not let any piece fall on his forehead. He was a man who would be seen as a piece from a museum you thought to yourself.

You had caught yourself staring that sent you straight back to reality. He was looking straight back at you, with a smirk that was seen clear for days. It had your cheeks flushed and your manager still fussing on how you weren't paying attention to his lecture.

It didn't matter after you and miguel had walked up to eachother greeting eachother and eachothers managers. You smiled sheepishly as he smiled back as well.

"Alo preciosa.." He said, his voice sounded rough and smooth a hint of a grunt being heard.

"Hey.." you said your voice almost a squeak from how shy you were. You earned a chuckled from him as he took your hand in his as he gave it a firm squeeze, placing a kiss on the back of your palm.

"No need to be shy carino, since we're working with eachother today." He reassured, which made not only your heart flutter but your other heart beat with need. (oopsies)

You nodded as you chuckled to yourself, looking up into his coffee brown eyes, his fangs poking out as he smirked at you.

"Okay ill try... but don't be disappointed when I do." You said softly as your managers starting discussing on the scene and prepping the platforms, choice of clothing and need of materials.

It was all so new to you, to be working in an actual studio, and it was a big bump to your campaign seeing as you were only just a small creator. Although you knew this would be a huge raise for not only you, but your campaign as well.

When you were pulled to the dressing room you had seen scatters of different clothing presented before you, making you awe and oh at such selection.

Although it all seemed appropriate for the scene you had to display with Miguel. The scene of which 2 lovers coming out of an argument, which turned to hot angry sex.

Something new to you and a jump to what you expected. Thought of maybe slow sensational romance, him coming home as you both held onto one another but instead happened to be this..

--

After roaming through your selection of clothing, you decided to go for a simple 'at home' look. Silk shorts that clung onto your thighs nicely, and a matching silk tanktop (sleep wear). You finished by getting prepped and sprayed down after having your makeover, mascara and eye liner, lip gloss and instead of your signature mark they decided for you not to wear it.

You made your way out the changing room as your eyes caught onto the tall burly man who wore a black t-shirt that strained against his chest, making it hard for your gaze to be pulled away. He wore grey sweats, clinging onto his musclar thighs just right, showing the plump of his ass which had you blushing like a fool.

He saw you, maybe even you staring at him in such a way, as he made his way over.

"mi nína... estás preciosa..." (my girl...your beautiful...) He murmured, his gaze traveling down the outfit you wore just for the show, for him specifically. You smiled softly as you didn't understand his spanish, which made it awkward but fun.

"What are you saying?" You giggled, looking up at him with those doe eyes of yours, the feeling of staring into his seemingly felt like you were being lured in.

"nothing to worry about." He smirked as he took your hand in his, his own making yours looked drawf compared to him. You felt jittery and vulnerable, letting him drag you along as you both got on set. You take a deep breath, feeling rather tense. Miguel seemed to noticed as his hand rubbed slow circles on the small of your back.

"shh..No te pongas nervioso, te tengo amor." (dont be nervous, i got you love.) He reassured looking down at you with comfort and ease in his eyes, your body seemed more at ease as you smiled up at him.

Although you didn't know what he was saying but you knew it probably meant something sweet.

--

"SCENE STARTS IN 3..." The manager yelled from the back, you being in the kitchen as he just got back home from the pub, really to you it seemed like a toxic plot, but with miguel he seemed so sweet and reassuring, that you didn't seem to care for the plot.

"2..1 ACTION!" Your manager yelled as cameras were turned on, lights making sure they luminated the right places, as miguel walked into the door of your home.

"Hola hermosa, ¿qué estás haciendo?" (hey beautiful, what are you doing?") He asked, his arms raveling around your waist, pulling you close as you nudged him aside.

Although you didn't know what he was saying, reading your scripts and having to scan it a million times put ideas in what it might be.

"Don't hey beautiful me." You mumbled, nudging him away as you avoided looking up at him. His eyes were analyzing your reaction and movements.

He scoffed as he shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he tried to approach you once more.

"Hey.. whats the matter with you?" He said, his accent weighing heavy on his words. His eyes demanded to look at yours, as he grasped your chin, forcing you to look up at him.

You furrowed your brows, huffing as you were forced to stare into such dangerous eyes, ones that made you dizzy and undone if stared into too long.

"Let go of me, you reek of alcohol." You said, slapping his hand away as you walked it off. But not without him swooping you against the wall, his gaze was sharp, a low growl heard from him.

"¿Con quién crees que estás hablando? You know better.." (who are you talking to like that?) He said in a firm tone, his face getting closer to yours, the feeling on his breath fanning against your lips.

Your lips quivered, his thumb brushing over them as his gaze dropped to your lips.

"cariño, dime, ¿por qué estás molesta?" (baby, tell me why your upset?) He sighed, letting his grip falter as he pulled you close, hands grazing down your body as he squeezed at the plump of your ass, making you squeak.

You'd almost forgotten that this was all for show, all for a video to publish, as you got lost in the thought of acting appropriately.

"Your always out, i..didn't have the best day today, thinking if I-"

"Took your anger out on me would help?" He finished your sentence, as you nodded sheepishly.

He chuckled as he pulled you closer, pinning you against the wall as he pressed a kiss on your temple, another to your cheek before whispering against your ear.

"Meaning it would help by getting me all riled up till we ended up hate fucking?.." He chuckled as he lowered his head, pressing kisses on your neck, making you moan out as you nodded.

He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

"Words hermoso , use your words." He hushed against your neck, biting at the nape softly, leaving a mark as he licked it afterwards, soothing the sting.

"yes.. yes i did.. bu-"

"but what? wanted me to lose my patience with you? wanted me to fuck you mercilessly? till you cant breath, till you cant think straight?" he clicked his tongue again, making you gulp back the guilt.

"Qué desastre para mí, cariño, un pequeño desastre, a slutty whore for me yea?" (such a mess for me baby, a pretty little mess) He chuckled, making your face go red as he picked you up, pressing his lips against yours as you both savored each other. His hands holding you firmly against the wall, your legs wrapping around his waist for support as you felt his bulge against your stomach.

You gulped at the size, it felt huge. Girthy even. He noticed by your face, whispering something against your ear, quiet enough for the cameras not to hear.

"Gonna ruin you sweetheart." He whispered. He pressed a kiss on your temple before wrapping his lips around yours, letting his tongue explore. His hands worked on your body, groping the flesh of your hips, traveling up to squeeze and tease at your breast, making your back want to arch off the cold walls.

His weight pinned against you, making no effort of escape possible as you moaned out his name, trying to hide your face into the nape of his neck before one of the managers yelled.

"DONT HIDE YOUR FACE." Your manager yelled leaving you pouting as you brought your face back up. Miguel's eyes gazing into yours as he smirked, before running his hands under your tanktop, flicking and pinching at your breast as you whined against him. The feeling of his hips trying to find relief only adding on to your pleasure.

He peppered you with kisses, biting and sucking marks all over your chest mumbling 'mine' and 'who do you belong to hermoso?' here to there, not that you noticed, already being lost in the feeling of him slow burning your need for him.

He stopped, making you whine as he smirked momentarily.

"Got to fuck you properly." He growled, as he brought you back into his arms, carrying you to the bedroom, as he threw you down onto the bed. Your body plopping into the soft mattress before his weight towered over you.

"shh.. quiet don't want to wake the neighors." He teased, before going back to kissing you until his lips left yours, as they traveled down your body, biting and sucking at at soft flesh. His hands soothed the sting that brought from the bites, the pain only making it better.

He finally slid down your shorts, revealing the heat growing between your legs as he groaned at the sight.

"joder..toda mojada y bonita para mi ... all for me." (fuck... all wet and pretty for me) he growled as he dove right into your wet heat, lapping at the nub of nerves making you quiver, your thighs tightening against his head. His large burly hands wrapping around your thighs, pulling them apart as he started fucking you with his tongue, making you moan like you haven't before.

"M-miguel plea-"

"Shut up.. you wanted me to fuck you right? Fuck you the way I wanted? Then let me do it properly you greedy slut." You whined. His words degrading you making you nod obediently. He then slowly teased the entrance of your cunt, before shoving them right in, curling them right right.

You gasped as he started thrusting them into you roughly, curling his fingers at that one spot that made you come undone. You felt like you saw stars with how far your eyes rolled back.

You panted heavily, you were close. The feeling of him sucking at your clit with his fingers stretching you out was all too much. He must have sensed it, pulling his fingers out your needy cunt, licking one long line against your puffy clit. He pressed an open mouthed kiss against your clit before sitting up.

"Taste so good precioso" He groaned before unbuckling his belt, your eyes wavering over as he patted the spot infront of him, making you get up, crawling over to him.

He pulled his cock out, groaning as he pumped it a few times before instructing you to open your mouth, his tip leaking with precum. He had to be atleast 8 or 9 inches, girth making it seem abnormal from how large it was.

The cameras came closer to the scene as they made sure to catch your face, not missing a single shot of it as he slapped his cock against your tongue, throwing his head back with ease. His hands bunching up your hair into his fist before pushing your head down, not letting you breathe from how far he pushed his cock into your throat. You gagged and drooled, his hips fucking his way into your throat as he cursed at how tight it was.

"Fuck.. baby relax your throat f'me.." He groaned. As you did your best, allowing him to use you as if you were some type of sexy toy, his sex toy. He rutted himself into your throat, loving the way tears trickled down your face, mascara running down your teary eyes as your flushed cheeks brought a primal part of him out.

He pulled out as you gasped for air, his hands manhandling you effortlessly, throwing you onto your stomach as he pushed your back down, your ass up on display for him as he slapped it, leaving a light sting and a imprint of his hand.

"Qué hermosa... eres jodidamente hermosa." (your beauitful, fucking beauitful) He awed at how his hands left beauitful marks on your flesh, before soothing it over with his hand, before placing his hands on your hips, as he alligned himself.

"W-wait miguel let me-"

Before you could even speak he already slammed his hips against yours, shoving all 9 inches of himself into your tight wrath as he let out a breathless curse. Your eyes rolling so far back into your head you couldn't even remember if cameras were still filming or not. Nonetheless if you were even on stage or at home experiencing this.

"What were you saying? Can't hear with you

cryinf and moaning bonito.. All pretty and displayed for my cock." He grinned as he started thrusting into you, slamming into you faster but with long rough deep strokes that hit against your cervix, making you go numb.

Cameras came close, ones filming the way he was fucking you recklessly while other on your fucked out expression. Your makeup all ruined, tears prickling down your eyes at how overwhelmingly good you felt. You moaned like a bitch in heat, the way he groped at your breast, pinching the sore parts of them making you whine and cry out in pleasure as he fucked you mad.

His low grunts and groan, the breathless curses he let out as he slapped your ass, making it all red and achey before you finally felt your climax building, throwing yourself back against him as he growled at the feeling, slapping your ass roughly, pulling mewls and gasps out of you.

"Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum all over my cock baby?" He cooed, slapping your ass over and over till it was a deep shade of red. His groans growing more desperate as his hips slammed into you sloppily, showing how close he was.

"Cum with me.. cum with me mi precioso" he panted, leaning down to press soft kisses along your spine, as he slammed into you once more, shooting his ropes of cum inside you, fucking it back into you to keep you nice and full. You rode your high, his hips grinding into you slowly helping you out tremendously. As you fell against the bed limp, exhausted and fucked out as he chuckled, pulling out slowly as his cum drooled out your hole, the camera making sure to catch the sight.

He leaned over, pressing kisses on your temple, over your cheeks, and the nape of your neck all the way down your back.

"You alright mi amor?" He asked softly, his voice the sound of gravel and softness as all you did was nod numbly, trying to present a smile.

-

The scene was done and you both got cleaned up, refreshed and back into your normal clothes. You whined at how sore your cunt felt, maybe he did go a little too rough, not that you cared atleast. You had marks littered all over you, from bitemarks, to hickeys, scattered everywhere making you huff at the sight.

You finally met with eachothers managers, both seeing eachother once more before he brought his hand to hold yours, pressing a kiss to the back on your hand.

"Pleasure working with you hermoso..." He grinned, standing back up at his full height.

"Pleasures all mine, I hope the video came out as you liked." You smiled up at him, the feeling of pride filling your senses.

"Might be my favorite tape..." He chuckled, seeing the way it made you all flustered.

"Here.. before we part ways." He pulled out a piece of paper, placing it in your vest pocket as he gave you a playful wink before waving goodbye, which made you confused, excited, and sad.

As he left you pulled the note out of your vest, the feeling of adrenaline rushing through your veins as you read.

'mi amor ... here is my number .

(***) *** ****, for when you want to talk or work once more. don't be shy to call mi amor.'

Miguel .

Your heart felt as if it pounced out your chest, the feeling of getting his number was all you needed to be able to expect further things in the future. But for what you knew, you were definitely going to leave a little message in his inbox.

* End *

---

(This is my first publish of thought! Sorry if theres any miss spells or grammer issues-- scanned through it so many times and still struggling.

Hope you enjoy!)

[eupheme]

IN THE WOODS SOMEWHERE | part iv: long road ahead

[masterlist]

joel miller x f!reader

Rated E - 4.6k

Tags: brief canon-divergence, reader is mid/late 30s+, soft!dom Joel, angst, references to anxiety, mentions of hunted food and meals, sort-of romanticization of a wound, manual restraints, unprotected PiV

A/N - this is the last full chapter before the epilogue! Thank you to everyone who has read along and commented. I appreciate you so much! 💕

The days grow longer. And you find that all good things must come to an end.

The ground crunches under your steps, one after another.

He walks beside you now. Those worn leather gloves stuffed into pockets, the soft brushing of fingers and knuckles - never quite entwining.

Silence has been a third companion this morning. Along with the bright sun glinting off the melting snow that collapses under your steps. A rare, warm moment.

A good time to get from one place to the next, if there ever was one.

You wish it was like the time you went out before.

That walk from a few days ago, after those stolen moments in the barn. Steps taken afterwards, in a contented haze - even through the twinge of soreness between your thighs.

Over-enthusiastic, in his recompense.

You think you understand it now, after his words. Realizing there was nothing that could make him do anything. That maybe he had just been waiting all those weeks, like you had.

There's an inhale of breath, as his steps crunch alongside yours. Something weighing on his mind - enough to steal his voice, to hide it away.

You've picked up that much at least - the silence of thought looked different on his face than the silence of listening, of holding his tongue.

But on the next breath, he lets his thoughts free - flying straight like an arrow.

"You have a good thing goin'," His voice is low, as if he might be overheard. As if the trees around you can listen, as his tongue wets his lips.

A pause, "But it's only you out here."

You glance at him, steps slowing when you see how serious his eyes are. Examining you, as his jaw works - before they're dropping.

His tone changes, going lighter, "You could come with us."

The words sit heavy between you. Bringing you to a crashing stop as his offer curls inside your brain and your heart.

You can't pretend it's something you haven't thought about. Dismissed. Thought about again.

A never-ending loop of what-ifs that you have to force yourself not to dwell on - too painful to consider. Never thinking he would actually ask.

"I can't." There's a tremble in your voice that you shake away - a pain that pricks at your eyes, "This is all I have."

There's something like pity in the look he gives you.

A tension between his eyebrows as he coaxes, "What if I told you there was more out there? This place ain't going to last forever."

His hand flexes, as if to reach for you. Moving to grip onto the wire fence, instead - curling around the ice-cold metal.

"That generator has a year left on it. Two, tops."

Your eyes drop. Part of you knows this. That you've kept up the cabin the best you could. But it's been twenty years since the world ended. Some things you can't fix anymore.

"You can't live like this. All alone." He means it kindly. But it twists in your stomach, your sorrow turning into anger.

An acid souring your words, spitting them back his way, "At least it's livin’."

Neither one of you are the best at talking things out. Losing the craft when actions spoke louder.

His own anger flaring - unsheathing that sharp edge.

"They ain't coming back. The person you're waiting for. You know that, right?”

His words are like a slap, staggering you. Cruel, even if he doesn't mean them that way. Even if he only wants you to see what you've been ignoring, avoiding, for years now.

It steals your words, as you stare back at him. The twist of his mouth, the angry tilt of his eyebrows above those eyes that seem to pierce right through you.

It transforms him into someone you don't recognize.

Taking him back to the man he was, on that first night.

You turn on your heel, then - your boots sinking into the damp ground with the force of your steps. Leaving him standing at the fence, his arms now hanging at his sides.

It feels like an impossible choice. That tiny bit of hope eroding into a sliver of nothing. You've told yourself a hundred times that you wouldn't ask them to stay. That you couldn't.

That it wasn't fair.

But it's on the tip on your tongue, now - even in spite of your anger. Trying to force their way through your lips.

His voice comes first.

Low and soft, but still freezing you in place.

"Ellie is immune."

And slowly, you turn.

He stands where you left him, dark eyes solemnly searching yours. Wanting, needing you to understand what he is saying.

"What?"

You heard him, but it still doesn't make sense. Thoughts seem to buzz in your head - the words scooped up with the wind, taking them with it.

"Been bit twice and hasn't turned." He takes a step closer, and you find yourself doing the same.

Another, and then another - until you're in front of each other, again.

“I'm taking her to a group in Salt Lake City. Might be able to find a cure."

All you can do is stare, as his words sink in. Emotions flickering in your chest, like those old kodachrome slides - each breath changing the photo. Shock bleeds into worry, melting their way into sadness. And then, hope.

"Is she, really?" You breathe.

A mark still settled deep between your eyebrows, as you think. How Ellie must have felt, that first time. You can't imagine the fear of a bite - and to have experienced it twice? At her age?

So capable, but so young. She shouldn't have had to grow up like this. To have gone through that.

"I've seen the mark." His hand rakes through his hair, before bracing on his hips, "Made a promise I'd get her there safely."

You nod, automatically.

The unseen burden - their drive - making sense in a way you never understood until now. The weight of their journey replacing the heavy one in your heart. What a difference, this girl could make.

You see her in a new light.

Maybe she could prevent what happened to you from happening to anyone else.

His fingers brush yours, and you take them - his grip warm and familiar. Standing for a stolen moment, before you acknowledge the impossible impasse.

He can't ask you to go.

And you can't ask him to stay.

Your eyes burn.

You tell yourself it’s just from the wind.

———

As the days pass, you pick up on it.

The slow packing of things.

A spare zip-up jacket that’s taken up residence on the old wooden chair, now tucked away into a bag.

The small pile of tools - a swiss army knife, the skinny phillips head screwdriver.

Spending weeks cluttering the little side table. Sharing the space with an old iron lantern, so Joel could see when he tinkered on things in the evenings.

Now, swept away like they never existed. The pieces like magnets - slowly working their way back to each other, back to where they came from.

It makes your chest ache, but the days are getting a little warmer. The mark on his stomach starting to fade instead that raw, red splash.

Healing, with the time that has passed.

It has you wanting to withdraw, even though you should be blooming - sprouting up through the thawing soil.

Instead, you find yourself tucking yourself in your room a little more often. Leaving them alone.

Not every day - there’s moments when you forget. When you are just happy to be with them, spending time. Soaking it in.

It’s in the mornings, when your bed is empty. When there’s that flip in your stomach when he’s not there - when you remember that in the no-so-distant future, he won’t just be on the other side of the door.

That’s when you linger. Letting yourself press into the bed, softer than the floor.

You’ve never been good at goodbyes.

You’ve never gotten the chance to give them.

And when you finally have the chance, you don’t want to. You want it - them - to linger.

To be tethered, like you are, to this place. Moss growing over stone.

But you can’t ask for that. And with what you know now, you won’t let that happen.

There's a finality in the way you pluck things off the pantry shelf tonight. As you prepare the meal - passing things to Ellie to open, watch over for you as they begin to cook.

Giving Joel the best cuts of meat from the deer. It had taken him two days to track it down. It's become harder and harder to find food around these parts.

You should ration it. If he notices, he doesn't say anything. Letting you season it with an abundance of spices, almost too much, before he takes it to the fire.

Pulling as many comforting things as you have. Letting your mind wander back to your childhood, trying to adapt it to now.

Canned potatoes, a hearty chili, peanut butter sandwiches. Applesauce and and old packet of kool-aid.

In the past, you would have nibbled away at each one. Stretched them into days, wanting to save these small indulgences.

Tonight - you don't care.

It becomes a patchwork of flavors. You're not even sure if it will go together. But if it's good - you make it.

Wanting them to go to bed tonight, full and happy.

That you can do, at least.

The food fills most of your cookware, finishes dishes spilling across your counter. Plates piled high as the sun sets - the golden beams making the kitchen feel hazy. Softened in the evening glow.

It takes most of the afternoon, but it's worth it. To have that moment of sitting down together.

Of actual tableware set out, instead of standing at the counter - shoveling in a bite. Running off to finish what ever you'd been working on.

Tonight, metal clinks against ceramic. Steaming food and a swirl of red in wine glasses - a smattering of giggles with Ellie's exaggerated "pinkies out".

It feels - normal. In spite of everything.

It makes you wistful.

Like if you closed your eyes, it would be back then. That maybe you'd be home - still young and without all these unshakeable burdens and memories.

And if not that, then it makes you think of what could be.

What can't be.

A heaviness begins in your heart, stretching down to your fingers. Weighing down your fork - each bite slow.

But not because you're savoring it - when you look back, you won't remember the flavors.

Trying to soak the evening in. Every detail. Trying not to drag down the mood with your melancholy. Ignoring the way Joel's eyes sweep towards you, the pinching of his brow.

You don't want to make it weird. To cling on, even if your fingers itch to. It had been change and luck that had brought them your way, and hopefully that would follow them on the road ahead.

So instead, you throw yourself into conversations with Ellie. Really trying to listen, to remember all of it.

A smile, as you conceed that perhaps Batman wasn't a superhero, after all. A conversation you’ve touched on before, when Ellie found a stash of comic books on the shelf.

“I think his powers are his intellect, and disicpline. His humanity is his power, you know?"

“Bruce is just a rich dude in a suit. He's no different than Tony Stark."

"Iron Man is a hero. His suit gives him superpowers. Plus he's like, stupid-smart."

"How can he be both stupid and smart?"

"Joel, you don't even know who Iron Man is."

The dishes left in the sink, for you to tackle tomorrow. They will be welcome distraction, then.

Clearing the space for candles, as the streaks of purple and grey fill the rooms.

Cards flicking across the table. Throwing yourself into the Texas Hold'em that's been the favorite lately. Ellie catching on quickly, finding joy in calling out the bluffs.

Played for pennies, buttons, things found around the house. Carefully coveted when won, as if they actually held a value. It’s easy to throw yourself into it, getting caught up in the game.

It's late, when the round ends. When you're left looking at each other, the single candle not strong enough to keep away the creeping darkness.

You stand.

Still unwilling for things to end. Not yet. Just a few minutes longer.

So you find another candle instead. A thick one with three wicks - until the glow is warm and filling the space again. Washing over expressions that resemble your own.

"One more."

You play one more, and then another. As the minutes tick by, and the light burns low.

———

His thumb sweeps feather-light over the mark. Slightly faded with time that has passed - the angry slash fading to a swooped line.

You’ve spent nights mapping each other out in the dark, but not like this. The curtains drawn back to let the moonlight in, the candle from the kitchen moved to sit on the side table - making his skin glow in the golden light.

Touching you like he wants to remember, wants to actually know each scar and mark on your skin.

“This looks new.”

“It is,” You smile, a soft laugh. “That’s from the night we met.”

Joel’s head lifts, a question in his eyes.

“Ellie.” You tell him - a soothing brush through his curls when he frowns, “She’s one hell of a kid. Out of all of us, she’s the one that’s gonna be just fine.”

He makes a sound at that, a low acknowledgment. You wonder if he had more time, if he’d press for more information.

Head dipping as he presses his lips softly against the scar, instead.

“I’m sorry.”

It could be an apology just for this. For what he said before. Or - it just could be for all the things that has happened. To you, to him.

It’s too tender.

You’re not used to soft. Neither one of you are. Awkward and fumbling over words, trying to hold things back.

Knowing there’s not much time left.

You shake your head, “Don’t be. I don’t mind, it’s-“

It’s a reminder that the two of you existed. A memory, for when you’re gone. That it wasn’t just a dream.

It’s fucked up to think that way. But then again, what isn’t fucked up about the world, anymore?

“It’s fine. She was trying to help you.” You deflect, “Can’t fault her for that.”

He hums, his hand flattening against your stripped-bare skin. Drifting along the curve of your waist and hip, fingertips carefully dragging.

It makes your stomach flip, something bubbling up to burn in your chest.

You don’t want soft tonight. You don’t think you can take it.

Teeth gritting as you try to shift the weight. Trying to pull him on top of you, from where he rests on his side. A palm tucked under his cheek, his curls soft and tousled from a recent shower.

It’s domestic.

That bubbling feeling rises, choking you. Blinking back the sting of your eyes, as he resists for just a second - confused.

As if you could really move him, all on your own.

You second tug is softer, and he moves then. Rolling on top of you until his hips are cradling yours, elbows digging into the mattress on either side as he hovers.

Surrounding you, until he’s all you can see. A hand curving against your jaw, a thumb brushing against your cheek.

There’s a pinch between his brows. Something that’s been there since that morning walk, those days ago.

A permanent etching, above eyes that see too much.

Your own eyes close, to break that connection. A hand curling around the back of his neck to bring his mouth down to yours.

The groan sounds broken in your throat, when his body melds against yours. That weight pressing you into the bed, as you deepen the kiss.

Your thigh hooking around his waist, pulling him closer. The sound echoed when your teeth scrape his lip in your eagerness.

That look again, as he pulls back. You know he can read yours.

Desperate.

All but clinging to him, as his sharp look softens. You hope he knows what you need, because you don’t think you have the words tonight.

If you open your mouth, you’re afraid the rest will flow. That you’ll say something you’ll regret - all your feelings wrapped up so tightly, scrambling over each other to burst through first.

But, you think you can manage one. For him.

“Please.”

Those dark eyes flick back and forth between yours. You wonder if he needs the same thing because suddenly, his head is ducking back down.

The hand on your cheek sliding to cup the back of your neck. Thumb and forefinger pressing into the muscle, holding you in place as his hips start to slowly rock.

Grinding himself against you, as his tongue flicks at yours. Slowly swelling, growing hard against the soft curve of your thigh, your hip.

Leaving a sticky streak behind, as your fingers grip at his shoulder. As he swallows the moans that grow softer, as the neediness takes over.

Angling himself so he slides between your thighs. His hot length nudging against your core, shining from the way his mouth presses to yours. Slick now, as his other hand cups a breast.

Teasing, then pinching. The slight pain makes you gasp, the pleasure layering over it as he swallows the sound.

Your hips lift, seeking him. A frustrated hand snaking between you - wrapping around his length, lining him up.

His hips slow, to where he’s just pressing against you. Not nudging inside, not yet. Eyes open and dark as his head tilts back.

Watching. Observing your change of pace, a shift in what’s become the usual. A question in them, unspoken but you can read it as well as he can read you.

This what you want?

You need this?

Your lips are on his neck, as you shift. The tip parting and then splitting you as he starts to sink inside. Tasting the salt of his skin as your arms wrap around his strong shoulders, holding yourself against him.

Joel groans as he’s enveloped in your heat. The hand dropping to the curve of your waist and squeezing, as he drives into you.

It steals your breath, a soft gasp against his neck as his cock makes room for itself. A sharp stretch in the way he fills you.

Nails biting into the meat of his shoulder as his hips sit flush. Before his hand is moving - reaching for yours. Dragging one from his shoulder and pinning it against the mattress.

Pushing you back, bracing himself above you. That forearm still pressed into the bed, his fingers still cupping the back of your neck.

Head dropping, so he can nose against your cheek. His voice a low rasp, barely audible in the soft shell of your ear.

“If you want it, you’re gonna take what I give you.”

It sends a flickering thrill up your spine. How he has you held so firmly in place. Thumb pressing into the hollow under your ear - keeping your face tipped up towards him.

You do expect him to take. Bracing for it, a flutter of your eyelashes - waiting for the sharp, unyielding snap of his hips.

Instead, his hips rock. A lazy, slow drag as he nudges deep, and then deeper.

Your free hand clings to him, wrapping around a thick bicep. The heel of your foot pressing against the curve of his ass, urging.

But he keeps it up. Small thrusts into where you’re warm and wet and aching for him, tilting your hips up to meet him.

All while his eyes stay on yours. Rarely blinking - just taking you in.

You wonder if this is how you looked earlier, at the table. That greedy inhalation of anything you could.

Wanting to remember.

It has your jaw gritting. His tenderness would be something you’d marvel at, if it was another night.

But you want to forget. Everything that isn’t him, that isn’t just this moment.

There’s a pink flash of tongue as he wets his lips, framed by the peppered-grey strands of his beard.

“More?”

“More.” You parrot, a jerky nod to your head.

That sharper thrust comes, and then another. Each one pushes a thought from your head, replacing it with soft, hazy bliss.

The grind of his hips as he finds the angle that he knows well. The one that has you gasping, the coarse hair a much-needed friction against your clit.

Each thrust like a tooth on a gear, slowly winding you up. Twisting in your belly until you feel like it’s about to snap - your breath a ragged gasp with each harsh punch of his hips.

It’s almost enough. The fingers around your wrist tightening, as he hold himself back. Your thighs gripping around his hips as you clench, his own breath equally harsh.

His name, breathed out the feeling begins to overwhelm you.

“Joel. Joel, I’m-”

Those arms move, then. Releasing that tight grip, as his lips brush yours. His words an echo of that first night, when you had fallen in bed together.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Come on.” He coaxes - needing it as much as you do. “Come for me.”

Wrapping his arms around you, as you shatter.

———

He wakes her quietly. A hand on a sleepy shoulder, a gentle shake.

A finger raising to his lips as her eyes open. Bleary-eyed as she yawns, looking around the dark room. It's early - the morning light is just starting to crest over the mountains.

"It's time." Joel tells her quietly, no more than a whisper, "You got your things?"

Ellie frowns as she nods, foot pointing at the bag at the end of her bed.

"Alright then. Get dressed, we gotta head out."

A moment, her voice hoarse with sleep.

Almost sounding small, "Is she coming with us?"

He stares at her for a moment, before his head shakes, slowly.

Her voice drifts after him as he turns - not wanting to see the disappointment, "Then, aren't we going to say goodbye?"

"You know we did. Last night, that's what that was all about." He tells her, a bit of that old bite coming back, "We'll never leave if-"

We'll never leave if we see her again. We'll want to stay. We already do.

His jaw grits, "-if we don't get started now.”

She nods sullenly.

He gives her space.

Taking one last look around the small cabin. Flashes of the time that has passed - dinners by the little fireplace. How they all managed just to fit on that old worn couch.

How he hadn't seen Ellie laugh like that, not since Kansas City. Not since Sam.

He leaves it for her. Took him a while longer than he'd like to admit. Tucked into the book that rests by the window - the place where it all started. She'll find it there, he's sure.

Never been good at goodbyes. Not before, and not now. Not even when he's been afforded the extra time.

Hands shoved in his pockets so he doesn't touch anything else. Jacket already on, the rifle slung across his back. Itching to get out the door, because being stuck in this limbo is weighing him down.

Thoughts threatening to burst from the ground and wrap around his ankles, anchoring him until he has no choice but to stay.

But, they have a job to do.

Soon, the door opens. Ellie is staring - walking past him, to the kitchen counter.

Where some bundles had been left out. Cans of food and supplies wrapped in canvas bags. A bit of color peeking out of the top.

Those scarves she’s been working on. Finally finished, the ends weaved, neatly tasseled. She must have worked hard to finish them, putting this last bit of kindness together.

Ellie hesitates then, fingers tracing the woven pattern - glancing at the shut bedroom door, across the hall.

"Joel-" Ellie begins - but he's shaking his head.

"We gotta go."

"I know about it, that you-" She's protesting,

"Ellie, please."

The two words are quiet. Just a small, short thing.

She nods. Reaching for the smaller of the two bags, shoving it into her own backpack.

Trying to be quiet as she zips it up, fitting it back on her shoulders over the heavy, plum-colored coat.

Waiting at the door as he does the same, before the front door is opening. Letting her step out first, those scarves wrapped tight around their noses, still smelling like the cabin. Like her.

His fingers reach up - a quick brush against the steel horseshoe above the door. Like he’s watched her do. For luck, she said.

And then, he's shutting the door behind them.

"It's west, to Salt Lake City." Joel nods, as she follows behind, "Let's get Callus, and see how far we can get today."

And they start off together - again.

———

You wake alone.

You were expecting it - it was the right call.

But it still hurts.

The spot next to you is cool, but there's still an indent in the pillow where he laid next to you. Last night and all those ones before.

The spot smelling like him, and you resist the urge to bury your face in it. To just stay in bed, all day. Maybe forever.

You can't be upset - you were the one who said no. The offer had been small, but it had been there.

But it was too complicated. Too dangerous.

You both knew that the world was like now.

These weeks had been a reprieve. A moment you never should have had, because the world doesn't work with kindness anymore.

Better to appreciate, remember fondly, and then - move on.

So you busy yourself, instead. Catching up on things put on hold for all those weeks.

Taking stock of what you'll need.

Trying not to think too much about the heavy mass in your stomach - to wonder if it’s grief, or if it’s regret.

So instead, you turn roll your sleeves up. Tackling the plates and pans and mess of shining, silvers forks and spoons.

The stack slowly dwindling, until everything is in its place again.

It's mid-afternoon when you finally sit. On the far left-side of the couch, though there's room for you to spread out, now. Looking out the window at the path that leads to the gate.

Wondering if footprints remain in the snow.

Wondering if the weather has been kind to them.

Wrapping a blanket around you as you reach for the book that you've only snatched small moments of, thinking you'll finally get a chance to finish it.

It falls open, to the middle. A folded piece of paper tucked between the pages, at a different spot than the scrap piece working as a bookmark.

Curiously, you unfold it.

Words scrawled neatly across the page. The handwriting you don't recognize, but you still know it, because it reminds you of him.

Taking a long second to memorize the way your name looks in his writing, before you read the rest.

I know what we talked about.

If you change your mind, I got a brother in Jackson.

It's good place, with good people. They'd take care of you.

Just mention my name to Tommy.

Might find our way back there, when all this is over.

Yours,

Joel

You read it, again and again. Something twisting in your stomach, curling into knots. Catching in your chest.

Thinking about everything. About all the years you’ve spent here - a prison and a sanctuary. About that walk in the woods. His words.

They ain’t coming back.

What if there was more?

A long while passes, before you slowly unfold yourself.

Crouching down by the old bookcase. Looking past the spines of books and comics - the briefest of smiles at the memory, before you're reaching for that stack of old maps.

Dragging one out onto the kitchen table.

Unfolding the creased, worn pages.

Your finger dips over the valleys. Finding your home, nestled in the woods and mountains.

Then, dragging it slowly - finding the roads, the highways.

Tracing a path towards Jackson.

Would love to know what you thought of this series / this ending! 💕 thank you again for reading! edit: okay, not quite the end! There is an epilogue up now, linked on the masterlist.

[evanesce-origin]

when i die (which i must do)

speirsroe have a good time during the war and nothing goes wrong (lying)

ao3 link

CW: major character death, canon-typical injuries, canon divergence. apologies in advance for the things ive written. blasphemy??? (religion as a consistent metaphor)

Speirs had long grown used to the incessant prickling of cold at his fingers, like thousands of pins finding a home in his skin. He paid little mind to it; whether he was in the foxholes or wandering aboveground, it was rare that any presence of warmth showed him what he was missing. It was another aspect of war that faded to background noise; the static of loss and gunfire rang somewhere in between. He flexed his fingers and shifted his weight as he stood overlooking the quiet forest ahead of him.

The thick blanket of snow muffled any sound that wasn’t one of impending violence.There was no movement from the rest of Dog company— most had long dug into their foxholes for the night. Whether they slept or not was another story. Sleep didn’t come easy to any of them anymore.

Speirs moved through the trees like a ghost. His afterimage haunted the forest with the footsteps he left behind, breath whisking itself into the air when it escaped from behind the scarf he hid his face behind. Stoicism was a facade he knew all too well, like holding a mirror to the suffocating cold that surrounded him and donning it as a sort of camouflage. It was comfortable there, in the stiff lines of his braced shoulders and the rigid curve of his spine.There was an unfortunate ease that came to him exploring the line, one that had arrived long before Bastogne. Somewhere just before Taccoa, when he’d accepted he was a dead man walking and had little reason to protest otherwise, the calm had settled in his veins like ice and hadn’t been shaken since.

In the space between Dog company and Easy company’s lines, it could’ve been easy to forget there was a war going on. If he wanted to, he could’ve pretended he was the only man in the world, surrounded by the bright light that reflected off the snow from the moon like a system of funhouse mirrors guiding the sunlight back to Earth. If he wanted to, he could’ve imagined a world of peace that wasn’t so harsh as to take the men he walked amongst, body and spirit. He didn’t, though.

The time for reflection was one Speirs cherished more than anyone else would ever know. He mulled over his experiences from the last few years and the way his heart had changed. A novel concept, the heart of Lieutenant Ronald Speirs; its existence a myth that the paratroopers often made jokes about. Hell, if he were anyone but himself, he’d be cracking the same jokes.

With this time, he thought of the first time he saw Eugene Roe. It’d been a sweltering summer, midday sometime in August, and Dog company had just finished running drills. Easy company, contrary to their name, wasn’t granted the opportunity for a break like they should’ve been. Sobel was running them into the ground, figuratively and literally, as he did often. Incessantly. Shouted orders, insults, and curses poured out of Sobel’s mouth so loudly they rang in the ears of men halfway across the fields. Most of the men in Easy company had at least some level of exasperation on their face, if not pure outrage and murder in their eyes. 

Roe’s face was a facade of calm, even when Sobel began arguing with Winters. He stood at attention as if he had been born to, familiarity and ease in the posture. It was only when Sobel said something blatantly wrong about code and a tactical decision Winters had apparently made earlier that week that Speirs saw a crack in that expression; a brief twinge of annoyance and fury that escaped as Roe’s gaze flickered from straight ahead of him to where Sobel stood. He set his jaw and raised his chin slightly.

There was an urge like a gut-punch that Speirs felt, nearly taking his breath away. The urge to dig at that crack, to unearth whatever was behind it and revel in it. The cold fire in Roe’s eyes had sparked something in his curiosity, and that was bad enough; Speirs didn’t get curious about the other men. He had no urge to know the others, not in the way that they seemed to intimately make friends despite their impending march to certain death, one he had accepted.

There was a part of his subconscious that had always kept track of Roe throughout their separate time at Toccoa. To be fair, he kept track of everyone. It was a force of habit, a way of keeping aware of his surroundings in a sense. Besides, he wanted to know the men he was going into the war with and their skill sets. There was no denying that his curiosity was far more than professional, however, and that ate at him like nothing else had.

Time in Europe before they officially dropped in Normandy had been a blessing, like the miracle of lightning striking a church. The first time they were in Aldbourne, there was much revelry to be had in the bars that remained standing, something all of the companies participated in without hesitation. Speirs didn’t find himself amongst them often, but on the rare occasions he did, there were a further few that overlapped with “Doc” Roe participating. The curiosity turned into a soul-felt hunger, one he tried his very best to ignore. This was one of few things Speirs wasn’t successful at, despite putting his mind to it.

Introductions were made eventually, casual and brief as they were between passing companies as a paratrooper brought Roe’s name up as an afterthought. Speirs refused to acknowledge the delighted twinge he felt at Roe’s accent, the low pitch of his voice bleeding into his thoughts like ink spilled upon a page, dark and all-encompassing as it clung to whatever it could reach. It was soft, something he didn’t often find comfort in, but the low rumble of Roe’s introduction and the subsequent way he shifted in his seat, grasping at his drink to avoid eye contact but not drinking, had Speirs settling in the chair across from him. Perhaps a conversation would satiate his curiosity, if he could just get a glimpse through the crack of his demeanor.

Looking back, this would be the moment that Speirs would declare everything had gone so very right and so horrifyingly wrong. He had never been a man of self control, though, and this characterisation would follow him to both of their graves. He was doomed from the very beginning, marching toward devastation as he followed the pure warmth of that Cajun accent. He would’ve followed it to the end of the war, too. 

Quiet, sparse conversations punctuated with mutual, easy silence over drinks that were rarely alcoholic gave a foundation to acknowledgement of each other outside the little dark corners they spent their time in. It was hard to reconcile with, though; the moments Speirs spent studying the intricacies of Roe’s face, with the dancing firelight shifting and giving a further brilliance to all the softest and sharpest parts of his features. The angle of his brows, the thin purse of his mouth as he contemplated something in their mutual silence, the abrupt yet rounded lines of his cheekbones.

And Jesus Christ, his eyes held storms Speirs would dive headfirst into if given the chance. They were dark, like the farside of the moon and just as enticing. He didn’t catch them often, as Roe preferred to stare down at the surface of their rickety table or glance around the bar with a paranoia troopers didn’t often acquire before dropping for the first time, but Speirs didn’t mind much. Roe asked Speirs occasional questions about the version of himself he’d left behind in the States, one that he’d slaughtered without hesitation in preparation for their upcoming conflicts. He didn’t mind taking those old bones out once in a while, though, and showing them off for Roe if he asked. Roe did the same on occasion too, giving little quips of Louisiana tales that felt distant to them both.

Roe told him about the church he went to and a fondness he had for his “Ma’s cookin’” and the simple delights of walking down the street to a local bakery. The little details were gifts, wrapped by Roe and sent over with tentative hesitation and a wariness in his eyes that gave way to something else if pried upon.

The cold in Speirs’ voice never seemed to put Roe off any, nor did the uneasy way he smiled or the haunting of his eyes that trailed around the room boring holes into the backs of the other men. His Cheshire cat smile did send a shiver down Roe’s back once or twice, but it didn’t seem to be a negative reaction from what Speirs could gather. Speirs wasn’t insecure about the way he was perceived, the demeanor he held so naturally that unsettled the others, but at the time he thought it would’ve been a shame if Roe was the type to be scared off so easily. He wasn’t.

When they caught each other outside of their little corner, it was brief and in passing, but no less appreciated. Once, Speirs had even caught a glimpse of the quirk of the corner of Roe’s mouth, and felt a sense of nonsensical accomplishment. The preparation and anticipation had left them all a bit haggard; drawing a smile out of Doc Roe meant he was doing something right. There weren’t many more opportunities for quiet conversations left before something was bound to happen; they were awaiting further orders from the chain of command. The energy around Aldbourne felt much like the lighting of a fuse, waiting for the bomb to go off. Speirs awaited it eagerly, Roe with a sense of God-fearing dread.

There were bags under those half-moon eyes the last time Speirs saw Roe before the drop on Normandy, more prominent than they usually were, and he felt an irritating itch in his fingertips to smooth them away. At no point had Speirs accounted for any sort of desire, in any sense of the word, rearing its ugly head and drawing his attention somewhere other than the immediate pressing matter of the war ahead of them. He wanted to call out reassurances, make a comment about comforts Roe would find in the rosary beads that hung around his neck, but that wasn’t something that came naturally to him. Instead, across the airfield, their eyes caught on each other; a momentary eclipse. Speirs nodded. Roe nodded. The moment ended.

Accounts from his memory of catching glimpses of Roe during D-Day and the days after were hazy at best. He wasn’t sure if they were accurate or simply his mind filling in the blanks of soldiers passing by in the heat of battle and maybe it didn’t matter. Having caught a flash of his dark eyes and darker hair as he sprinted across the field in Carentan, Roe felt much like an omen. The moon caught his eye in the same way overnight, in passing with a glowing reassurance Speirs didn’t have the time nor the energy to consider. 

The air in Aldbourne was different when they returned. Heavier, smokier, weighed down with the breath of devastation and heartache at what the military called a “mighty-successful mission.” Speirs could agree with that, and with the firm feeling of experience lodged in his chest at what he and D-company had accomplished. The familiar nagging of curiosity pushed him to find out what Roe thought about the whole matter, what he had emerged from the other side of D-Day with. If it had cracked him further, if he still clung to those rosary beads like they were the answer to the wreckage they’d been through.

They found each other eventually, coming together in an easy silence that provided some familiarity despite the fact that everything had changed with their first taste of combat. Speirs had flourished under the pressures and stress while Roe looked as if he were clinging to the semblances of normalcy, his hard eyes crinkled under the pressing crease of his downturned brows. Roe never volunteered tales of what he had been through and Speirs never asked. He could see them written on the creases of Roe’s face and oh God was it beautiful. The unease decorated Roe’s face like a veil and the horrors he had seen adorned his demeanor like the armor he wore to battle. Speirs found resolve in himself to dig himself under that armor, to work out the weak spots and dig his fingernails in until he drew blood.

The first few drinks Roe ordered were stronger than anything Speirs had ever smelt on his breath, but that didn’t last long. Roe just wasn’t a drinking man and that was one of the little quirks that made Speirs even more desperate to know him. One of the nights, after the other troopers got a bit too rowdy for his liking, Roe slammed his glass on the table and considered Speirs for a moment, eyelids heavy. “I’m gonna go on a walk.” He announced quietly, though he didn’t move.

It was an invitation. Speirs accepted it without a word, swinging his legs over his chair and yanking his coat off the back of it. Roe’s movements followed afterward, albeit with less gusto, which gave Speirs the time to shrug on his jacket and remove Roe’s from his own chair-back for him. Roe’s hands were tucked deep in the sleeves of his sweater, so Speirs simply draped his light jacket over his shoulders and struggled not to admire the way it hung over him. Roe mumbled a quiet thank you and they departed the little pub.

There was relative quiet in the streets. The distant shouts of drunk men clambering around the sidewalks hardly compared to the gunfire that had rang through their ears through the past few months. If a passerby were to guess by sound, they’d assume Roe was alone; Speirs’ footsteps were entirely silent, even and sure like a prowling cat. Roe fumbled for the pocket on his coat, unsuccessful as he battled his oversized sweater and the awkward settling of his coat where it was draped over his shoulders. “What are you looking for?” Speirs asked, amused.

“Smokes.”

Speirs obliged without another word, digging into his own pockets to retrieve a carton of cigarettes. “Not a drinker, but a smoker?”

“Yessir.”

Speirs chuckled and withdrew a lighter. He handed Roe a cigarette, which he promptly tucked between his lips. They paused in their steps, turning toward each other as Roe looked up at Speirs expectantly. Speirs raised the lighter to Roe’s mouth, crowding forward to block the wind from blowing the flame around as he lit it for him. For a long moment, Speirs’ eyes were locked in concentration on Roe’s mouth. He felt Roe startle slightly as he glanced up, sharp gaze boring holes into those storms like the sun breaking through clouds, before he looked back down to make sure the light caught. It had.

He moved away and they continued walking as Speirs began to fish out another cigarette for himself. “Uh, I don' mind sharin’. I’d hate for you to waste two at a time since you gave me one.” Roe’s voice was thick with…something.

That sharp pitch of delight returned tenfold and Speirs grinned down at Roe. “Alright.”

They continued their walk to anywhere and nowhere in the quiet amongst the stars. Roe’s fingers had escaped from the sweater to pinch at the cigarette, hands shaking from a nonexistent chill, skin calloused and warm as it brushed against Speirs’ hand when he passed it over. Speirs lingered for a moment. The thought of slipping his hand up the sleeves of Roe’s sweater and touching skin invaded his vision, enticing and unbearable. He wondered what he would find— what scars Roe was hiding, old and new. 

Their hands pulled apart and Speirs took the cigarette into his mouth. It was slightly damp with Roe’s saliva and Speirs relished in the way inhaling burned. When he glanced over at Roe, he was watching him, eyes transfixed on Speirs mouth. That Cheshire cat grin returned as he parted his lips to let the smoke escape his mouth like the gasp of a prayer, head tilted back to the starry sky. When his eyes caught Roe’s figure again, his hand had fumbled for his rosary beads in the absence of the cigarette. 

Speirs plucked the cigarette from his own lips after a few puffs, content to coast on what little nicotine he had gotten just to see it return to Roe. The medic stopped his fussing over the beads and accepted the cigarette graciously, with another brushing of hands and Speirs’ eyes tracking it as Roe put it back in his mouth. He closed his eyes when he inhaled, feather-light lashes fluttering against the rolling hills of his cheekbones.

A few blocks down the road, after contemplating in the silence, Speirs spoke again. “Do you pray often, Roe?”

“For my company, yes. For my patients.”

How honorable. “Do you have a favorite prayer?”

Roe recites it into the night and the ink bleeds through the folds of Speirs’ brain— he can feel it enter his bloodstream and crackle electricity through his bones. The rolling tone, the thick accent, “With all my heart.”

Perhaps, Speirs can understand the allure of worship. Vulnerability on the knees. This thought spurs on contemplation in him and he decides that maybe he does need that cigarette after all. Roe doesn’t comment as he fishes another out, but stops and turns to offer to light it for Speirs. He takes the invitation readily, though he goes about it differently; he tucks the cigarette into his mouth and dips his head to light it against Roe’s. The ember in Roe’s cigarette flares as he exhales sharply, those creases creeping out to dance across his skin as he furrows his brow and finds fascination in the tops of his shoes. “Thank you.” Speirs says, straightening his posture.

He takes a step to continue walking and it takes Roe a moment to catch up, taking a few large strides to walk beside Speirs again. They listen to the whooping of paratroopers down the road, a clattering, and the shattering of glass and Roe rolls his eyes. There are no screams of agony to indicate some sort of accident he has to attend to, and so he simply ignores the antics.

Speirs walks Roe back to the house he was assigned to, the family he’s bunking with long asleep at this point with all the lights off in the house. “Hope I didn’t keep you out past your curfew.” Speirs comments, teasing, as they pause at the door.

The corner of Roe’s mouth quirks up and he shakes his head. “No, sir. Somethin’ muss’ve convinced them that I’m capable. Maybe they heard there’s a war on.”

Speirs grinned and dug into his pocket once again. He grasped the lighter and dropped it into Roe’s pocket, knuckles brushing against his chest through the fabric of Roe’s shirt. “In case you need to light your own cigarettes next time.”

Roe opened his mouth to protest as Speirs spun on his heel to walk away, but Speirs raised a hand and, not too loudly, called out, “Get some rest, Doc. There’s a war on.”

Market-Garden is a resounding defeat. Nuenen more closely resembles Easy and Dog company being shot at like fish in a barrel than any military movement being executed. The death and destruction leaves bodies scattered in the streets that Roe is loath to ignore; the idea that a man can look dead but is still alive enough to be saved if he’d paid just a second more attention haunts him at night. He wonders how many men he’s left behind to die already, despite his oaths to leave no man behind. He wonders if the bloodstains will ever wash from his hands— he’s spent far too long over basins scrubbing his hands raw to not have an answer for that. He thinks he’ll feel it for the rest of his life. He wonders if the rosary around his neck is meaningless now with the ghost of a coating of blood preventing him from truly grasping it again. He wonders if he’ll ever feel clean again, if anyone will ever consider him clean again.

There’s plenty to do when they settle in one place after retreating. There were countless men injured, a limitless supply of bodies to keep Roe’s hands busy. He’s stitched more wounds than he can keep track of, soothed burns, removed shrapnel, and thrown sheets over the faces of men whose names he can’t even remember. And by God, despite all the bodies, it’s the loneliest work Doc Roe has ever done.

It isn’t until nightfall that he eventually gets a break, fully reliant on whatever amalgamation of supply crates stacked behind him to keep him up. He’d propped himself against them not five minutes ago, head tilted back against the harsh corners as he tried to breathe past the iron scent that clung to the inside of his nose. Back in his training days the smell of blood made him nauseous. The first three days he had real patients he couldn’t eat a single meal, couldn’t even bear the smell of food. Those days had passed and there was no other option than to push past the way his stomach turned if given the opportunity for a meal.

Captain Winters handed him something edible as he passed by, commenting on Roe’s good work. It didn’t feel much like good work but he nodded and thanked Winters nonetheless— at least with Winters he knew he wasn’t being bullshitted for encouragement, and that meant something to Roe. He ate whatever it was, lukewarm and stale-tasting, slowly as he tried to cycle through the casualties he confronted that day. There were far too many bodies, nameless bodies, for him to pray for them all, and it had become far more realistic for him to pray for the ones he could still protect. Captain Winters and Nixon. The rest of Easy company. A few faces outside of it. The nurses on the frontlines. He could pray for them.

Like a prayer answered, one of the faces outside Easy company materialized through the dark. Speirs was led by what Roe could only assume was one of his men, a strip of fabric pressed to the side of his face. A strip of fabric soaked in blood.

Roe’s dinner was tossed aside, dish and utensil clattering to the ground as he darted up from where he was sitting and stalked toward them, adrenaline running cold through his veins. “Get ‘m in here.” Roe commanded, voice louder than it had been in weeks.

Speirs seemed to perk up at the familiarity of Roe’s voice, though that disoriented glaze to his eyes and movements never shook off. The man assisted Speirs into the medic’s tent and promptly scattered when Roe pointed to the flap, stony-faced. The moment the man left Roe shifted his full attention to Speirs and covered the hand Speirs was using to hold the cloth to his face. “I’ve gotta take a look.” He said softly.

Speirs looked up at him, hazy and unsure, the amber of his eyes scanning Roe’s face. Despite what seemed to be a form of trauma—mental or physical, Roe wasn’t sure yet—Speirs was still on guard with rigid posture and his muscles locked into place as he sat before him. Roe dug into his pants pocket and produced the lighter Speirs had given him, holding it close to Speirs face so he could get a good look. “Figure it’s about time I return this to you.” 

When Speirs finally focused on the lighter, his posture relaxed slightly. He said nothing, but allowed Roe to finally pull his hand and the cloth away from his face. It was an active fight to quell the rise of panic that struck Roe when he got a good look at Speirs; there wasn’t a part of the left side of his face that wasn’t covered in blood, parts of it thickening and turning dark. For once, it seemed the sharp horror had made itself evident on Roe’s face as Speirs finally spoke, “You gonna pray for me, Eugene?” His voice was breathless from previous exertion.

“No need, sir, you’re gon’ be just fine.”

“What if I ask nicely?”

The lilt of his smile showed the blood on his teeth and Roe did his very best not to stare at the man’s canines, their sharpness giving him the image of a cottonmouth waiting to strike. Roe swallowed and looked away, finding reassurance in the fact that Speirs’ left eye seemed to be working just fine judging by the way he was staring down Roe. “I’m gonna start cleanin’ this up and you let me know if any parts hurt worse than others.” 

“Sure thing, doc.”

Roe retrieves a clean-ish cloth and some fresh water and begins swiping the blood off Speirs’ face, starting with the line of his jaw where the blood had begun trailing down his neck. The running hypothesis was that Speirs’ had a shallow head injury and was more concussed than anything; head wounds bleed like hell and if Roe had kept any sort of grip on himself when Speirs came in, he would’ve remembered much faster. It wasn’t until he began swiping up close to Speirs’ temple, along his hairline, that Speirs flinched away from his pressing hand. “There.” Speirs announced through gritted teeth.

“Gotta clean it up to get a good look at it. Sit tight.”

The previously clean bucket of water was turning a murky pink with every dip Roe made. He did his best to ignore the way Speirs sucked air in between his teeth every time Roe got a touch too close to the gash. He would need stitches, but it wasn’t dire, much to Roe’s relief. “The hell happened out there?” He asked, not sure if he wanted the answer.

“Couple men couldn’t make the retreat from Nuenen. Had to go back and get them.” Speirs answered.

“Any others injured?”

“It was just me.”

“Lucky you.”

“I was the only one who went.”

Roe’s hand froze mid-swipe, resting against the sharp cliff of Speirs’ cheekbone as he stared down at him. The eclipse of their eyes left Roe vulnerable, open for Speirs being able to watch every emotion cross his face at the same time. Finally, Roe settled on one and worked his jaw, grinding his teeth together before he began cleaning again. There was a beat of silence, and then, “You’re angry with me.” Speirs said, his voice breathy again, this time with awe.

He stared up at Roe with a sort of delight in his eyes that would send any other man running with horror, that grin plastered firmly on his face. “No, sir.” Roe said firmly, dragging the washcloth along the water a little too aggressively— water sloshed over his shoe and he paid it no mind.

“Why are you angry with me, Eugene?”

He was prying. “Permission to speak, sir?” Roe asked, teeth still gritted.

Speirs waved him off with a lazy hand, though he was paying rapt attention. “Never had to ask before.”

“I just think we’ve lost a lot of damn good men today, sir. And I understand you need’ta do right by your men, and it’s an honorable thing, but what if you had died?” Roe tossed down the cloth with a force that sent the bucket reeling, refusing to look Speirs in the eye again.

Speirs shrugged. “And what if I die? We’re already dead.”

The fury blazing in Roe’s eye as he looked up again left Speirs delightfully cold, his head tilted back as he basked in it. “Not to me.” He paused. “Not to me, sir.”

With that finality, he turned and began prepping the needle and thread for Speirs’ sutures. Speirs slid off the makeshift stretcher he’d been sitting on, taking the few steps he needed to stand behind Roe. Roe could feel his presence looming over him as he worked, it was hard not to, but he ignored him. Sure it was petty, but if the man could go run behind enemy lines on a solo-suicide mission, he could be a little petty. “Eugene.” Speirs said quietly as he placed a hand on Roe’s shoulder.

Roe turned with a ferocity he wasn’t aware he possessed, indignant. “You coulda died!” 

“I know.”

Roe gripped his jacket, rising to inches from Speirs’ face. “You coulda died and then what?”

“What do you mean, ‘gene?” Speirs’ tone was soothing, the way you spoke to a stray you’d hit with your car before you put it out of its misery.

“What the hell was I supposed to do if you’da died?”

Roe punctuated his sentence with halfhearted shoves to Speirs shoulder and chest, damp with his blood. Speirs caught Roe by his shoulders and pulled him into his chest, wrapping his arms around Roe’s biceps to stop his protesting. Roe folded into him immediately, accepting defeat as his body shuddered against his will. Muffled by Speirs’ uniform, “What the hell was I supposed t’ do?”

“I’m sorry, ‘gene.”

The reckoning that ran through Roe’s body was like an earthquake, the kind of world-shattering event that sent prayers to the lips of atheists and Speirs just held him like he never considered any other option. When the fear subsided, Roe pulled back and ducked away from Speirs, shoving his fists across his eyes. “Still have to stitch that.”

“Alright, Eugene.”

Speirs sat patiently in place as Roe prepped his materials. He wordlessly handed the lighter back as Roe mindlessly searched for it to sterilize the needle, something he’d done countless other times that day with the same lighter. There was an irony in the concept. Roe used the lighter to sterilize needles to save mens’ lives, while Speirs had used it to light cigarettes before taking lives. Perhaps it was all about balance.

The stitching went smoothly, yet uneasily, as Roe tried not to flinch every time Speirs grunted in pain. The morphine had long run out— if Roe had known this was going to happen, he would’ve stashed just a little, but he hadn’t known Speirs would be so stupid as to do what he’d done. When it was finally clean and bandaged, Roe stepped back and looked him up and down. “Anything else?”

“Nah, ‘gene, I’m okay. A few bumps and bruises, but that’s all.”

Roe rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I’ve gotta make sure you don’ have a concussion. You gettin’ back to Dog company?”

Speirs hesitates, sly. “I could leave before daylight to get back.”

Roe nodded. “Alright. Stay here, then. I’ll wake you up every coupl’a hours, make sure you’re not gettin’ worse.”

“Anything you say.”

Roe began cleaning up and as he passed Speirs to dispose of the bloodied cloth, Speirs caught him by the bicep. “Hey, we okay?”

“Yessi— yeah. Yeah, we’re— yeah.”

“Good.”

“I should let Captain Winters know y’here for the night. He’ll be wanting to know what happened.”

“Alright. I’ll be here.”

Roe nodded and ducked out of the tent.The moment the canvas flap fell closed, Roe’s hand darted out to shove it back aside. He crossed the space in a few quick strides and his mouth pressed hard against Speirs’, chapped and cold as he lifted his rosary beads over his neck and placed them around Speirs’ instead. When he pulled back, huffing, he said, “So you think twice about gettin’ your damn self killed.” And he ducked back out of the tent.

The time they got in Mourmelon-le-Grand was bliss. Speirs had nothing but Roe wrapped up in blankets. He pulled sighs from his mouth and swallowed them whole, spent his nights pressing his lips to every inch of the medics skin, and played his hand at worship that was foreign to him but felt so familiar nonetheless. They had never been so efficient in the few duties they did have, eager to get back to each other at the end of the day.

As Speirs leaned over Roe, propped up on his side in the bed they shared, Roe’s rosary beads dangled from Speirs’ neck and skimmed lightly over Roe’s chest. Roe reached up and touched them, stormy eyes fascinated by the way they reflected the light from the setting sun in the window. “Jesus fucking Christ.” Speirs uttered, his palm coming up to rest against Roe’s cheek.

Roe leaned into it, “What?”

“You.”

A flush spread across Roe’s face like the reds of the aurora borealis, painting him with watercolors Speirs would kill to see over and over again. Speirs ducked his head to capture Roe’s mouth with his, as he’d found the taste of Eugene Roe was the only thing that satiated that nagging curiosity he’d held for so long. Speirs’ fingertips skimmed over a smattering of scars on Roe’s side, dancing over the taut skin of his stomach that seized at his attention— he was slightly ticklish, Speirs had learned. God above he was soft, too, where the war hadn’t gotten to him and Speirs especially loved to prod at those places, to dig in and find a home there. Roe invited him in with the warmth of his arms and the plush of his thighs and the bruised bones of his knees as they folded together, Speirs’ face buried in Roe’s neck.

“Y’ comfy, there, Ron?”

Speirs’ reply was indecipherable, his mouth pressed against the warmth of Roe’s shoulder. There wasn’t anything in the world that could drag him out, not even the man himself, and Roe laughed. It was a sound that Speirs would’ve marched through hell and back a million times to hear, rolling like thunder and just as deep. Roe was a storm in the sweltering summer, all dark clouds and warm rain and Speirs had dove in and he was drowning. It was the easiest thing he had ever done.

Roe’s hands held firm against Speirs’ back, the tips of his fingers calloused from all the suturing needles and the rough handle of his knife. Speirs groaned at the feeling, one he prayed he’d never grow used to for fear of it becoming unremarkable to him. A foreign concept, sure, but he still hoped it would never happen. “Could stay here forever.” Speirs mumbled.

“What? Y’ gotta—” Roe pushed his face to the side slightly so as to hear him.

“Could stay here forever.”

Roe sighed wistfully and stared up at the ceiling. “Well, there’s a war on, y’know.”

Speirs, decidedly over the turn the brief conversation had taken, dug his fingers into Roe’s hip and pulled them both backwards. At this angle, he could admire the man in a new light and hell it was a glorious one. Roe’s hair looked best mussed up with no regard to regulations, dark strands hanging in his face as a curtain of black clouds to the eye of the storm. The light caught his features much like it had back in Aldbourne, the first night they had met and Speirs had been cautiously intrigued by the sullen medic. Roe kissed him again and he breathed deep, memorizing every level to the way he smelled. Clean, of soap since they’d gotten to Mourmelon-le-Grand. There was a tinge of sweat from their activities an hour earlier. And hours before that. And there was a note of petrichor, so distinctly Roe that it put an ache in Speirs’ heart.

Yes, Speirs’ heart was something that had never before been seen by the rest of Dog company or Easy company. A novel concept, indeed. The rosary beads that hung around his neck and the cross that fell just above his heart would’ve been frozen from the cold if not for the way his body heat compensated for the ever-persistent chill. He wondered often if Roe was keeping warm. Where he was. From what Speirs had gathered, he spent his time deep within a foxhole or busy on his feet trying to keep men alive that seemed so determined to die in this frozen hellhole. Speirs mulled over the last time he’d been given the opportunity to press a kiss to those frozen hands, praying that the brief contact had breathed a warmth into Roe that wasn’t physical.

In the limbo between Dog and Easy company, Speirs paused and breathed. At this point, if any head of raven hair popped above the ground, he’d see it in easy contrast against the landscape as it suffocated in snow. He was smart enough to promise himself not to wait long. It would do no one any good if he were to get distracted, waiting in the tundra of the woods freezing to death in the search for a glimpse of his medic. The one saving grace for his lack of excuse to be out there was the fact that not many people would be willing to question Speirs on his actions.

He thought over, ever so briefly, what they’d do if they got back. There’d be a ring, most likely. They’d never discussed kids, but that seemed to be the sort of thing Roe might like if they could sort out all the shit in their head first. Before anything, though, Speirs wanted a year of uninterrupted nights with Roe trapped within his arms. Peace. Warmth. He’d follow Roe anywhere in the world if he could get a glimpse of peace in the man’s eyes.

Speirs felt the urge to fumble with the rosary beads and was reaching toward his neckline when a shifting caught his attention. There was a stirring along Easy’s line, men poking their heads aboveground— likely relieving themselves with others on watch. No one wanted to die in the snowy Bastogne woods with their dick out. He paid no mind to their stirring until a whistle sounded out and, “Incoming!” was shouted.

There was no Eugene or Ron in that moment, when Speirs ducked below ground into one of the scattered foxholes that stretched between the two lines. The cover was hardly adequate, but it was better than being stuck above ground as the artillery rained down. The rattling of the Earth had felt like the end of days the first handful of times he’d experienced it, but Speirs was jaded and simply focused on keeping track of himself and not dying. Hunched in that foxhole, he escaped without injury. The assault slowed to a stop, the telltale whistle of incoming missiles vanishing just as quickly as it came.

Speirs hauled himself aboveground and did a quick check of his own personal inventory. He didn’t appear to be missing anything, literally or metaphorically, and straightened up as he prepared to march back to Dog company line and take account of his men. It was as easy as breathing, to begin that march. And then someone called, “Medic!” and, “He is the fucking medic, you dumbass!” and Speirs realized he had never experienced anything close to Earth shattering before that moment.

He was sprinting before he could realize what his body was doing. It was possible that it wasn’t Eugene— Easy company had more than one medic. He could be senselessly charging into a different company’s lines like the entire German army was on his heels for no reason. Not to be crass, but he didn’t much care if it wasn’t Roe, and it was entirely possible it wasn’t Roe. The medic was probably hustling around his own company taking care of those injured and would greet Speirs with an incredulous look of, what are you doing here?

There was so much blood. The snow soaked it up like a sponge, accepting the neon red dye like it was a right, and Speirs had never been so angry in his life. Sharp pain careened through his knees as he crashed to the ground. “Eugene. Eug— fuck, Eugene!” He didn’t know what to do with his hands, hovering them above the medic. Useless.

Eugene was sprawled in the snow, jaw slightly ajar as he stared up through the canopy of trees at the falling snow. It wasn’t a direct hit or an amputation, he knew, but something had gone so terribly wrong as he’d rushed to help a member of Easy company that had tripped on their way to a foxhole. It was somewhere in the cacophony of a falling tree, and he was distantly aware that he was surrounded by his men as they stared down at him. Useless. “Where the fuck is Spina!”

Spina. Hm. Resigned, Roe put his energy into turning his head, fumbling his hand with the fabric of Speirs’ pants where he kneeled beside him. Useless. “Hi.” His voice was garbled, not his own.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Eugene. Someone get Spina over here right-fucking-now!”

The other Easy company members had sat back in horror. They knew what Roe would say if he weren’t the one on the ground at that very moment. There was no point. No one survived having a tree branch launched through their middle, impaling them to the ground. “What’re y’ doin’ here?” Roe asked Speirs, confused.

All Speirs could summon were curses and the horror of tears. His eyes were wide and wild, sending Easy company members scattering backwards as he looked up and around. “Where the fuck is the other medic?” He yelled.

“Speirs.” A voice came from behind him. “Speirs. S— Ron.” 

It was Winters, a hand on Speirs shoulder as he forced himself not to look away from the state of Doc Roe. “There’s morphine in his jacket.”

“Fuck.”

The exhale of the curse breathed out any of Speirs’ hope with it, the pit in his chest growing by the second as the blood around Eugene pooled further and dissipated into the snow. “It’s—” Roe’s inhale was rattling. “S‘kay. Don’... feel it.”

Speirs hated the calming storm. He hated the way Roe’s grasp on his pant leg felt feeble at best, hated the way his own hand shook as he took Roe’s hand carefully and resigned himself to a new form of death, one he had never considered but a thousand times worse. Speirs descended into the bloodbath as he lowered himself onto his side beside Roe, desperate to see his face, unmarred by blood. Roe’s eyes were rolling in his head, unclear and unfocused, but he was doing his goddamn best as Speirs’ face hovered over his own.

Speirs’ icy hand found its place on Roe’s cheek once again and he leaned down to press a frozen kiss to Roe’s furrowed brow bone. Roe groaned as he tried to shift and failed. “‘m sorry.” He exhaled.

“Fucking hell, ‘gene, don’t you dare apologize. You’ve got nothin’ to be sorry for, baby.”

Roe’s laugh was more of a wheeze as his eyes roamed Speirs face. “Baby. Tha’s new.”

“Thought I’d try it out.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Another wheeze. The rattling of Roe’s breath was a horror Speirs had become familiar with over their time at war. He’d heard it a million times before and this was the only instance in which it’d haunt him for the rest of his goddamn life. His throat felt raw from screams he was hardly holding back, the wrenching of his gut urging him to upend his insides until it all stopped hurting. Roe’s hands traced upward, fumbling and weak, before they reached the base of Speirs’ neck. The beads hardly poked above his collar but Roe found them anyway and tangled his fingers in them, blood coating the rosary. “Christ above, Roe, you should’ve kept them.” Speirs choked out, wanting to be angry. Angry was better than this. 

Roe attempted some approximation of shaking his head. “No. They’re yours.” came out more along the lines of “N… th’yers.”

Speirs fumbled his own hand upward and captured Roe’s, bringing it to his lips. He kissed each bloody knuckle, ignoring the iron taste in his mouth and the stain it’d leave on his skin before he leaned down and pressed his lips to Roe’s forehead. His brows. His cheeks. Like lipstick marks, Roe’s blood planted itself on his face with each press of Speirs lips. “I’ve got you, ‘gene. You’re alright, baby.” His voice was softer than it had ever been, softer than it ever would be again.

“Lo’...” The exhale Roe let out was final.

Speirs hands shook so badly he couldn't grasp properly. The fight to get the scarf off his neck was one he nearly lost; it seemed all he could do in that moment was lose, over and over again. Carefully, gingerly, he pushed it under Roe's head and wound it around him. Winters spoke up, “Speirs, he's…”

“I know.” Speirs bit out. “I just—I don't want him to be cold.”

“Okay. That's— that's good, then. You did good by him.”

The Earth shattered apart below their feet.

Speirs wore that rosary through the rest of the war and beyond. His eyes stayed wild, his tactics unimaginable, the rumors crass and vicious. He was no man of religion, but he was a man of storms. Other troopers pointed out just how crazy he was, considering he took every chance to stand out in thundering rain, gasping as the rain pelted his skin and washed him anew. Even with the weight of the rosary and two sets of dog tags, it was never enough. He’d left his heart in the frozen ground of Bastogne, under a Sycamore with E.R. carved into it. None of it would ever be enough again.

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Sanctuary part 2

Chapter 16: Confessions

A/N: Here we go, the run up to Barton IV 🥹

Warnings: 18+, mentions of Crosshair’s trauma, more angst and feelings, repeat of some info we already know, mention of sickness.

Word Count: 7k+

Chapter 15 - Chapter 16 - Chapter 17

Masterlist

Tagging: @subbing-for-clones

You blindly walked through the streets of Pabu, lost in a swirl of faded memories. Everything you’d seen in the holograms had been real, you knew that. Most filmed from Tech’s point of view, capturing all the things he noticed about you.

Seeing yourself so familiar with the squad had been jarring. The incident on the medical station with Crosshair, was eye opening. You could see why he was apprehensive being around them again and it had only been a couple of days. No wonder he took to hiding in the cove during the day and the ship at night.

You had no idea where you were going, your feet beginning to protest in the thin soles of your boots. You debated activating your com when the crack of a rifle shot split the air. It could only be one person, so you headed that way. Making your way through the dark caves, grateful to come out the other side where the sun shone and the sea lapped at the sand.

Batcher whined, her tail wagging at your sudden appearance and you gave her a thorough fuss. AZI waved at you in greeting, barely getting back into position before the rifle punched out a shot that went predictably wide.

“I’ve been looking for you,” you called to Crosshair to announce your approach. “Luckily I’ve found you.” A complete lie, but no other excuses came to mind explaining why you were here.

“Clearly not lucky for me,” he replied slowly, making sure you could hear the annoyance in his voice.

“Maybe it’s your raw friendly magnetism that draws people in,” you retaliated. “Or maybe it’s your predicability that makes you so easy to find.” His jaw clenched, a subtle shift of his shoulders and fired again.

“Maybe speaking with you last night was a bad idea. It gave you the wrong impression we were friends.” You chuckled at his droll tone and let him fire off a few more shots. Only one hit the target.

“Can you teach me?” You weren’t sure where the request came from. Possibly it was an excuse to stay because it was easy being around Crosshair. Wrecker worried with a constant sad look in his eyes. Hunter was cautious and protective, watching your every move. Tech was a complicated shimmer of emotions that smothered you at times, driving you to act stupid and nearly kiss him. But with Crosshair, his indifference was refreshing. Even if it covered the turmoil beneath, he didn’t allow it to influence his actions.

“To do what exactly?” Contempt crawled over his words but you weren’t deterred.

“Shoot.”

Crosshair let out an irritated sigh. “You know how to shoot.”

“Not with a sniper rifle. What does it entail?”

“More than you know.” He didn’t seem to be in a sharing mood, but you sat down in the sand anyway, waiting expectantly for him to give in. He side eyed you, finger flexing on the trigger while he contemplated ignoring you completely. Then he sighed in defeat. “Being a sniper is more than being able to look down a scope. It requires never ending patience, awareness of your surroundings, accuracy, years of experience. Most of those you lack.”

You squinted up at the bright sky. “You’re always so complimentary.”

“And you’re grating on my nerves,” he almost growled.

“Let me have a go and then I’ll leave you alone.” You had no idea why you were needling him so much, aside from the fact you didn’t have to think when you with him. Crosshair sighed, his aggravation at your mere presence very evident.

“Fine.” You jumped up, dusting your hands off to reach for the rifle. He surrendered it to your grip and immediately your arms dropped.

“Oh! It’s heavy. You carry this around with you all the time?” You asked with a hint of admiration.

“Struggling are you?”

“Heh, you wish.”

“Take a shot,” he goaded. “See if you can impress me.” The rifle was so much larger in your arms than his. You tried to replicate his stance, kneeling in front of the rock to support the weapon. “Don’t mark the paint job,” he demanded, not even looking at you when he spoke. It took some manoeuvring but you eventually felt settled, not leaning the rifle on the rock. Twisting the scope dial you managed to bring the target to focus, putting it in the centre of the crosshairs.

The trigger was smooth under your finger, begging to be pulled. Except, something told you to wait, just as gust of wind made AZI adjust his position.

“We haven’t got hours to waste,” Crosshair remarked snidely.

Now. You felt the bolt fly from the barrel of the rifle, grunting at the recoil slamming into your shoulder. Much to your satisfaction though, the fruit exploded in AZI’s hand.

“Excellent shot, Stitch!” The little droid called, readying another fruit.

“Beginner’s luck,” came an unhappy voice from beside you. The rifle needed adjusting, you weren’t going to admit how the weight of it was making your arms scream in protest. You had something to prove. Grinding your teeth you let another shot fly, the recoil felt worse but again, the fruit met its end.

“100% accuracy so far,” AZI said.

“She fired two shots!” Crosshair snapped.

“Best of five?” You asked him, already lining up another shot.

“Sure. Luck only gets you so far.”

You had no idea if it was skill, or the little feeling in your gut that told you when to shoot. After shooting five fruit in a row, you finally relaxed your arms.

“That is a lot harder than it looks.” The pain in your shoulder was fierce, you wanted to massage it but knew it would do nothing to lessen the bruise you were sure to see later. Crosshair practically snatched the rifle out of your hands.

“Your shoulder placement was off. You absorbed the recoil wrong. Amateur mistake”

“You could have told me,” you pouted a little, trying to glare him down and not succeeding.

“Everyone has to learn the hard way,” Crosshair sneered.

Folding your arms you let a smile play around your lips. “Show me how it’s done then. Best of five.”

He looked ready to throw the rifle down and stamp on it, toothpick rolling furiously between his teeth until he took it out and tossed it. He stepped menacingly towards you but you refused to give ground. Even if he was intimidating. Crosshair may be the lithest member of the squad, it did nothing to diminish his dominating presence.

“Watch closely. You might learn something,” he told you in a low voice.

The first shot was a success, as was the second, and the third. Your heartbeat quickened. You hadn’t seen his hand shake once, not since you had riled him up. The fourth bolt flew straight through the fruit and you nearly cheered. Instead you held your breath, waiting for the last shot, hearing the rifle punch it free…only to go wide.

“4 out of 5. Stitch wins with a 5 out of 5 target accuracy.”

Neither of you said anything. The joke was over now, feeling only Crosshair’s frustration at his own failure. It made you upset.

“It’s not your fault.”

“No? Then whose fault is it?” He stood up, staring at his hand like it had betrayed him. “Training is over.” You watched him stalk into the cave with the rifle, leaning back on the rock to give him a head start. He wouldn’t appreciate you following so closely. Batcher was his silent, watchful companion instead.

“Will you be joining CT-9904 tomorrow?” AZI asked, hovering beside you. “If you do, I will require more fruit. I predict a 95% target success rate for you.”

“No. I need to stick to what I’m good at,” you told the little droid, turning your face into the wind.

“You are an outstanding medic,” he said.

“Yeah. So I’ve been told.” Deciding Crosshair had had enough of a head start, you made your way into the dark of the cave.

“I was the droid to help with your treatment when you arrived. Before you fried my circuits.”

“Sorry about that.”

“It is I, who must apologise. I am still unable to find a reason for your cognitive dysfunction. However, I did find an anomaly in your bloods.” His photoreceptors lit up the dark cave, the pulsing hum of his repulsers echoed off the slick walls.

“Oh yeah?” You were only half listening, already knowing you weren’t going to understand.

“I found a significant difference in your bloods taken before and after Tantiss. I do believe your time there, heightened your midi-chlorian count.”

Rolling your eyes, you carried on picking your way across the cave floor. “My what?”

“Midi-chlorians are believed to give force users such as the Jedi, their ability to tune into the force. The more Midi-chlorians, the more attuned the force user.” You paused, frowning slightly at the droid. “Your count was predicted to reach a maximum of approximately 9,000 at the end of adolescence. The most recent blood test found a count that was notably higher than predicted.”

“How do you know this about me?” AZI tilted his head, hovering slightly closer as he observed you.

“I have all your records within my databanks, JC-005. Starting from when you were created until you were taken from Kamino. And now I can continue recording your progress.”

The world rocked, unsteadiness caused you to stumble to a low wall beside the cave entrance.

You had been created? By who?

None of this made sense. Just as you thought you were beginning to feel settled, information like this was dropped before you.

“Do the others know?”

“I do not believe so.” AZI said. “I did not realise who you were until I sampled your bloods after your arrival. The sample matched what was already in my records.”

Maker, you felt sick. Swallowing harshly you asked the droid, “How high is my midi…count?”

“I can see this news has caused some distress by your elevated heart rate…”

“AZI!” He recoiled slightly at the sharpness directed at him.

“Your midi-chlorian count currently measures at an approximate 18,000.”

“What does that mean exactly?” You were trying so hard to understand, even with nausea rolling in your stomach and a headache brewing between your eyes. “So my sensitivity to this…force is heightened…but what does that mean?”

“I do not have any relevant data to answer that question. The Jedi donor sample was discarded after many failed attempts to create a stable M-Count transfer from the donor to the live fetus,” the droid rattled off. “However, you have exceeded your estimated count and surpassed the recorded midi-chlorian count of the donor sample. Therefore, I am led to believe, Dr Hemlock has discovered a way to perform a stable M-count transfer to a live specimen.”

“The injections…” you whispered. “He injected me once a week.”

“Injections would be a plausible way of distribution. They would be absorbed rapidly by the body, bolstering your natural midi-chlorian count in a short amount of time. By injecting you weekly, it allowed him time to observe any undesirable side effects or degrading of the sample and the specimen…you.”

Specimen…that’s what they called you in Tantiss. Nothing but an experiment to play around with. It made you even more certain that Hemlock would be coming for you with the destructive might of the Empire behind him.

“AZI?”

“Yes, Stitch?”

“Get…” Hunter? Tech? Wrecker? There was only one person you wanted beside you right now. “Crosshair,” came the faint whisper. “Find Crosshair.” You tipped forward, head dropping into your open hands. The world was tipping, you couldn’t make it stop and it made you feel like everything was spinning out of control.

“Are you sure you want me to retrieve CT-9904?” AZI asked, his mechanical hands opening and closing nervously. “He will not be pleased. Considering you said you would leave him alone after he let you shoot the rifle.”

“I don’t care,” you groaned, blotting out the light with your hands. “I don’t care what you tell him to get him here, but don’t let the others know.” He seemed to dither around you for a moment before he rushed off to leave you in the quiet. No one else was about, it was tempting to stay here on the wall and wait for Crosshair. But you could feel the sickness boiling up inside.

On shaky legs, you made your way into the cave, stumbling through the dark with a hand over your mouth. Your skin was heated, clammy with sweat. Your hands shook so hard you could barely support yourself to lean over a rock and vomit into a rock pool.

You hadn’t eaten today, yet your body was determined to expel something. Eventually you sat on the sand, massaging your stomach through a wave of fresh cramps.

You were a clone.

The clone of a Jedi…you had heard of the Jedi, when Hemlock had shown you those holocrons. Forced you to open those holocrons.

Leaning back on the rock, you let the sea breeze cool your skin, stopping you from abruptly passing out. You may have even dozed a little by the time Crosshair made an appearance.

“Why did you send the droid for me?” He immediately demanded, stalking out of the cave. “Clanker is in a state.” The sniper had his arms crossed and he tried to feint annoyance with a scowl. But you felt the layer of concern shimmering to the forefront. You must have looked rough.

“Tell him AZI. What you told me.”

“Are you sure?” The droid looked between you.

“Tell me what this is about before I lose interest,” Crosshair sighed. The droid immediately launched into the facts, telling Crosshair everything he had just revealed to you. Feeling his reaction was satisfying at first, the shock and then the anger but they slowly morphed into something you had only felt flickers of before. Sympathy.

He watched you, almost looking for something in your relaxed expression while you sat against the rock, eyes closed, letting the feelings of the moment move past you. You cocked an eyebrow in surprise when he settled on the ground next to you. The contact from his shoulder was welcome, as though he grounded you to the here and now and wasn’t going to let you get swept into the past.

“I can com Tech.” Your eyes flew open at Crosshair’s suggestion.

“No. Don’t do that. He thinks I’m a disaster already, he doesn’t need more to solidify that fact.”

“He does not,” Crosshair countered. He wanted to say more on that subject, but he decided against it. “You’re a clone, huh? So what? Welcome to the squad of defective misfits.”

Your hands balled into fists. He was missing the point. “Hemlock experimented on me! He made me worse!”

“Everything that man touches becomes broken,” Crosshair pointed out with his usual, frustrating, directness. “But why do you assume you’re the only one he broke?” Your eyes drifted to his right hand, the tremor evident. “You can sit here feeling sorry for yourself or you can use what he has given you, against him.”

“How can you say that to me when you hide here all the time?”

Crosshair scoffed. “I don’t hide. I train.”

“Osik!” You hissed. “You hide here because you’re terrified of knowing how your brothers really feel about you.”

“It’s all right for you!” Crosshair snarled, stopping you in your verbal tracks. He pushed up from the ground and began to pace. The tension in his presence was about to crack and you held your breath, ready for the onslaught. “You never did them wrong, they took you in like they did Omega. No questions. But they left me behind.” You could feel his bitterness, twisted and tangled with all his other emotions. “I was abandoned on that landing platform for 32 rotations before I was retrieved by the Empire.”

Crosshair’s darkness was choking him. Settled so deeply because it had festered all this time. It kept him for reaching out to his brothers, seeing as they were the ones who had left him. He watched them fly away, thinking they’d come back after a few days. But they didn’t.

No one did.

Not until he was delirious from the lack of water and food, on the edges of death. The Empire had taken him in and Crosshair believed he owed them loyalty above anyone else. Then everything had changed. His pacing slowed, resentment dominating his expression.

“They didn’t trust me from the moment my chip activated. I was put through enhancements that made me chase down my own squad and try to kill them. Omega included,” his candidness made you want to comfort him. But the mood he was in, he’d only rebuff you and probably leave so he didn’t have to face this. Crosshair wasn’t telling you his story for sympathy, he was telling you, you weren’t alone.

“I thought I was being a good soldier. Following orders. But I was used, while holding onto the tatters of what we had in the Republic. I thought I could handle it, until I met another who reminded me of everything we, as soldiers of the Republic, had actually stood for.” Crosshair sighed heavily. “Where my loyalty should have been the whole time.”

Tears began to well in your eyes, falling silently down your face. The pain that bled from him was crippling.

“What happened on Barton IV opened my eyes to how obsolete us clones were. My actions that day led me straight into Hemlock’s path. After I defied him — more than once — he wanted to make an example of me.” His hand vibrated against his thigh. Crosshair grunted in annoyance, fisting his hand until the tremor and pain subsided.

Your voice was quiet. “I’m so sorry, Cross. For all of it.” Both of you had been given to Hemlock because of what you were, and the Doctor had taken great delight in taking what he could get from you.

“Be grateful you have little memory of what you’ve endured,” Crosshair murmured. “You’re not the only person to suffer at Hemlock’s hands.” He turned to look at the rising sea level, watching the waves encroach closer and closer. He was right. You weren’t the only one, you were surrounded by people that had suffered one way or another, due to the actions of Hemlock.

“You’re right,” you finally said, making yourself jump.

“Heh, I usually am,” he boasted quietly.

“I can take what I have and use it against him.” Crosshair shifted, looking at you with an indecipherable gaze. “I can’t change what I am, it was just a shock to find out.”

“Thought you could find some relatives in the depths of the galaxy?” Crosshair asked sarcastically.

“No, actually. I was told your squad was my family and I am trying to accept that. But learning you have nothing, no heritage…”

“Wrong.”

“What? How am I wrong?”

Crosshair shook his head. “You have a heritage. It never left you.” He turned and you thought he was going to walk away when he offered you his hand. He pulled you up just as the sound of a ship engine rippled through the clouds and two shadows approached. His mouth dipped, apprehension coming from him in ever increasing ripples.

“Who is that?” You asked.

“If I had to guess…Echo is in one of those.” A sharp whistle sounded from above and you both turned to see Hunter beckoning. “Oh, goodie.”

“You know this, Echo?”

Crosshair fixed you with a piercing look. “Yes. So do you.”

By the time you got to the top of Pabu, the ships were landing, gusts from the downdraft whipping up grit and sand so you had to shield your eyes. Omega was almost hopping from foot to foot with excitement, glancing up at Wrecker who also buzzed with boundless energy.

You and Crosshair let Hunter go ahead to join the others, hanging back slightly but for different reasons. The first ramp came down and a clone that looked part droid appeared. He seemed familiar and your brain itched, desperately trying to conjure up a memory that never came.

He was greeted by Omega first, dropping to her level for an intense hug. You felt Crosshair’s resolve harden and he strode away from your side to confront the newcomer.

“No hug for me?” He deadpanned, crossing his arms and waiting for a response.

“Depends on how good your intel is,” Echo responded gravely. Neither of them smiled or expressed how good it was to see the other, yet you felt both of them calm and settle into an unseen agreement. Echo caught your eye, a tentative look and a nod was the only greeting you got for now.

Your attention was pulled off the reuniting squad, to a clone that darkened the hatch of the second ship. His eyes scanned the area until they landed on you. He was bulkier than the others and looked exactly like Niner. This clone’s dark curly hair was slightly longer but his thickset muscles and armour reminded you so much of the clone you had left behind.

Tell Fi, I’m sorry. Niner’s voice whispered.

Who is Fi?

You’ll know.

Akaanir partaylir…fight to remember.

The clone stalked down the ramp, his darkened golden brown gaze never leaving your face. It should have been daunting, except your heart wasn’t racing out of fear.

Why Fi?

Can be short for fierfek. But really it means son in High Galactic.

The words played on a loop as you walked past the group, barely aware of the way Hunter was intensely watching you, or the faint smile Tech had on his face.

The clone stopped, his eyes slowly roaming over your entire form to snap back to your face.

“Glad to see you’re in one piece, uj’ika.”

His voice triggered an emotion that had you reaching for him. His eyes widened at the sudden contact of you touching his chest, exploring the armour he wore and tracing the line around the ka’rta beskar. The armour was smooth and cool. It held a slight resemblance to the clone armour you’d seen them wearing, but this felt different.

He stood completely still, just watching your hands follow the groove between the plates on his chest.

“You.” Excitement made you look up. “You’re him. You’re Fi.” When he smiled, it was like the sun breaking from a bank of clouds and you felt yourself smiling back.

“Yeah I am,” his words sounded lightly choked, like he was holding back some emotion. “Really thought you could forget me that easily, vod?” Fi grabbed you in a massive bear hug, crushing you to his chest. Instead of tensing up and pushing him away, you melted in the embrace. He smelled familiar, but it could have been his exact resemblance to Niner that made you take to him straight away.

“Heh, you’ve got competition,” Wrecker joked somewhere behind you, nudging Tech who gave his brother a blank stare.

“I was the one who suggested Echo bring Fi with him,” Tech explained. “I am aware of how close Stitch and Fi became during their time working together on Coruscant. It seemed logical to have someone else attempt to undo the damage inflicted by Hemlock.” Wrecker made a face until Hunter hit Wrecker’s shoulder with the back of his hand, giving him a look of disapproval.

“I saw Niner…” you told Fi, voice muffled from being pressed into his shoulder. “He told me to tell you, he’s sorry.”

“What an absolute di’kut,” Fi choked out. “We had our moment to get out on Coruscant and neither of us took it.“ Fi let you go, rubbing a thick thumb under his wet lashes. “Does me the world of good to see you again, uj’ika.”

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get him out,” you whispered.

“It’s nobody’s fault but the shabuirs that keep him in that place.” You became aware of Hunter coming up behind, reluctantly drawing Fi’s attention from you.

“You knew Niner?” Hunter asked.

“He was my sergeant,” Fi told him, his eyebrows drawing together.

“We encountered some clones on Mandalore who had been in contact with Niner,” Tech said from behind your other shoulder.

“Osik…” Fi paled under his tanned skin. “You’re sure?”

“I refrain from making statements unless I am certain of their accuracy,” Tech said pragmatically. It was your turn to frown, turning to glare at Hunter, inadvertently getting an impression of his thoughts.

“They helped Niner plan my escape?”

“Uh, yeah,” he admitted quietly. “Come on, we will bring you up to speed on everything we know.”

Your entire universe was spinning and you wanted to get off.

Fi sat beside you like a statue as he listened to Hunter and Tech talk about meeting the clones on Mandalore. At the mention of Kal Skirata, you felt a disturbance from Fi; great sadness and longing that told you, if he could, he’d seek them out right now.

The sick feeling had returned at the mention of you with those holocrons, knowing they had all seen that, shamed you. You knew there had been no choice at the time, but the fact you let Hemlock treat you that way turned your stomach inside out. The idea of taking this…force and throwing it back at Hemlock — until he choked on his screams — made it slide under your skin.

Tech was on your right side, Echo sat at the end of the table, Fi on your left, Crosshair stood by the terrace wall and Wrecker was on another chair mucking about with Omega occasionally.

Hunter was talking about what he’d been told after Tech and Wrecker had left the ship that day. A feeling trickled from Tech, an ache that resided in his chest and it made his leg bounce in a steady rhythm.

Without thinking, you reached over to put a hand on his jumping thigh. Applying pressure, so he could feel it and use it to ground himself. His hand covered yours and the tapping subsided. He briefly met your worried gaze, though he was unable to muster a smile of assurance. Something had happened at that time that made him uncomfortable.

“Can you tell us anything about Tantiss?” Echo asked, looking between you and Omega when Hunter had finished answering Fi’s questions. “No detail is too small.”

“I was a prisoner,” you started. “All I saw was the inside of my room, the inside of a lab and the…” you couldn’t even mention it. Tech’s fingers wrapped around yours, giving a gentle squeeze to keep you here and not get lost in memories of the room Hemlock made you perform in.

Omega, it turned out, had a lot more freedom than either you or Crosshair. And she was observant. She spoke about how they used datapads to access certain areas, she mentioned Nala Se and Emerie. The blood samples taken from her and the other clones and how they were being tested for something. She spoke about a vault with red barriers, although she never got to see inside. When realisation dawned on you.

“I was in the vault.” A hush fell over group, all of them looking at you. “Niner he — he had to take me through the red barriers. I don’t remember going through them before, until the day we escaped.”

“Did you see anything or anyone else?” Echo pushed.

“No. Only clones who were also prisoners.” He sat back with a calculating look on his face, glancing up at Crosshair before asking another question.

“Omega, you had no idea Stitch was in the base?”

“Not until she arrived with Niner in the kennels. There was no mention of her anywhere, not even on Nala Se’s datapad or in the lab where the blood samples were tested.”

“Mine were done separately.” Stars, you could draw the lab, you knew it as well as the back of your hand. While you lay on the bed, there was nothing better to do than memorise the entire room. “They injected me there. Took my blood there. Strapped me down…” Tech’s grip flinched at the distress in your tone.

Echo’s expression got darker and darker as you spoke. “We need to find this place.”

“I have thus far, been unable to bypass the Imperial encryption on the datapad Omega acquired from Tantiss,” Tech sighed, clearly annoyed by that fact.

“Is there anything we can do?” Echo leaned forward.

“We haven’t really had time to discuss our options,” Hunter said slowly, his hesitation obvious.

“While there is no assurance the datapad will provide the answers we require, it could still hold vital intel. I could bypass the encryption if we had access to an Imperial terminal, similar to the one on Setron.”

Wrecker moaned loudly at Tech’s words. “I am not going back there!”

“No one is suggesting that Wrecker,” Tech tried to placate him. “However, unless we locate another deserted Imperial base equipped with a functioning terminal, I am concerned that might be our sole option.”

“I’m staying here,” Wrecker instantly said, crossing his arm defensively. “I’m not going back to that Jotaz stinkin’ hole!”

“Don’t get your armour in a twist, Wrecker.” Crosshair’s voice cut through the group for the first time. “I know of a remote facility. It is understaffed, shouldn’t be a problem to infiltrate.”

You could feel the rising challenge in Echo, he wanted to trust Crosshair but his suspicion levels were too high to let him relax. Hunter was glaring at a point in the table, his face tight with his own internal battle. Crosshair’s emotions were changing too fast for you to read, it made your head swim and you leaned towards the only calm point around you.

Tech tensed, barely allowing himself to breathe with your shoulder pressed against his with your hand still resting on his leg.

“Crosshair, Tech, Echo and I will go to this remote facility. The others will stay here,” Hunter ordered.

“We’re finally together and you want to split us up?!” Omega cried.

“We just got you back. I am not going to risk you getting captured again. Either of you,” he explained, his eyes going from Omega to you.

“I can help,” you started but Hunter was already shaking his head. “So you’ll take Crosshair?” You could hear yourself saying in an accusatory tone.

“Crosshair is a soldier and he knows where we are going,” Hunter justified stiffly.

“Yet, you can’t even look him in the eye,” you shot back. Trying to keep everyone’s rising emotions separate from your own was difficult. The headache was still building, an obvious result of the last few days heightened by the stress of today.

“Stitch…” Hunter was glaring at you, his eyes almost begging you not to go there right now.

“Urgh!” You stood up, ripping yourself away from the comfort of Tech. At the same time the table shifted with an almighty grinding noise, shoving away from you and nearly knocking an unprepared Wrecker off his chair.

The group fell silent. They were all glaring, suspicious, scared. Fi tried to grab your hand with a soothing whisper, but you were already out of his reach. You had to get away from them all.

This felt safe. Wedged in a small corner in the Marauder between the hull and the droid. You hadn‘t known what he was doing at first, until he settled next to you with a few soft beeps. Resting a hand on his casing felt like the natural thing to do.

Being a droid, he exuded no emotions and it gave you time to settle. You had sensed a couple of figures outside, shortly after you’d hidden in here. But neither of them approached.

Your watchful watchers.

And they weren’t the ones you would have put credits on to follow you. Crosshair and Echo didn’t speak much, and they both seemed content to keep a quiet vigil until night fell.

Footsteps sounded on the ramp. Light and steady, bringing Crosshair into the low lights of the ship. He looked for you, smirking a little when he found you. The tall clone eased himself into one of the emergency seats, stretching out his legs and playing with a toothpick in his mouth.

“Why do you have those?” You found yourself asking after a few beats of pressing silence.

“They help me focus.”

“But you take them out when you shoot?”

“If I don’t have these when I’m not shooting, I’ll end up shooting every womp rat brained person around me.” You snorted, a loud undignified noise as you tried to hold back the laughter. It made Crosshair’s eyes light up with amusement until they sobered once more.

“Don’t hold it against Hunter,” he told you. “This situation is new to all of them.”

“I know,” you breathed, plucking at the hem of your top. “What’s happening anyway?”

“Your outburst and Omega’s pleading worked. We’re all going. Though, the reg is returning with the fresh intel to Rex while we head to Barton IV. Like one big happy family,” he muttered.

“Oh.” Crosshair didn’t tell you snap out of your mood or suggest you do anything for that matter. But it felt like he was waiting for you to do something. He wasn’t even looking at you, yet his attention was on you. So you sighed, and shifted. The idea of Fi leaving, when you had barely spoken to him about his brother, or anything else…didn’t feel right.

Crosshair didn’t flinch when you crawled out of your corner. Only saying, “He’s waiting outside his ship.”

Sure enough, Echo was bidding Fi farewell at the ramp, both of them turning to watch your approach.

“I’ll see you soon,” Echo said, landing a hand on Fi’s shoulder, giving you a quick nod and then making himself scarce.

“I don’t think Echo likes me,” you told Fi nervously.

“Quite the opposite uj’ika. You and him were thick as thieves before.”

“We were?” Fi nodded and leaned against the ship, folding his arms across his broad chest.

“He doesn’t want to overwhelm you. They are letting Tech take the lead with you.” You felt a shot of anger that they were clearly talking behind your back, then it was doused with reasoning. None of them wanted to bring you harm, all the clones wanted was you well and your memories returned.

They wanted their Stitch back.

Only, you weren’t so sure you could give them what they wanted.

Fi tucked a finger under your chin, lifting your face. “Don’t dwell. It’s going to take time, that’s all.”

“I don’t think I can be who they want me to be,” you admitted. I can’t be the person Tech sees when he looks at me.

“From what I’ve seen, these 99s aren’t like the rest. They are outsiders themselves, they just want you, to be the truest version of you.” Your hands fretted, tugging on your fingers until you grimaced.

“I’m sorry about Niner.” Maybe if you said it enough, the guilt would lessen.

“He made his choice,” Fi’s brown eyes softened. “We will get him out.” He looked back when the com chimed within the ship. “I have to go. I really wish I didn’t, uj’ika.” He took a step back, holding out his forearm horizontally. Lifting your arm the same, balling your hand into a fist and bumping your arm against his.

“Oya manda!” Fi grinned.

“Oya manda?” You replied, casting a puzzled look at him.

“Yeah, you got it, mandokar.” His expression grew serious. “Look after the di’kuts. I’ve grown rather fond of them.”

“I’ll do my best.” You began to back up, watching him leave was harder than you’d anticipated considering your memories about him hadn’t surfaced fully yet. He saluted, and you returned it.

Tech found you a few moments later, standing in the ripple of air from Fi’s ship, watching it disappear into the dark sky. He stood beside you, holding the bag from your room in his hands.

“I concluded you might find this useful, considering where we are heading.”

“There’s armour in there.”

He held it out. “Yes. Yours. I have kept the HUD updated and programmed the channel to sync with our current com wavelength.” You felt odd taking it, wrapping your fingers around the handle and absorbing the weight when he let go. “It may help with your memory recall.” His thoughtfulness made you feel a rush of gratitude. He was bending over backwards to help you, with your memories and making you feel a part of the squad again.

“Thank you, Tech. For everything.”

“There is no need…” his voice died when you leaned forward, placing a hand on his chest to steady yourself and gently planted a kiss on his cheek. You breathed in deeply, resting your forehead against the side of his face briefly, soaking him in before pulling away. He was warm and a comfort, you could almost feel the barrier holding your memories thin just that little bit more.

Your fingers drummed on his chest, giving him a smile while he blinked in shock at your sudden forwardness.

“Stitch!” It was Omega running over, a big grin on her face. “Did Tech tell you? Hunter said we can go! And Echo is coming too!”

“Are Imperial bases that exciting?” You asked her.

“This one is,” she gasped, trying to catch her breath. “It has snow!”

She carried on talking but the words echoed around you, snatched away by a freezing wind that plunged you straight into the cold dark.

Breathing hurt, moving was torture but you didn’t stop. The closer you got the more you could make out and even in the murky dark you saw something you recognised. A rifle. His rifle. It was so alien in this wasteland, so out of place that even covered in snow, it stood out. 

“C-C-Crosshair!” He was lifeless under your numb touch. Pale and waxy as he lay in the snow. “W-w-wake up!” His armour was so cold it clung to your skin. The wind howled, pelting you with freezing flakes that dived straight for your face.

“Help!” Your cry was stolen, ripped from your mouth and tossed out into the desolate void. You slumped over Crosshair’s still form. If you could give the last remaining flickers of life to him, you would. It was who you were. 

“Stitch.” A hand gently touched your face. You felt weightless, caressed by a warm breeze that felt so out of place.

“What happened?” A voice demanded. He even sounded concerned.

“I am not entirely sure,” Tech spoke calmly and quietly.

“Did I do something?” Omega’s voice was small and worried. You wanted to tell her she did nothing nothing wrong

“I’m fine,” you managed to whisper. But, oh stars, you were cold. The shiver was violent as it shuddered through you, forcing your eyes open to see three sets of concerned gazes staring back. Crosshair wasn’t subtle in his once over of you, turning his frown to Tech after.

“What happened?” He demanded again.

“It was a memory I think,” you whispered. “I saw you, Cross. In the snow.” Crosshair held your gaze for a moment, then he turned on his heel without a word and headed in the direction of the house. You didn’t care, you were relieved he was here, warm and breathing, with a healthy colour to his skin.

“Are you ok, Stitch?” Omega inquired nervously.

“Yes, I’m fine,” you reassured her. “Go with him.” She nodded and went follow Crosshair.

Tech waited for Omega to be far enough away before he spoke. “You have had that vision before.”

“I have?”

“We were on a mission to Vanguard Axis. You experienced a vision of Crosshair in the snow and your body temperature dropped inexplicably quickly. Very much, like this.”

“I couldn’t wake him up.” You shivered again, Tech’s hand moved automatically moving to settle comfortingly between your shoulder blades.

“It was just a vision. Crosshair is here and as fractious as ever.”

Tech guided you towards the ship, letting you use him as support when your cold legs struggled to walk properly. He had called it a vision, but you knew it was a memory. A memory that wasn’t yours until you had accidentally stepped into it.

“Omega said the word snow.”

“She did,” Tech confirmed, easing you into a seat in the cockpit.

“And then I was somewhere else.”

“Physically, you were still here,” he pointed out.

“Tech,” you grabbed his forearm, feeling the tendons beneath flex with his movement, your breath hitching at the rush of feelings that cascaded from him. “It triggered a memory. Just the word.” His gaze drifted to the side, lifting a hand to tease his goggles back up the bridge of his nose as he thought about what you said. “Is it happening faster?”

“I am not well versed in this area,” he admitted. “It would seem you will continue to experience these episodes until your memories are fully restored.”

“Can I watch the rest of the holos on the journey?” You could feel Tech’s reluctance, the idea of you potentially watching the recordings without him, wasn’t something he’d considered before. But he couldn’t refuse, this was to benefit you after all.

“I have just the thing,” he said with a slight smile. “I need to sync them to my spare datapad. A job I can complete as soon as we are in hyperspace.”

Sounds reached you from outside. Hunter, Crosshair, Wrecker, Omega and Echo were approaching, from the house, pushing crates of supplies towards the ships.

“I should change into the armour. Thank you, again, Tech.”

“Your gratitude is acknowledged and appreciated, Stitch.” Your skin felt too tight, your breaths sounded too loud. Everything was heightened to the point of distraction as you watched him walk away. The cockpit door slid closed and you sighed. It felt like it was all too much, and you were about to be sealed inside a ship with everyone for an unknown amount of time.

You had to get a grip on your memories and on these confused feelings for Tech. Once you remembered every detail, things would be so much clearer.

[yourlocallovesickie]

I saw your doc ock post!!! I also just got into him!!! Ummm idk if you’re still writing but really anything regarding him as the recipient of stuffing, farting, diarrhea, and/or constipation would be great!!! Thank you!!!

(sorry that this is so late! hopefully its worth it, ive been very busy but also writing this on and off for a while. Thank you for the request it was a lot of fun :) enjoy!)

BEFORE YOU READ! This story contains lots of scat, stuffing, and m@sturb*tion, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+ i indulged myself a little more than usual lol

Doc rubbed his stomach, or at least tried with that annoying metal band in the way. He'd definitely never really been skinny, and the suit was designed to fit his body, but after the explosion it seemed to have clamped down onto him, and especially now that he was bloated; rolls of his tummy sticking out from the top and bottom of the belt. His poor stomach was pressing so hard on it the metal was bowing ever-so-slightly. The rubbing didn't help the ache, the only response from his gut being a horrible cramp and gurgle, weeks of trapped gas and waste and now what was probably a weeks-worth of cheap snack food swirling around. Being a super-villain you don't really have the best dietary options and can only really eat what you can steal, and primarily from gas stations unless you want to cause a scene over some steak. Another cramp surged through his intestines and he bent over to give room while he flexed his asshole with a grunt, pushing and pushing until his guts felt like they were going to burst. Nothing. Not even a fart. There had to be some way he could get things going, he'd been stuck in his lair barely making any progress on his generator because of this stupid bellyache, and it only seemed to get worse. But it wasn't like he could just stop eating! Then, he got an idea.

One of his four giant metal actuators crept over to the small fridge in the corner of the room; one of the many things he had invented to accomodate his stay in the ruins of his lab. The actuator opened it, and Otto was happy to find a full carton of milk. He'd gotten a little lactose intolerant as the years went by, not bad just enough to give him a solid case of the runs and some gas for a while, which he would gladly take on for relief. Another cramp shot through his gut, sending a gurgle out through his bowels. Excitedly, he bored down with his hands on his knees and pushed. His asshole gaped open, kissing the insides of his underwear, but again nothing. He groaned and opened the carton, ready to just chug it straight out. He didn't have any clean dishes anyway.

With the fullness in his stomach, which seemed already packed to the brim, the milk was not going down easy. Every few gulps he'd have to let off to calm down the nausea starting to build, and let out a few milky burps that only end up making him feel fuller. If before he was bloated, by half the carton was gone he was huge. His stomach gurgled nonstop, and he sat idly on the ground, milk in hand and a pack of crackers to help it wash down as his stomach expanded around the belt, coming over it on the sides with a red, angry hue. The pain was unbearable. Gurgles and groans that sounded sicker and sicker by the minute filled the room, accompanied with his animalistic grunts and curses as he desperately tried to get something out. He could feel the milk begin to seep into everything he had eaten, and then finally! Moving down his intestine. He could feel the burning inside him, and knew that his next load if it ever came was going to be liquid, but he looked forward to it if it meant he could actually poop. He didn't remember the last time he unloaded but it had definitely been over a week, maybe more. And he was usually a pretty consistent guy.

As the hours went by he had finally finished the jug and now sat on the floor, hands desperately kneading into his stomach as he let out dry burps and moaned through cramps. The milk was starting to run through his system, the pressure that once lie under his belt now pressing against some mass behind his asshole. Crawling on the floor, he threw his ass into the air, uncaring that he was still wearing pants and underwear, and pushed with everything he had. The mass moved maybe a centimeter.

"Come on..." he grunted to himself, and pushed again, feeling all of the hot mush in his rectum push against the hard turd. He was sweating now, teeth grit and eyes screwed shut as he lay unabashedly with his legs spread wide. He guessed he couldnt get anymore embarrassed than this, and two of his metal arms flew down to remove his pants. He hooked his naked legs over his arms and scooted down into place, his other arms steadied himself against the wall, holding him up as he shook and strained. Inch by inch, he could feel the hot liquid shit forcing the mass through his bowels, working him so hard he was breaking a bit of a sweat. "Please--" He grunted as hard as he could, flexing his asshole once more and a small pocket of air around the turd squirted out of him, blasting a jet of hot warm stink onto the floor in front of him.

His guts roiled, pushing desperately to get more out. He grunted and groaned, sounding somewhat primal as his eyebrows furrowed and face turned red in concentration. Several short and slightly damp farts shot out, each one carrying the mass a little more until it was finally resting against his asshole. He took a deep breath before giving it one final push, asshole puckering to reveal the large brown lump inside him, which didn't move. His guts groaned and churned around it, pushing the diarrhea that rest snugly behind it forward and compacting it even harder against the clog in his system. Trapped gas squelched and his eyes were starting to grow wet. Along with the strain, the embarrassment of the situation was very very real, even alone having his naked ass exposed like this felt alien.

The pressure in his stomach got worse, and the bottom of his belly and bowels bloated up, the pressure from the belt creating an even worse pain so bad he felt he would pop. He had to do something, and as another unsuccessful push traveled through his guts he grew desperate. His legs hiked up farther, and one arm came down to rest by his ass, hesitating. Was he really about to do this?

Gggrrgllgg... His stomach answered him, twisting in an agonizing affirmation, and his asshole was forced open another time. His fingers ventured inside, the rim wet and soft from forcing out what little gas he could, and lubing itself up to prepare for what was cooking in his guts. His middle finger slipped inside, and the foreign sensation made it feel like he was already messing himself, but he quickly found the log blocking said fate. It was hard and round inside him, stretching past the walls of his colon and stopping him up good. He knew there was no way he would be able to fit his fingers around the turd to pull it out, so instead he resigned to breaking it up. The sensation of having his fingers stuffed in his own ass, literally about to dig the shit out had already given him quite a tall erection, and he used some of the precum beginning to spit out of his cock as lube before venturing back into his hole.

The sensations were incredible; the pressure of his diarrhea crammed up behind the monster of a log he was currently dismantling, the sexuality of his fingers sliding in and out of his own butt, his massive erection steadily pumping thick hot precum out on his thighs... Even the actuators began to purr and click as they held his position on the floor for him. 20-30 minutes passed and the log was finally venturing closer and closer to the exit, now in still very large but easier to push out chunks. Sliding his finger out from his ass one last time, giving his aching belly and encouraging pat, and moaning out an even more encouraging grunt, Otto began pushing again. His asshole bloomed open, sore and irritated, and he could feel several large knobs of solid feces begin sliding out, fast. Wet farts forced themselves out, pushing his turds to go even faster until one exceptionally juicy fart was plugged by a soft, wet 'ppllrrfffbbt' as his asshole stretched around the first turd. His stomach groaned, the belt forcing even more pressure than he was applying as a hard, slippery shit shot from his asshole, letting out a series of wet sharts that stained the dark floor of his lair with a muddy brown. The turd fell on the floor, resting beneath his asscheeks with a soft noise unheard over the crackling of the rest of his load and his grunting. His face was certainly red from the struggle, and sweat rolled down his face as he filled the room with animalistic moans. His hole didn't even have time think about closing to rest before two more turds were forcing their way out, nudging over the first one to make room in their pile on the floor.

The bottom of Otto's asscheeks were smeared a dirty brown, and the whole room smelled of shit, an odd turn-on the physicist found as another hot smelly jet of farts covered the pile. The pressure was slightly better, but his stomach roiled and bowels moaned, and he knew he was nowhere close to finished. The next load that slid out of his hole was significantly softer and more malleable, pockets of chunky brown liquid sliding out the sides of each piece of mushy shit. The release was incredible; more than a weeks worth of waste all forcing its way out of him at once. As his asshole bloomed harder, forcing a small spurt of shit that began a trickling stream of thick diarrhea, he took one hand to his hard cock. Slowly, he began pumping it, and his moans of pain and grunts of relief turned into those of pleasure.

By this time he was having full on diarrhea, the milk having degraded all of the shit in his body to a thick, chunky liquid like a chowder. His legs were raised in the air, asshole on full display as it worked, the lips blooming open to kiss out more disgusting mud. The sounds were much louder and wetter, his farts becoming more frequent and intense, blasting chunk after chunk of poop all over the floor in front of him, going feet past the huge pile he'd created. Each wet noise from his body send a throbbing wave of arousal through his cock and stroked up the base, sending him closer and closer to coming, but he had more to go.

His ass squirted steadily for about 3 or 4 minutes, and by the time it finally tapered down his poor abused hole felt like fire. He actually had to push to get the final chunks out; mostly just degraded sludge and loud, hot farts. His stomach felt empty, a welcome feeling considering the past week and more of pain, and he realized how hungry he actually felt. Looking down at his pile, or more a smear, of poo he thought about how full he'd felt, and how bloated. All of that having been stored up inside him, brewing and going soft in his rectum. The idea sent him over the edge. At the same time the very last slippery turd slid out of his butt into the shitcastle, his cock throbbed and thick, hearty ropes of cum spurted out of it, adding what appeared to be whipped cream to a hot fudge sundae. With one last, airy fart splitting open his asscheeks, he laid down completely on the floor beside his pile, absolutely exhausted. One of his actuators crawled up, almost seeming embarrassed as it presented him a napkin, and upon his go-ahead, slinked around his legs to wipe up his ass. It was beyond disgusting, coated in diarrhea and would definitely smell awful for a while, as would the rest of his lair. He just hoped it wouldn't hinder him too much as so he couldn't focus on his project, now that he could finally get back to it.

[honeekyuu]

hi honey! im sending this to ask you how you decided that you wanted to pursue a PHD. im thinking of getting a phd in economics because I’ve always been super interested, but im not sure if that’s the path for me yet. what do you think are some pros and cons to getting one and how did you know that this was the right path for you??

-b.

hi!!! omg wow what a question. i will say first that everyones phd experience looks a little different, so i can talk ab mine but definitely take it with a grain of salt!!

i knew i wanted to do a phd because 1) i love being in school, and 2) while i was getting my B.A in linguistics, i had a lot of questions that were higher level and more specific than my undergrad classes could really get into. I also worked as a research assistant to a professor in the East Asian Languages and Civilizations dept for about 3 years, and she was my closest mentor and advisor in that time. she was a korean historian, and she encouraged me to keep studying something related to korean, because that had been my specialization of sorts when it came to choosing classes and research projects. i had a feeling around that time that i wanted to go on to a graduate program of some sort.

after i finished undergrad, i took a year off to figure my life out, and in that time, i worked one on one with a professor in the Linguistics dept at my undergrad for about 9-10 months. under her guidance, i wrote what would have essentially been a masters thesis about korean linguistics, and i knew in that time that i wanted that paper to be the paper i submitted to phd programs.

i think there are a few things to consider when thinking ab a phd:

phds are extremely individual research focused. my program doesnt offer a terminal master's degree (it's included within the phd program as a milestone), but phds are NOT like "undergrad 2.0". ive seen a number of people make that mistake in my program, focusing only on coursework and waiting for their advisor to give them research to do. im not sure how econ works, but in ling, we're thrown straight off the deep end into research. im only a 3rd year, and my master's degree research project was accepted into the top korean linguistics conference in the world, which is 100% a FLEX but also this is only happening because my advisors are cutthroat research gods who pushed pushed pushed me from the very first day. so please be aware that phds are very self-driven. you need the motivation to work on your own for long periods of time.

some people think a phd is a lonely experience. i think it certainly can be, because everyone is working on their own hyper-specific research project, but it's also very important for that reason to have friends. my closest friend in the department is 3 years above me, and we only became friends because i arrived screaming crying throwing up with fear and anxiety ab my work and he literally clocked me as the kid who needed the most emotional grounding LMAO. my other closest friend was literally my research assistant. he was an undergrad. but he was my age (korean military service delays college quite a lot, it seems), so once his contract w me was up, it turned into us helping him apply for grad schools too!! and now the four of us (them + my partner) have weekly stardew valley screaming sessions on discord and saturday brunch with animal crossing. it's not lonely, and i think that's because i knew it would be if i didnt make friends.

i think ill say one more thing before i stfu. grad school is hard. it's so so hard. please be aware of that. some days im drowning in mental health issues and fearing even a chance encounter in the hall with my advisors because i know theyll ask about something i havent gotten done yet. sometimes im literally sobbing on my couch, overwhelmed beyond belief wondering if i can do this. sometimes i become self-destructive and isolated and so terribly unwell that my mom starts calling my partner because i wont pick up the phone. it's fucking hard. but it's also the happiest ive ever been, truly. the really really hard days are worth it, because the really good days or even just the decently good days are much more frequent and amazing. running down the hall to avoid my advisor seeing me is worth it because, when things are good, he invites me to coffee and we spend 2+ hours talking about my future. he tells me he pushes me because he knows i can do what needs to be done and change the field. he makes my life hell because, once im through it, no one else could ever question the quality of my work and the job market is going to be so beautiful once i get there. i started grad school a nervous wreck with terribly low self-esteem who thought that my research could never cut it or be interesting enough. im barely going into my 3rd year, and ive been broken down and reformed into the kind of person i used to look up to, by my own sheer willpower to be the strongest i can be. im not afraid to fail anymore, because ive failed a million times in the last 2 years. im not afraid to fuck up, because ive fucked up so many times, in front of the two people who hold my future in their hands, and im still here. grad school is worth it to me because im the version of myself that the me from undergrad would never believe exists.

[bonnvivre]

a funny thing- ch 24/25 word dump

WUAHAHAHA 4AM BABEY YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS

i’ve been cookin low and slow with this one and i mean real slow like. too slow . as in 2 weeks later whoops

this one’s a real doozy so grab a snack

FIRST PAGE ON THE GOSUKU TAG WHEN YOU SORT BY KUDOS LETS GOOOOOOO major rweiser W

———————————————

ch 24

thinking abt yuuji flying down the sidewalk and megumi becoming the equivalent of a flag whipping behind him pls yuuji not everyone can keep up 😭

fred says fuck

mmmmmm crunchy cookies i love me some egg shell

yeah with cooking, you can play around with the measurements and adjust along the way, but baking is whole different beast :[ i made creme brulee for our new year dinner, my first time baking actually, and i was terrified the entire process cus one wrong step and its over (they turned out good in the end, though i wanted to leave it in the fridge longer) 

sukuna and uraume on the same wavelength love that

daww megumi just be a kid its okay 

gojo’s nicknames for toji PLS father-fushi and fraidy-guro

hehehe he technically called sukuna pretty ,, i agree

LMAOOOOO AINT NO WAYY OFC HE SABOTAGED HIM 

i feel like toji would actually do well in getting sales (if he had the proper cookies) considering he’s “a pro at freeloading off women” which leads me to believe he’s got hella charisma . 

“Fushiguro stops just before the table, one hand balled into a fist so tight, the muscles of his arm are easy to see, flexing dangerously beneath his skin.” uwwheheheerhfbud sorry

OH SHT THE GIRLIES ARE FIGHTING YOOOOOOOO AND SUKUNA JUMPING IN FOR GOJO ???? in front of the kids in a school fundraiser is crazy lmao

pinky

gojo taking bets on who’s gonna win reminded me of mei mei betting on the gojo-sukuna fight

i had a crazy amount of secondhand embarrassment going thru that hhhhhh yknow that feeling when you just wanna curl up and cover ur eyes and you’re fighting to even look back ? yeaaaaa

“Hurting people is bad. And you’re not bad!” ohh yuuji ughhh he has no idea of what sukuna was before, that he’s done more than hurt people .. children really only see the side of their parents that they’ve allowed to show them. it’s why kids usually think the highest of them, so yuuji saying that sukuna’s not bad gets me cus he’s known and seen only the best of him. but it makes me feel gooey inside cus, while everyone else sees the former king of curses, yuuji sees his dad and when he does eventually find out, he’ll still always be his dad before anything else (does this make sense i hope it makes sense im trying to make my thoughts coherent)

oh hey they’re talking abt it !

I GASPED OH MY GOD PLEAS EOLASOE APLEAS EPLAS EPALEAPSLEAPSH NOOOOOOOOO FFGGHGBBVV HITTING MY BED GRFGHJVNGRRAAGGHHFEG

im being tortured i thinj you’re trying to kill me here this is the worst case of edging ive ever had in my life (no not like that) 

post-chapter notes:

IM ALREAYD RIOTING YASTOP BLUE BALLING ME

id read real housewives of jujutsu sorcery

————————————

ch 25

GRADE 1 ?? AS IN ONE ?? AS IN  O N E  ?? AS IN, YUUJI IS NO LONGER A PRESCHOOLER

when you said small time-skip, i thought you meant a few months later . i was wrong

aight time to update the time board: yuuji’s in first grade so he’s 6 yrs old, we’re in 2013 now (i think), gojo is 24 yrs old  23 yrs old (chap takes place during summer, bday not passed yet)

it’s 2013, he can get a 3ds now :D im gonna get him on smash bros . OR KID ICARUS UPRISING IT SHOULD BE OUT ALREADY

they should totally name the potential pet after me (jk)

OKAYYYY THATS A START HE KISSED HIM ON THE HEAD !! WE’RE GETTING SOMEWHERE :O now go lower. preferably on the li

oh yeah yeah definitely not together whatever helps you sleep at night man

im gonna need the bad bitches birthday bash one-shot someday with the way shoko’s bringing it up

the fact gojo’s heard the threat so many times before that he can finish it and brush it off

CANDY CRUSH  !!?!??

AWWWWWW THATS ADORABLE ;____; sukuna wanting to do something to surprise gojo’s first day as a teacher and yuuji suggesting to make a cake cus he knows his daddy loves sweets AND they spent the whole day prepping awawawawaw so cutee

they called on uraume for help too LOL poor them 

yuuji being a snitch HA i can’t help but think of my siblings

you can’t be serious gojo, not after that? people also don’t usually sleep and cuddle the homies cmon man

mother is mothering and mother is leading the herd (no but i love how he adapted to the role very easily, likely to prior experience)

whuh the fundraiser was last year ? am i overthinking the timeframe … ok im back after going thru the calendar that makes sense 👍 carry on wait hold on first semester of first grade ended so they’re on break ... summer break ?? unless this is going off of a different schooling system (oh yeah duh japan lol)

ohhh please let them meet mama-guro i can imagine the absolute shock on their faces trying to comprehend how someone like toji managed to marry someone like her 😭 bonus points if toji is much more softer around her too and the sheer whiplash of seeing him having ANY sort of loving side is enough to send gosuku into a spiral

“It’s exactly the type of thing Sukuna would never be caught dead wearing, which means Satoru must do all in his near-infinite power to make him wear it.” real

THESE THREE ARE RIDICULOUS LMAOOOOOO sorry kids your fathers are busy trying to one-up each other

“But, then again, these are just go-karts; how much damage could he really do?” famous last words before disaster

oh no

hey sukuna’s living life at least he’s having fun and that’s all that matters 🥰

not the pyramid projectiles

CONICAL AMMO !?$&7)-)26 MARIO KART IRL GONE WRONG oh my god its too late for this i need to sleep

OH MY GOD ?????? 

WHADDYA MEAN THEY’RE GONE ??????

post chap notes:

what just happened

no really what jusr happened

the amount of times i’ve said oh my god throughout the entire go-kart scene i was clutching my pearls

he recreates his reign in the silliest ways, all while wearing nice little red bow :3

nah i get it the entire first arc was dedicated to how messed up he was abt suguru so i understand the doubts but they’ve also near kissed multiple times .. unless they were super down with kissing the homies 

“I sure hope nothing bad has happened to them...” STOP

[faranae]

Rant incoming: Hands (CW: health stuff)

Pardon the ramble. I'm just trying to rubber duck a bit, maybe get some of this fear under control. It helps sometimes, I think.

The EMG didn't find any damage, but it's getting worse.

Sometimes my hand will shake, but only when I go to do something that involves finer control or if my arm is extended; Holding a sandwich? No shakes. Reach to pick up my water bottle? Wobble. Hold a pen? No shakes. Go to *write* with the pen? It's not like shivering; It feels like trying to fight the force of holding the wrong sides of two magnets together.

Thankfully that only happens during really bad flare-ups.

On very bad days I can't flex my hand or rotate my wrist without setting off these tiny shocks of pain. My knuckles on both hands will feel tender like they've been over-used, though far milder on the left side.

When it's bad, I can actually poke (gently!) along part of my upper arm and send shocks through it. If I lift my arm at the right angle and tension, I can set it off all the way from my armpit down past my elbow depending on the day.

A portion of the underside of my arm a bit bigger than my palm gets touch-sensitive sometimes too. It's a similar cold tingle to that one time the nurse mucked up putting in my IV a few years back: I was cold and tingly in that spot on and off for weeks. This is a different spot though, and only lasts a few hours at a time.

I don't understand. I'm doing the nerve flossing and stretches. I changed my workspace setup. I sleep with my arms straight as much as possible. Even my weight is finally stabilizing a bit, after so many years! They said those should help, not make it worse. If it's even related, and not just coincidental timing?

Between this escalating and the ear issue now actively impairing my hearing, I'm terrified. Every time one thing starts getting better my body finds a new way to betray me. All these visits to my GP across town and following their recommendations on what to take or buy or change have drained what little savings I had.

I have to keep my head on straight, goddammit.

I'm so fucking scared.

[mystical-salamander]

I'd love to hear about Flower of my Eye!!!

Sure, no problem!

This is a silly fic idea that spawned from a drawing I drew of Kallus being absolutely starstruck from Zeb wearing a rose on his ear.

During a morning walk on Yavin IV, Kallus finds a rose bush and after cutting one of the roses out, he decides to gift it to Zeb. Unfortunately for him, he had no idea what a wonderful sight it would be and how much it would affect him.

Another fic that I have a good chunk done of, so here's a sneak peak:

—

It wasn't until he spotted Zeb practicing with his bo-rifle– alone, thankfully, nobody to be an audience– did his mind finally catch up with his actions.

What was he doing?

It was juvenile. A thing only children and teenagers would do for a first time crush. And he and Zeb had been in a relationship for a few years. And yet, his feet continued to trod on towards Zeb, ignoring his thoughts.

Kallus casually– or as casually as he could be with his heart trying to burst out of his chest– walked up to Zeb, hiding the rose behind his back. He consciously controlled his grip on the delicate flower lest he accidentally destroyed it in his anxious mindset.

Zeb had no reason to be suspicious of him, after all, it wasn't unusual to see him standing in this position. It was something the Empire had beat into the heads of every Imperial officer and a habit he had yet to break.

Why was he so nervous?

He stood a fair distance. Where Zeb's bo-rifle wouldn't clip him in any way and waited patiently for Zeb to finish. He watched his muscles flexing and drops of sweat fly off as he swung his weapon around. His fur seemed to perfectly catch the sun's rays– or perhaps the rays twisted themselves so they could be caught by Zeb's fur. He wouldn't be surprised if somehow the universe bent itself backwards for Zeb, after all he did.

[baddieladdie]

Traveling with Nick Valentine - Part V

Part IV

Part III

Part II

Part I

18+ Series

- The deadly silent streets of Nahant -

Nick Valentine and the Sole Survivor leave the Sheriff's Department, retracing their steps back to the rest of the Commonwealth

“This seems pretty far off the beaten path if you ask me.” Nick observed, walking through the empty remains of the coastal town.

“And that’s why it’ll be perfect!” The joy in Nora’s voice was contagious, coaxing a small smile from his lips.

“Alright, I’ll bite. Why are you so interested in a driveway? Could just be another street.”

“But what if it’s not?” Nora skipped gleefully. “Preston mentioned there was a spectacular house in Nahant. I’ve seen a few buildings here but I haven’t seen anything ‘spectacular’. And you know I’ve been looking for a place of my own!”

“Why not Home Plate? You paid good money for that place, kid.”

“That tiny apartment? Come on, Nick! I really only got that so I could spend more time with you in Diamond City?”

“Is that so?” Nick smirked, awkwardly scratching his neck.

“Well, it’s good for trading too,” Nora blushed, changing the subject. “Getting supplies. And uh.” She paused. “There’s no heavy memories either. It’s new to me. Well, Diamond City is.”

“Yeah…I picked up on that while we were in Sanctuary Hills. Y ou seemed pretty shaken up. I don’t blame ya, not one bit. Looking at what remains of your life before any of this.” Nick exhaled the pressure from his chest. He knew that feeling himself, having woken up in that fateful dumpster so many years ago. They walked in silence for sometime, more and more trees popping up as they walked along. 

“Who do you think actually won the war? Nobody, I guess.” Nora nodded solemnly in agreement. The remnants of the coastal road veered sharply to the right, up a steep hill. Nick couldn’t make out anything between the trees. Shrouded Mansion, eh? Fitting name. 

“Alright, this looks like the spot. Ready for a closer look, icicle?” Nora laughed her somber aura away. It’s been a long while since Nicky called her by that nickname he gave her when they first met. He told her she was his favorite icicle, freshly thawed from cryo units of Vault 111.

Nora pants heavily, resting on the stairs of the mansion, her gun in her lap.

Nick leans against a post, screwdriver in hand already making some slight repairs

“Preston told you about this place?” Valentine frowned at the ghoul bodies that now littered the mansion's front yard. Bigger buildings usually come with some residents. In the Commonwealth, they’re typically not friendly. But there were a lot of damn ghouls… Anyone you walk away from .

“Uh-huh” Nora gasped out between labored breaths.

“Did he mention the company?” Nick gestured with his screwdriver at the pile of bodies before them.

“Uh, he might have said something about some locals, figured there were some settlers here who needed help.”

“Remember, the devil’s in the details.” He pocketed the tool, flexing the frame of his mechanical hand. “I better take a look around, make sure there aren’t any more surprises.” 

Nora followed behind him, popping pieces of crispy squirrel bits every so often. “I expect tourism’s dried up substantially with those damn ferals.” Nick scanned the surroundings one more time, searching for any sign of danger. “It's hard to believe anything that was once human could be so vicious. But - it looks like we got them all.”

  Wait - Where’s Nora? Nick spun around, tie swaying. She was just here!

“Nicky!” Her familiar voice called out from the rocky cliffs far from the carport he stood under. “Look at that view!” Nora gasped in delight. The sun setting below the horizon setting the sky ablaze. The dark outline of the church bell tower against the orange colored sky left him speechless. “And it’s practically a lake front property!” She leaned over the cliff’s edge to get a better view of the waves of cold, salty irradiated water splashed upon the massive rocks below. Sea foam lapping at the coast/beach/sandy front.

“Woah, now!” Valentine wrapped an arm around her waist, preventing her from leaning any further. “If you wanna go down there, I’m sure those rocks at the bottom would break your fall.”

“Nick!”

He chuckled at her reaction, smiling back at her.

“Just teasin’, love. Care to take a look inside?” Nick offered, ready to escape the stench of irradiated water.

Nora and Nick explore the remaining structure of the Mansion. Some walls intact, others not so much.

But the sheer size and remote location has Nora in a tizzy

“Quite a locale,” Nick nodded, prodding at a broken bureau. “ Gonna take a lotta elbow grease to clean this place up.”

“Get a load of THIS place!” Nora opened the double-door to the elaborate dining room with gusto. “I could never afford to live in a house this nice, but look at me now!” She shouted, whiskey bottles in hand. “I could put a kitchen here, and the dining room is right there. Ooh! And I could set up a guest room upstairs. There is so much I can do here!”

“Heh, glad to see you so happy, dove.”

Would he still see her on the regular? The mansion was a day's journey from Diamond City. Nora had spent weeks practically tied to his hip, cracking the mystery of the Institute. He had the great pleasure of helping her learn to navigate the brave new world she was thrust into. Nick had no shortage of good memories together. He couldn’t imagine a future without her there beside him. 

“Everything alright, Nick?” Nora asked, pausing by the staircase.

“Oh, nothing you can’t fix.” He flirted with a wink. Nora hid her blushing rosy cheeks with the side of her hand, but it was always her emerald eyes that gave her feelings away. You could always tell how she was doing, if you knew where to look. Valentine looked into those eyes often, but more often than not, was surprised to see them brimming with joy when they met his. 

“In that case, let’s see what mysteries lie below." Nora began descending the stairs, hips swaying.

T hat vault suit doesn't leave much to the imagination. He thought to himself in admiration. She wears it quite well. 

"curses." Nora jiggled the door handle. "Locked. You got a bobby pin on ya, Nicky?"

"If I got it," Nick rummaged around the deep pockets of his trench coat, feeling for the familiar object. "Ah, there you go."

"Thanks. I knew I could count on you~" Nora crouched down, eye level with the lock.

"Anything you need, I'm-"

click

"Oh. You're almost too good at that. Maybe I need to upgrade the locks at the agency."

Nora pushed the door open, only to be immediately tackled to the ground by a feral ghoul

"Shit!" Nick grabbed the tattered clothing, yanking the ghoul off Nora - freeing her to escape from the teeth that came so close to her neck. She jumped to her feet, pushing rounds into her trusty Le Fusil Terribles shotgun.

The sound of Nick's pistol blasting the ghoul's head clean off echoed off the walls of the concrete basement, blood splattering the damp walls. "Keep your eyes peeled, we may not have seen the last of 'em."

"Right." Nora nodded. The light from her pip-boy reflected off the surface of the flooded basement. One, maybe two feet of water covered the cluttered concrete shelter. Whoever that feral once was, likely wasn't alone.

The sound of moaning and sloshing came from the dark shadows before them.

"You hear that?" Nick froze.

"Yeah, I don't like that sound of that. Not one bit." Nora stopped beside him, trying to spot the source of the movement in the darkness. "I can't see a thing..."

Nick leaned down slightly, whispering in Nora's ear. "Try to draw 'em out to the light. You still got a molotov on ya?" 

"Yea..?" Nora silently pulled one from her bag, her heart beating out her chest. 

"Burn the sucker." Nick passed her his lighter. "There's only one way out and we're blocking it. Be ready."

"Okay." Nora held the light to saturated cloth. "1...2...3!"

The flames were so viciously bright, Nora's human eyes couldn't adjust in time, blinded. She stumbled backwards against the viscous water. "Nick! I can't -" She cried out, feeling herself lose her footing on the slippery floor.

SPLASH

"Nora!" Nick shouted, splashing through the knee deep water to get between whatever was coming their way and her. He cocked his pistol, both hands firmly on the grip.

The quiet sloshing of bodies moving through water became a thunderous echo of 2 distinct inhuman screams. One feral, racing through the water on all fours, leaped for his face. Taking the opportunity, Nick fired a shot straight through the ghoul's chest. "Not exactly subtle, pal."

BAM BAM

With a mighty splash, a second ghoul body fell by Nick's side - water drenching his sleeves. 

"Guess we're even."

"Not bad," Nicky offered a hand to hoist Nora back to her feet and out of the questionable basement water. "Not bad at all."

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

“You alright? I think I just heard my rad counter cry for mercy.” Nick could suck down a lot of rads as a synth. Nora's more supple, pre-war body couldn't hold up long in such conditions. Standing water was almost always a hot spot for high radiation.

“Yeah. I’m fine, can’t say the same about those ghouls.” The bodies floated weightless in the knee deep water; oozing green irradiated blood. Nora grabbed an extra Radaway dosage just to be safe.

“They won't be bothering anybody now.” Nick shrugged absentmindedly, his skeletal hand lazily drifting over the clutter left on the bookshelf.

“Hey Nick,” Nora called from behind a wall.

“Yea?” He responded, flipping through a wrinkled magazine, trying to make out any of the words.

“This damn..UGH!” The frustration in her voice caught his attention; he put the magazine down. “This fuckin' terminal won’t let me in!”

“These old terminals can be real finicky. If you ask nicely, I bet I could get it to spill its guts.”

“You want me to beg?” She eyed him.

“I want you to ask me nicely.”

“Nick. Please, the terminal?”

“Try again.”

“Nicky, my Valentine, please take a look at the terminal? For me?”

“Done. All you had to do was ask”

“Ugh, you’re such a tease” Nora couldn’t hid her smile.

“Goodness. They've got this locked down tighter than a..." Nick lowered himself to the chair, focusing carefully on the fuzzy green text on the humming screen. "hmm," Nick sucked in a breath. "Maybe - Ah! There we go.” His golden yellow eyes scanned the message left on the abandoned terminal. A body floated by. A ghoul. One viciously ripped apart, one that had not turned feral.

"It ain’t good, dove. Maybe it’s best if you don’t see this.”

“What do you mean?” Nora leaned on him, reading over his shoulder. The terminal cast a subtle green light on them in the dark, musty basement.

“Oh god. Those were his family. They killed him.” Nora gasped, not daring to look at the body floating next to her.

“He’s probably the only one in the commonwealth who attempted to rehabilitate a feral ghoul.”

Nora took a deep breath, “Probably was a rough transition. Luxury to this apocalyptic hellscape. Knowing the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork won’t keep you alive.”

“Yeah. I got the cop, Nick Valentine, to thank for that. You got Military training from before the war."  He gently rested a hand on her arm. "Not everyone can be so lucky."

“Let’s go, I can’t take this any more.”

The bottom of his trench coat wet from the water they waded through, it dragged behind him dripping as they left the basement in woeful silence.

*Nick standing in the ghouls way to protect Nora like*

ANyWay - This was a pleasure to write~ As always, you can view the AO3 link right here (that's where I publish first!)

ah - good stuff. There's still one more chapter I want to write and then its back to the Thane FanFic I was working on earlier this year <3

[eskawrites]

yooooo background on the charmed au

okay so! this is very hard because robin, max, and el have extremely different backgrounds so figuring out how to 1) make them sisters and 2) figure out the rest of the inciting incident of charmed is wild. so details incredibly subject to change if i ever actually write this but basically!

Little baby Jane Ives was taken away from her family by a warlock? demon? mortal who just wants to take advantage of the supernatural? who knows what Brenner is but he's here and he's kidnapping kids and breaking families

Terry Ives breaks into the lab to get her youngest daughter back, and Brenner arrests her and puts her through electroshock therapy, leaving her mind too broken to use her powers anymore. she gets put in a mental institution, tell the police she died, and her daughters never see her again

to protect Terry's daughters, someone (joyce? the aunt? idk) casts a spell stripping them of their powers. that way Brenner doesn't go after Max and Robin, and they can grow up somewhat normally.

Max remembers none of this. Robin only barely remembers it--the clearest memory she has is her mother telling her to take care of Max while she's gone. so Robin has been taking care of her ever since. and, in that vein, she has never told Max their mother is still alive, or even that she has a little sister out there somewhere. baby Jane is probably dead, anyway. and their mother is locked away in an asylum--she's as good as dead, too.

flash forward however many years to when all the girls are adults. Brenner somehow unlocked Eleven's powers when she was a kid and has been using her as a weapon/spy/whatever ever since. until the day she escapes the lab and chases down the few small details she knows

she meets up with Terry somehow, and like in the show, her mom sends her toward her lost sisters

so that's how Eleven shows up on Max and Robin's doorstep, soaked to the bone, swinging the door open without touching it and calling them both "sister."

Max is freaked out. Robin is in denial. Brenner is still after Eleven. chaos ensues from there

and, just bc i love this dumb lil story too much and it's the theme of the day, here's a lil recent snippet:

“Who’s they?” Max asks. “And what powers?”

“The bad men. And…these.” Eleven fixes her gaze on the photo of Max and Robin. She raises her arm and flexes her fingers.

The photo begins to rise.

[m3x00]

『Inner Society. ★』

(Welcome, Louvadre Rodriguez. ) ♣︎~

September 3rd, 2015. 】

....

"LOUVADRE RODRIGUEZ!!"

[The professor yelled at the student, who was scribbling her 'nonsensical theories' all over the board, as per usual. She was highly theoretical, intelligent in being logical and just pure authority.]

She would then turn around only to be met with the piercing gaze of her own science professor, a man who she assisted well during her days in this academy. She was silent...Not uttering a single word before going back too sorting out her theories. The professor fumed with rage just too see her dismiss him completely like that, he has no patience especially for a academic rebel like her.

In response, he slammed his fist onto the table and spat right in her face:

"Listen you little rascal! Ive spent 27 years just trying too get this school too listen just this once, and you are just like everyone else!! ALL YOU EVER DO IS WRITE DOWN NONSENSICAL THEORIES AND NOT YOUR DAMN ASSIGNMENTS YOU LAZY FAILURE!!!"

That was what made her finally, for once, look at him with interest. Her head instantly snapped towards his direction at the mere mention of "you are just like everyone else", coincidentally enough she was on a theory on how...Everyone is just the same. Regardless of gender, personality or behaviour...On the inside, what if were all truly the same people? All those thoughts began too run through her head after that mention..

She couldn't help but smirk after that before she decided too stop writing and face him fully, even the Professor himself is taken aback as Louvadre Rodriguez herself doesn't tend to show interest so easily..

"Please sir...As you were saying? You get me don't you? Do you...Understand what my point is?"

She spoke with that heavy Italian accent just lingering in her tone...Her smile that indicates interest and.. Pure mischief. That's Louvadre for him...A girl who grew up wealthy and got everything her way just by pure REBELLION.

The professor couldn't help but raise his eyebrow at her bold behaviour, he crossed his arms and glared at her through his glasses, clearly not pleased with her behaviour.

He eventually decided too reply and leaned against the table as well, rubbing his temple due too the exhaustion she has caused him as soon as he steps foot into this academy.

"Look..Louvadre, I understand your theory...But will this do you any good? You've been staying back with me in my office just RANTING on theories...What's the purpose?"

He spoke in a professional tone, eventually realising his anger getting the best of him once again. All he could do was stare at her with confusion and seriousness, he clearly admires her theoretical ambition but was puzzled on why...Would she want too know the answer too this question?

"Fascinating girl" he thought too himself...He could never understand her yet feels like he knows her very well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~★★★~~~~~~~~~

Days go by, exams were close.

Louvadre is indeed an academic achiever...But in order too pass on she must pass every subject my all means. She was in this university for 3 years, failing continuously on a specific subject...MATHS.

It was 2 am in the morning, sun wasn't up. Louva was staying up thing too study and revise back on her maths..Clearly, she was struggling. She would stare at the book and was lost in a mayhem of words and numbers.

She yawned and gave up eventually, laying back onto her as she decides what too do next...

『Rumors had it...That she was a $tripper as well. Part time, that was. She had a body, a one any men would go feral over. Every step her hips swayed, every stretch her body flexed, every lean her back archs too perfection, people even called her aprhodites blessing for such features...Even on a few occasions, her own science professor was caught staring at her...Too intently.』

[roxiestranger19]

The Laundromat

(a little thing i wrote using made up characters- inspired by all the gym girlies on my feed)

The bell rang and my eyes shot up from my dark corner of the floor, lit only by the Walmart sign across the road, to see none other than Reid Parker walk through the door. When Taylor said I could come in after the closing time to do my laundry, I assumed I would be the only one here but apparently not.

“‘Sup dude, Taylor let you in too?” Reid asks. I roll my eyes so far in the back of my head that I think I gave myself a headache.

“Yeah, he did. I thought I had exclusive access.” 

“Oh, it’s you.” He opens a washer and dumps in way too many clothes. “How do you know him?”

“The gym.”

“You go to the gym?” He asks.

“Yes, I do, actually.” I smile sarcastically and go back to my phone. 

“Okay, geez,” He closes the lid and leans against the machine. “Maybe if you wore anything other than baggy sweatshirts and sweatpants I’d be able to tell.”

“Yeah, I dont wear clothes to please men so, sorry to disappoint.” He clicks his tongue.

“Did your girlfriend break up with you or something?” I glare at him with murder behind my eyes. What did he just say?

“First of all, I'm straight, and second, I don’t remember asking for your opinion.” He looks a bit stunned and I eternally praise myself for my amazing comeback. 

“Ain’t no way you’re straight.” 

“Why are you questioning my own sexuality?” I ask.

“Because literally everyone thinks you’re a lesbian.” I think he thought that that would surprise me but I’ve been told that I’m gay since eighth grade and Ive given up on correcting people, except for this time. I dont mind being compared to lesbians. I'm ashamed to be attracted to men.

“Okay, and?” 

“Doesn’t that bother you?” He asks. 

“Not really.” I go back to scrolling through TikTok.

“Then why do you dress like a guy?” I throw my head back and groan.

“Why do you care?”

“Because. Don’t you wanna show off all your hard work?” 

“I don't, actually,” I say.

“I’m just saying.” He turns around and unscrews the detergent lid, “If I went to the gym enough to know Taylor, which I do, I’d show off.” I cringe at the excessive amount of detergent he pours on top of the mountain of clothes. 

“I'm not an attention seeker like you are.” I glance up at him. 

“Being proud of yourself is different than doing it for attention.” He lets the lid fall closed, creating a loud bang that resonates through the empty Laundromat. 

“Whatever,” I mumble. I don't want to talk to him anymore. There have been a few times where I want to literally flex on everyone, show the people what I do five times a week, but I haven't worn short sleeves in almost three years. Besides my ex, Isaac, no one has seen my arms. I don't know why I make it such a big deal. I got nothing but compliments from him. If I didn't care from the beginning then I wouldn’t have anything to be scared of now. I blame it on not wanting the attention or experiencing the terrible feeling of everyone looking at me, but I think it’s starting to become deeper than that. I check my timer and there’s still twenty minutes left. Reid has been counting coins for way too long and I think I saw him squinting to see the numbers engraved on a coin that I can tell is a quarter from all the way across the room. He finally puts it in the machine and sits on top of it. 

“So what brings you here at this fine hour?” he asks. While slightly less annoyed now that I've had a few moments of silence, his presence still irks me. 

“Peace and quiet and no ones gonna throw out my shit to put theirs in,” I say. 

“Those people are the worst.” He’s definitely one of those people. “So…,” he looks around, “the whole gym thing.”

“No more questions.” 

“What’s your squat PR?”

“I’m not doing this.”

“Whatever, mine's definitely higher,” he brags. Oh, please. His ass is way flatter than mine.

“I dont care.” I dig around for my headphones and put them on, a universal sign that I do not want to talk. I turn on my Rihanna playlist and close my eyes. One minute into “Pon de Replay” I feel something hard hit my face. “What the fuck!” I yell, pulling my headphones off. A penny. Reid threw a penny directly at my forehead and doesnt look in the least bit sorry.

“I'm bored,” he smirks.

“How the hell is that my problem?” I throw the penny back at him but it hits the washer instead and flies in an unknown direction.

“Excellent aim.”

“Shut up.” I put my headphones back on and watch him slide off the washer. His mouth is moving but I can't hear a word he’s saying. “I can’t hear you!” I yell, closing my eyes. Just as I think he has given up I have the feeling that I'm being watched. I slowly open my eyes to find him standing right in front of me, scaring me shitless. “Jesus Christ!” I clutch my heart. He’s bent over laughing. I take my headphones off again. 

“I was standing there for a solid minute before you noticed,” he says breathlessly.

“Stop laughing at me.”

“Only if you do something for me.” I can see the gears turning in his head. 

“Do you not have a phone or something else to entertain yourself with?” 

“Nope.” He sits down criss crossed. God this man is a child. My ten year old cousin is less annoying.

“Well stop harassing me.” I put my headphones back in my bag. 

“What are you going to do about it?” He challenges. I dont have the energy to do anything and I don't know what he wants from me.

“I'll do anything that will make you leave me alone.” I immediately regret what I just said. 

“Anything?” His eyebrows raise.

“No, not anything. Just, what do you want?” He faces me head on and looks me dead in the eye.

“I want you to take off your clothes and post a picture of yourself without wearing that hoodie.” I feel my face heat up and I'm grateful that neither of us bothered to turn the lights on when we came in. I shake my head.  

“Absolutely not.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I haven’t posted on my instagram since freshman year of high school and im not undressing in front of you,” I say. He scoffs.

“Isn’t your account private? Barely any people would see plus, I can’t see shit in here.”

“The point is, I'm not doing it.” I can’t believe he would even ask me to do that. It may not be a big deal to other people but it is to me. Thirst traps are embarrassing and he can definitely still see shapes in here which is already more than what I want him to see. He rolls his eyes.

“Are you embarrassed or something?” he asks. 

“What? No!” I’m not. My body is the thing I'm most proud of and I want to keep it to myself. 

“Then what is going on?” I breathe in deeply.

“I just don't want to post the pictures.”

“So you’d do it?” He perks up.

“No!”

“C’mon please?” he begs. 

“No means no.” He groans dramatically, dragging his hands down his face.  

“Don’t give me that. What if I did something for you?” My interest is peaked.

“Like what?”

“I’ll get Taylor to lower your membership cost,” he says. That would lower my stress a lot. Sure I could go to the school’s gym, but it's always super busy at the times that I like and I wouldn’t be able to do my laundry at night. 

“How do I know if he’ll do it?” I ask. I’m disappointed in myself for even considering it.

“You gotta trust me,” he says. Yeah that’s a no. “You know Taylor would definitely let you in for free. I’m surprised he doesn't already.” He has a point. Taylor isn’t past doing illegal shit. The man’s a drug dealer for christ sake and he tells people how to break into a Laundromat that he doesn't even work at anymore. This is the only reason why I agree. I trust Taylor, not Reid. 

“Fine I’ll take the pictures but I’m not posting them.”

“Hey–,” he starts.

“And you better talk to Taylor or I’ll get your friends to send your embarrassing pictures to the barstool account.”

“Okay, okay. I will.” He starts to stand. 

“Help me up.” I hold out my arm and he grabs and pulls so hard that I think he pulled it out. “Ow, bitch!” I yell and punch him in the shoulder. He stumbles back and I shake out my hand. 

“I cannot wait to see the muscles that were responsible for that.” He holds his shoulder. I roll my eyes but internally, I’m freaking the fuck out. I’ve never been this scared. 

“Turn around,” I tell Reid.

“I literally can barely see you right now.”

“Do you want me to do this or not?” I ask. He stares at me in silence. 

“Fine,” he agrees and turns around. My stomach flips and I definitely shouldn’t have eaten that Taco Bell. I take two deep breaths and pull my crew neck over my head. Thank god I wore one of my better sports bras today.

“Uhh, it’s off,” I say. He starts turning around and I quickly cover myself with my shirt. He looks me up and down and my anxiety spikes. I wish I could see his face but he’s facing away from the windows and he’s right, all I can see are shapes.

“You're gonna need to drop the shirt for the picture anyway so might as well do it now,” he says. I slowly lower my arms, feeling more and more exposed every second. I throw my shirt onto my backpack and stare right at him. His eyes rake over my chest and stomach, making a shiver run through me. “Damn, Izzy,” he steps back, “Your abs are more defined than mine are.” I blush. I feel like the worst feminist on the planet. I’m not supposed to give in to male validation, but it feels so good. 

“Just take the damn pictures, Reid.” He shakes his head and gets out his phone. “No,” I stop him and hand him my phone instead. “Use mine. I don't want you to send them to anyone.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Uh huh.” I nod. “Right.”

“I wont. Now stand by the washers where the blue light is,” he directs. I move past him, next to the only row of washers that are lit. 

“Tell me what to do.” I say. He clears his throat. 

“Turn around and do the basic flexing pose.” I hold up my arms and flex, showing off my arms and my back. I know it looks good because I take my own pictures that I have buried in the depths of my laptop. I have so many folders that it would take someone ages to find them. “The lighting is cool as fuck. You might need to take pictures of me next,” he says. 

“I'm not doing that.” I turn over my shoulder to catch his gaze. “What’s next?”

“Um, sit on the washer and lean back.” I slouch down so my butt is on the edge of the washer and lean back on one arm. He squats down to get a low angle. “Jesus. How many pull ups can you do?” I can see him spamming my camera. I sit up straight with my hands gripping the edge of the washer. 

“How many can you do?” I ask. He steps closer to me.

“I asked you first.” His features are illuminated by the light and I don't feel exposed anymore. I think I kind of like this. 

“Guess,” I challenge. 

“I’m not going to guess.” He takes another step towards me, sets my phone down behind me, and puts his hands next to mine on the washer. His eyes never leave mine and all I’d have to do for him to be close enough to kiss me is open my legs, but I don’t. 

“Why?”

“Because I don't want to guess wrong and be accused of underestimating you.” he says sincerely. My heart flips in my chest. 

“Do you want me to flex again so you can make a more accurate judgement?” I tease. 

“Yes,” he breathes. I adjust my hair and flex at the same time and then put my hands on his shoulders. I feel him tense beneath me and his breath hitches. “I'm guessing 10.”

“14,” I correct, “But I haven't done them in a while.”

“Impressive.”

“Thanks.” The blue light makes his jaw look super sharp and I can just barely make out a faint dusting of freckles on his nose. His gaze flickers to my lips and back up to my eyes and heat rises in my body. My mind doesn't want me to kiss him but my body clearly does. His hands move to my thighs, slowly spreading them apart so he can get closer to me and I let him. My body has never burned as much as it is for him right now. He starts leaning in and I close my eyes, waiting for his lips to touch mine but then my alarm blares loudly behind me and I jump.

“Goddamnit,” he says, jumping back. I reach behind me and frantically tap the screen to get the alarm to shut off.

“I should, um,” I stammer, pointing behind him at the dryers.

“Oh, uh, yeah.” He moves to the side and I slide off the washer, not daring to look at him. Neither of us say a word as I pile my clothes into my laundry bag and walk over to my things. I curse at myself while putting my hoodie back on. I almost kissed him. I almost kissed Reid Parker, and I wanted to too. He’s still standing in the same spot when I go back to grab my phone.

“Um, i'm gonna go,” I say, turning towards the door. 

“Yeah, ok. I gotta stay here, so.” He hoists himself onto his own washer. 

“Ill see you,” I say, immediately cringing. I open the door and walk back to my dorm. What the hell just happened?

[apocalypticgargoyle]

Ok you amazing person. Demon Sapnap, but the reader is really sick or maybe is in an accident and ends up in hospital. Sapnap and Dream both visit and get jealous of eachother. Eventually Dream leaves and Sapnap is just there like 👁👄👁 And then after a day or two the reader is finally home and Sapnap is like really pent up because he has been jealous Horny and reader has been in hospital and he just rails them, but softly because reader is still weak. Basically jealous soft-dom Demon Sapnap.

This is just an idea- by no means do you have to write it :)

I'm begrudgingly writing Dre as Mr. Steal Your Girl for obvious reasons (/ j), but also I couldn't pass down this idea for incubus 3 ;) I'm also going to include a few other requests I had about Sap's backstory and some smut. enjoy!

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐒 & 𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐒. ⛧ 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐮𝐛𝐮𝐬!𝐬𝐚𝐩𝐧𝐚𝐩 (𝟏𝟖+)

warnings: smut (18+), spanking, degradation, thigh riding, domination, literally quoting the b!ble

here's a playlist for those of you that were asking for it. i would love to see what the rest of you are listening to :)

previous part

You opened your eyes slowly, the ache in your body fully coming to your attention as you noticed the metronome of beeps coming from the machines connected to the tubes in your arm. You turned your head, squinting as your eyes struggled to focus on the figure beside you. After a few minutes, your brain pieced together his features and your heart eased when you realized it was Sapnap. For some, obviously ungodly reason, his presence brought you a sense of calm.

His feet were kicked up on the edge of your bed, his eyes scanning over a magazine as he chewed on his bottom lip absent-mindedly. He was dressed more casually than he usually was, probably an attempt at blending into the general public. You reached out a hand, fingers brushing against the soft material of his dark crewneck to get his attention. His gaze moved to look at you, a smirk painting across his pink lips.

You cleared your throat, tongue feeling like sandpaper. “What happened?” You grumbled, reaching beside him for the remote to elevate your head.

He watched your movements carefully. “You got a fever and then passed out cold,” he reminded you softly, making you groan. “Dehydration.” You couldn’t remember what he was talking about, only feeling nauseous in the middle of the night.

“How long have I been here?” You asked, rolling your head on your shoulders as your neck cracked, your limbs popping as you moved slightly. The IV pinched your arm as you moved, making you hiss quietly, making his eyes focus on where it was attached.

He hummed in thought. “A few hours. They wanna keep you until tomorrow, just in case you die or something,” he shrugged, tossing the magazine on the couch in the corner of the room.

You rubbed one of your eyes, a yawn rippling through you. “And why are you here?”

He chuckled. “Obvious reasons,” he stated, nodding towards the bite on your shoulder. “Also, Saint Dream was the first on your emergency contact list, so…” You pulled your knees to your chest as you looked at him.

“Even if it’s just because you have a quota to meet, I’m glad you’re here,” you muttered and something flickered behind his eyes, a smug expression tugging at his lips.

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, feet planted on the ground. “You’re not part of my quota, baby.” Your cheeks flushed at his words but before you could respond, he tensed up, eyes clouding with a darkened gold. They always shifted when something was intruding. You furrowed your brows at him. “Lupus in fabula venit enim ad me,” he mumbled darkly, the venom of sarcasm dripping from his voice as a knock came at your door.

Clay stuck his head through the threshold, eyes softening at you. Sapnap watched him silently as he stepped inside, rambling off how worried he was about you. Clay seemed to ignore Sapnap’s presence as he settled a batch of roses on your nightstand. Sapnap rolled his eyes and once Clay finally acknowledged him, he made a face like he was smelling something rotten. Sapnap looked like he was ready to snap Clay in half if he approached you closer, yet his dark demeanor didn’t dissuade Clay. In fact, it seemed like Clay was hell-bent on ruffling his feathers more, pulling up a chair on the other side of you.

“I didn’t think he would be here,” Clay commented, voice dipping slightly as his sights shifted toward Sapnap, irises flashing brighter. You perked an eyebrow at him.

Sapnap scoffed, leaning back in his seat. “I’m here because she wants me here,” he commented, nearly with a boasting tone. “So, it seems like I’m in the right role to ask what the fuck you think you’re doing.” You kept silent as the two played their game of wits and egos.

Clay smirked at him as if he was in possession of some esoteric knowledge. It dawned on you that you weren’t sure how old either of them actually was. You had dated Clay for god knows how many years, yet you learned more about his past from Sapnap than you had in any of the years you were together. “It’s still in her best interest that she be given options that don’t involve your kind,” he gritted.

Sapnap laughed shortly, a cockiness settling into his appearance. “Oh yeah? In her best interest or in yours, you selfish prick.”

Clay’s jaw tensed, a sigh flooding from his nose. “We can do this more maturely, you know? Like fucking professionals.”

Sapnap shook his head. “I’m not up for negotiating,” the stated bluntly. “Go near her again and I’ll report you,” he assured, his deadpanned stare making your heartbeat quicken.

Clay swallowed, eyes glued to Sapnap’s as the pair of them flexed their dominant personalities. Clay’s eyebrow twitched as if he had thought of something, almost mockingly. “Begone, Satan, inventor and master of all deceit,” he began, making Sapnap roll his eyes again before cutting into Clay’s quote.

“-enemy of man’s salvation. Give place to Christ in Whom you have found none of your works,” he mocked. “Try and exorcise me all you want, feather boy.”

Clay’s hand moved to curl around your wrist and Sapnap leaned against the bed, as if asking Clay to make his next move. “Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour-“

“Resist him, standing firm in the faith, because you know that the family of believers throughout the world is undergoing the same kind of sufferings,” Sapnap cantered without a thought. “It’s not even the right verse for this, stupid bitch,” he grumbled.

You cleared your throat, pulling your arm away from Clay and trying not to look as if you were slinking towards Sapnap. “You should leave,” you stated, Clay’s lips pursing at your words. “I need to rest.” Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Sapnap’s sly expression cutting into Clay.

After spending another night in the hospital, you were finally unlocking your apartment door and letting Sapnap help you out of your coat. You mumbled something about getting yourself a drink and he brushed you off, already doing it himself. Your mind was racing with questions after what you had witnessed between Clay and Sapnap. You hadn’t doubted the authenticity of Sapnap, but your mind still ran with what had happened to him. He handed you a water, sitting down on your couch as you paced slightly.

He broke into your thoughts. “Go on, tell me what you’re thinking,” he stated, unbuttoning his shirt slightly. You wanted to hex him about the fact that he probably already knew what was pounding against your temples to be asked.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek, rolling over your questions to censor some of them. “The bible’s been translated and reprinted so many times, how are you still…” you gestured with your hands, unable to explain where you were going with your statement.

He chuckled, brushing a hand against his chin. “It really doesn’t matter if it’s actually God’s word or not. It’s a guide, like an outline. Rules, I guess. Think about it like the Constitution.”

“I thought demons like… burned up when someone quoted the bible at them…”

His face fell a bit at this. “No, we just can’t read it,” his tone was almost regretful, sending guilt to pulse through your body because you had asked. “It’s like it’s in a completely different language, and each time I look at it, it shifts around the page. When you get dragged into hell, something happens with your eyes.” He huffed slightly, wetting his lips. “It's kind of like an isolation thing. He wants you to be completely aside from him.”

Your mind clicked, eyeing your heirloom display case. “Can I try something?” You asked, popping open one of the doors after he hummed in response. You fished out your grandmother’s rosary, the cross feeling almost heavy in your hands. You turned on your heel, bringing it closer to him before dangling it in front of him. His eyes drifted away from it, his gaze turning up to you. “Does this bug you?” You probed, making him snort. He took it in his hand, thumb caressing over the design.

He shook his head, chewing on his lip. “It’s a shameful thing really. I feel guilty whenever I look at this kind of stuff,” he muttered; you sat on the arm of his chair and looked over his shoulder. He turned, looping it around your neck. “Does it bug you?”

You held it away from your chest. “For different reasons, I guess.” You stood again, putting it back in its spot beside a photo of your grandfather. “Why’d you get kicked out?” You queried softly, peering over your shoulder.

He was watching you. “Maybe another time.”

“What about your childhood?” You asked. “Did you have one?”

“I know more about your childhood than I do my own. Why all the questions?” He countered with a soft laugh.

You shrugged. “I want to get to know you…” You mumbled, your hand drifting up to rest on your shoulder, feeling heat coming off of his scaring bite mark. “How do you know when to show up?”

He sighed, leaning his back against the chair and stretching his legs. “I can feel when you get anxious. Angels have some kind of block though, that’s why it took me so long to realize you needed me when that bastard was over here.” He shook his head almost like a new fire about Dream had been lit. His eyes flickered up to you. “Unless you weren’t scared.” You shook your head quickly at his joke. He chuckled. “How does it make you feel that I’m in your head sometimes?”

You approached him again. “Narcissistic,” you answered plainly, sinking to your knees before him. You ran your hands up his thighs, a smirk growing on his features as he sat up to be closer to you. “What happens after I die? Eternal damnation?” You questioned, as his hand went to brush against your arms.

He pressed his lips to your neck before digging his fingers into your hair as if he’d been waiting to touch you for days. You hummed as he kissed you, the slight scruff of his unshaven face feeling soft against your cheek. “You shouldn’t have to worry about that. I think I’ll make you immortal or something. Being with me should be enough damnation,” he jeered, making you laugh. “Most of my colleagues take the souls of their targets and leave, but I enjoy your company,” he teased.

“But you already have my soul, right?” The line felt strange coming from your mouth.

His lips brushed against yours. “There’s still an innocent piece of you that I haven’t tapped into. Everyone has it; I like it in you.”

Your eyebrows perked at this, fingers digging into his thighs to make him groan. “What do you mean?”

He kissed you briefly, actions getting needier the longer you were between his legs. “It’s completely pure. Untampered by sin or desire. When a demon gets it, they go feral,” he mumbled, nose pressing into the crook of your neck, teeth dragging across your skin.

You tilted your head to the side, fingers tracing over his zipper. “Take it from me,” you breathed, leaning into his touch.

“No,” he answered blatantly.

You moaned as his tongue slipped against your collarbones. “I want you to have it,” you continued, voice uneven. His fingers tugged at your hair.

His breath was warm against your shoulders. “I’ll take it after a few years. I don’t want it now.”

You pushed him away from you, his eyes already blown with lust as you looked into them. “You just said demons want it so badly. Take mine.”

He chuckled, hands dropping to your jaw. “No,” he repeated, voice light.

You sat back on your heels, looking up at him with a tilted expression. “Is mine not good enough for you?”

He wheezed. “No, it’s perfect. I just… After I take it, it’s like you’re dead. You’re not the same. Your humanity is gone.” He pulled you back up towards him. “I’ll take it when I’m ready to escort you to hell.”

You quipped an eyebrow. “Oh, so you just don’t want me to see your place?” You joked, making him roll his eyes. “Maybe Clay was right. What’s the verse about confession?”

His eyes darkened playfully. “For with the heart one believes and is justified, and with the mouth one confesses and is saved.” It was mind boggling how he could probably quote the whole Bible and was as… sinful… as he was. “Bring up Dream again, and I’ll make sure you can’t walk for a week.”

Your eyelashes fluttered. “You bargain for a fun game," you quipped.

He chuckled darkly. "It was more a light-hearted threat, dove," he muttered.

You sat forward and pressed your lips against his hungrily, letting him pull you into his lap as his fingers curled into the loose ends of your hair. Your fingers ripped at the buttons of his shirt, exposing his chest to you as he tugged at your own clothing. Your teeth dragged against his lips as his hips ground up against you, needy for friction.

You pushed your tongue into his mouth, moaning as his hands moved to your thighs, his blunt nails raking against your jeans. You rolled your hips against his lap, feeling him harden beneath you. He spread his legs further, coaxing you to grind against him as his hands pushed you down to rut against his leg.

You were breathless as you pulled away from him, one of his hands fisting in your t-shirt to bring you close to him, lips and tongue pressing against your neck. "I didn't tell you to stop riding my thigh," he commented darkly, bouncing his knee to make you moan.

Your hand wrapped around the wrist of his hand holding you in place, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth as heat spread across your body. He pulled your shirt over your head, your bare chest at his mercy. Your mind blurred at the sensation and the feeling of him sucking his mark into your skin, making it clear who you belonged to.

You moaned, digging your face into his neck as he rolled his hips against your leg. "Please, Sapnap. I need you," you whimpered, voice a soft whisper in his ear. He chuckled darkly, ripping your pants down your legs as you fumbled to unzip his slacks.

He pulled you onto him without warning, a groan leaving your lips as he suddenly filled you up. "Bold of you to beg for me after associating with that bastard," he bit, thrusting up into you. "I should tie you up and let you suffer for that."

You moaned at his dark tone, grinding your hips against him. Your lips ghosted against his as your cheeks began to feel warm from the stimulation. "I might like that," you jested, your sentence breaking with your voice as he harshly grabbed your hips, driving himself into you harder.

"You're lucky you're still weak," he nipped, voice swirling with lust and power. "I'd throw you over my knee for that comment." His fingers dug into your hips, grinding against you as you bounced on top of him. You moaned at his words. His hand snaked up to wrap around your throat, threatening to apply pressure as he continued to direct your movements, thrusting into you at a deep and reserved pace. "Dirty girl. You want me to punish you, don't you?"

When all you could do was mutter a small beg, he pulled you closer to him, lips meeting yours in a mess of hair, teeth, and tongue. He moaned into your mouth, the taste of his breath was addictive and bliss-inducing.

He pulled you off of him and onto the couch beside him, slipping his shirt the rest of the way off. "I'll fuck the angel lover out of you," he joshed, a hand coming down sharply across your ass; the pain making you moan his name, hands gripping the couch as he pressed your shoulders into the cushion.

He dragged your hips into the air, pushing into you again, rocking his hips against yours with a small grunt. His teeth were sharp against your skin as he pounded into you and an animalistic pace, your mind numbing at the feeling. He pushed your knees further apart to pump himself deeper into you.

You moaned as his weight settled on the hand pinning you to the couch, your hair sticking to your sweaty face as he spanked you again, hand gripping your irritated skin. "Good girl. Take it," he nearly growled, making your skin crawl with an added layer of pleasure. While his pace and mannerisms were ruthless, he was definitely holding back, knowingly going easy on you because of your already weak body. That didn't mean he wasn't reminding you of your sour attitude as he pulled your arm behind your back, his hips snapping against your own to firmly instill his name in your mind.

You reached for the arm rest, a grounding element for you as his motions drove you over the edge in a teeth gritting orgasm, boy flushing with goosebumps under his command. You rocked your hips back against him as he pulled out, jerking himself off instead of giving you the satisfaction of finishing him off.

You groaned as you turned to look at him. "Feeling okay?" He asked, pressing his lips to your shoulder blade. You shook your head quickly and his eyebrow quipped ever so slightly. "Good," he stated, pulling you up and onto the ground in front of him again. He grabbed your cheeks. "I still don't think you've learned," he muttered, leaning back into his previous position. "Blow me," he directed, tucking an arm behind his head. "And with the mouth, one confesses and is saved, remember," he taunted.

Your eyes flashed up to his devious expression as he leered at you from his commanding spot.

It was going to be a long night.

And you were ready for it.

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