#the only time i remember him swearing is in Herring Impaired? and it was not audible? so idk

[moltage]

so, Skipper. speaks English. We've seen him use Spanish because he "spent 8 years in the jungles of Mexico", wiki says he swore in Korean (this is the only one im unsure about), he probably knows Danish too-- having spent enough time there to get banned lmfao, also used Japanese words here and there (plus he once found himself in a hotel in Kyoto) so. We love a multilingual king

[so-long-soldier-writes]

Best Friend's Brother

kai parker x reader

summary: you should've known she'd find out and it would ruin your friendship. still, you can't find it in yourself to regret it.

tags: light angst, arguing, eventual smut, rough kissing, rough sex, unsafe sex, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, light fluff, spooning

word count: 2.1k

a/n: i wrote this like two months ago but am just now posting it. the majority of my requests are smut and i'm in a brain fog, so i'm having a bit of a struggle. still, i hope to have them out soon. bare with me! ily <33

“You slept with my brother?!”

“Liv-”

“No! You don’t understand! He’s a killer. He tried to kill me; he chased Luke and I around our house when we were four. How could you do this to me?!”

“Let me explain, Liv, I-”

“Explain what? Explain how, ‘it just happened’? How you ‘just fell into bed with him’? What is there to explain?”

“I… I didn’t do it to hurt you! I would never hurt you on purpose. It just…” your words fade, “...happened.”

“Yeah. There it is. ‘Just happened.’ What, did he trick you, or manipulate you?”

“He didn’t do anything, Liv. I wanted it just as much as he did.”

She shakes her head, eyes wild, yet full of hurt. “Were you drunk? Like, I don’t understand.”

“I wasn’t drunk. I mean, I had a glass of bourbon, but I wasn’t impaired.”

“When?”

“Huh?”

“When did it happen?!”

“The other night. I was here, drinking, and he came in. We talked for a while, co-miserated, and then, just…”

“The night I was off?” She smiles, but it’s not a kind one. “Of course.”

“Liv-”

“Who initiated? Who started it? Did he advance towards you, or did you start it?”

“Olivia-”

“Who fucking started it?!”

“I don’t remember, I-”

“Who made the first fucking move, Y/N, I swear to god!”

“I don’t know! I…” You try to remember. “He kissed me first, right outside the door. Pushed me up against the building and I let him.” She exhales, but then tenses again as you say, “but I put my hand on his leg while we were still inside.”

“Y/N-”

“Our knees were touching, underneath the table, and at some point, I laughed at something, and almost fell over in my chair. I was at the bar, sitting in those tall stools. He put a hand on my arm to stabilize me, and I reached out to his leg. We both kind of stopped me from falling, but then I kept my hand there. Let it travel up his thigh… He had this dark look in his eyes, and it should’ve scared me, but it had the opposite effect. The bartender then kicked us out for being touchy, and it was late anyway, and then things just escalated from there. I’m so sorry, Liv.” You reach a hand out to comfort her. 

“Don’t fucking touch me! Don’t ever touch me again. Knowing the same hands that used to hold me when I cried fucked my brother makes me sick. I fucking hate you.”

“Liv-”

“Get out,” she points to the door. 

“Please don’t do this.”

“You did this to yourself. You can have him. Don’t come crying to me when he tries to kill you.”

“L-”

“What’s wrong?” Luke enters the bar with the worst possible timing. He looks at his sister, crying, yet bubbling with anger. He looks at you, hurt, but defensive. “What happened?”

“She was just leaving,” Liv answers for you both.

“Why? Guys, what happened?”

“She’s a bitch. She means nothing to me.”

“Liv, please.”

“Get out!” 

You shoot Luke a sympathetic glance before finally listening to his sister. The other customers in the bar are starting to watch. Most of their attentions’ were grabbed at the “fucked my brother” part, and now they’re just staying for the girl-on-girl fight. 

“Y/N,” Luke starts as you leave. 

You only shrug, then slam the door on your way out. 

You’re pissed at everyone right now. Pissed at Liv for kicking you out; at Luke for walking in when he did. You’re pissed at Kai for kissing you; at Jo for telling her sister what happened.  You’re even a little pissed at Sheila Bennett, for indirectly putting all the Parkers in Mystic Falls at the same time.

Anger, however misplaced, is still anger. 

But most of your anger is directed at the source: you. It’s your own fault that any of this happened. You started things with Kai that night. You didn’t lie well enough when Jo asked why you were late for class. You made a choice to sleep with your best friend’s brother, and of course she would be mad about it. Her twin, as always, will stand beside her, and it’s your fault that both of them will hate you now. 

You deserve it. It’s your fault for sleeping with him. 

You curse yourself bitterly. 

Another thing you’re pissed about… enjoying it. 

You liked sleeping with Kai. You liked flirting with him. You liked the darkness in his eyes, and the way he pushed you up against the brick wall. You liked the way he kissed you, hard and rough, until your lips were sore. You liked his tongue on your neck and his hand down your pants. You liked the old man smoking on the street corner telling you to get a room. 

Kai is a killer, and a sociopath, and a narcissist, and that makes him dominant, and possessive, and controlling. They’re not good traits to have in a relationship, but hell, they make for good sex. He kept a hand on your back the whole way home, and when you finally reached your apartment, he picked you up and threw you on your bed. He wasted no time climbing on top of you, trailing his hands all over your body, teasing with gentle touches you’d never expect. His jeans grew tighter and tighter with every passing minute, but when you reached up to feel him through the fabric, he slapped your hand away. 

It wasn’t until you were undressed - your clothes, ripped off and thrown to the floor - that you could touch him. He let you feel the erection in his pants for two seconds, before clasping your hands together in one of his own and pinning them above your head. Kai then had his way with your body, kissing your face and neck, sucking at your breasts, nipping at the skin down your stomach, and then licking your heated core. He held your hips down with one hand, but kept the other on your pinned hands until he needed it to push two fingers inside you. When your hands dug into his hair, he didn’t fight it. In fact, he moaned so deeply, it vibrated throughout your body. You came on his face without warning, and he didn’t slow down for a second. 

Kai didn’t let up until your body was shaking with the force of three orgasms in a row. He wore a satiated smile when he lifted his head to kiss your lips, then grabbed your jaw to open your mouth. Effortlessly, he spat a mouthful of your come and his spit, and waited for you to swallow it. You did, and what little he missed that dripped from his lip, you leaned up to lick off. He took your lips again in an open kiss while his hands worked at removing his belt. 

A smile was on his face when he broke off the kiss. Dimples were planted into the sides of his cheeks and they made you giggle. 

“You okay?” He asked, lining himself up with you.

“Mhm.”

“Words, princess.”

“Yes.”

“Atta girl.”

You sat back on your elbows as he pushed in. He was unexpectedly, suddenly, shy as he did, as if it was his first time. He was gentle, too, and watched your face, waiting for you to adjust. You nodded for him to continue before he was ready, and he took an extra few seconds before beginning to thrust. 

One hand rested beside your hips. The other, he kept on the base of his cock, because he slipped out a couple times at first. That’s when you realized it probably was his first time. After another minute, he spread your legs further and climbed more atop your body, then found his rhythm.

It was a very human-like thing for him to do. For him to learn sex is a matter of trial and error. You could feel your heart falling for him in that simple moment. Your mind, sober, as the alcohol wore off a bit ago; your thoughts, recognizing you’re on your bed, with Kai Parker on top of you, and you like it. 

He was a quick learner. He found he'd slip up less if he only pulled out halfway before thrusting back in. He paid attention to angles and how to hit the deepest parts of you. He acknowledged the sounds and faces you’d make in reaction to his movements. When your nose scrunched up, you liked it less; when your lips parted, you were much more pleasured.

Kai was nothing if not observant. In less than an hour, he had learned how to read you. 

He brought two fingers to your clit and rubbed harshly. He’d spit on your stomach and watch it run down your body, slick with sweat. Sweat would drip down his own face, too, as he fucked you hard into your bed.

But despite the skill he had procured, his thrusts got sloppy much too soon. It was obvious he was trying to hold off his high, but with each moan that escaped his lips, you could tell he was close. He wrapped his lips around your tits and sucked harshly, whether to shut himself up or bring you to another high, you weren’t sure. After only another minute, he came. He scrambled to pull himself out, not knowing what kind of protection you had, but knowing he had worn none. Half of it spilled onto your stomach, but some was missed; you could feel it inside you. 

“Fuck,” he muttered. 

He bent his head down to lap it up. What he could reach with his tongue, he retrieved, but some expertly evaded. The feeling of him exploring your hot and sore core brought you to the fourth orgasm you almost missed by him pulling out early. You bucked your hips upward, overstimulation searing throughout your body, but he pushed you back down on the bed. 

“Kai, I can’t,” you told him, tears pricking at your eyes, almost fearing a fifth.

Luckily, he only swiped his tongue around once more before drawing it out. Then, he licked a stripe up your stomach, tasting his own cum mixed with yours. It flooded his taste buds and he swallowed it before licking up more for you to try. By that time, you expected his next move. When he grabbed your jaw to force open your mouth, you stuck your tongue out to receive. He smiled before spitting the mixture inside, then slapped your pretty little cheek gently as it went down your throat. 

It took you a second to recover, both of you. Kai had collapsed to your side as you lay flat, and the both of you fought to regain your breath. After a moment, you turned your body in to face him, and took his cheeks in your hands. You were about to speak when he asked you a question,

“Do you regret it?”

“No.” There was no hesitation in your voice, and it was true. You didn’t even regret the lack of protection you both neglected to remember. “Do you?”

“No.” He looked intently into your eyes. “Were you going to say something?”

“Just that you look absolutely beautiful post-high.” This was also true. His eyes had this glossy look about them that was stunning. Not to mention the sweat glistening his cheeks, or even the redness in his face from the exhilaration. 

He smiled in response to the unexpected praise, and the dimples returned to his face. You couldn’t help the soft kiss with which you’d grace his lips in the next moment, and he wasn't able to help the blush that burns him even brighter. 

“You’re gorgeous, too,” he complimented. “I’ve been watching you for a while. Hoped to talk to you, but didn’t think I’d get lucky enough to get this far.”

“Blame the shot of confidence I needed to talk to you for that,” you joked. “It got me further than I thought, too. Not that I’m complaining.”

He chuckled, then moved his face to kiss your fingers, still on his cheeks. 

“I have class tomorrow,” you muttered, realization hitting you. 

“I guess I should go then.” He didn’t get up, but voiced it as a question. 

You, shyly but genuinely, responded, “you could stay.”

And so he did. A quick shower, separate due to soreness, was the only thing to drag you out of bed, but then you crashed right back in it in a new change of clothes. Kai spent the night with you, spooning your back with an arm wrapped protectively around your body. It wasn’t until late the next morning that you woke up, late for class, and hurrying to leave. Within an hour, you departed at the same time, but not without a promise to meet again soon. 

[terrence-silver]

Beloved finds out she can't have children and the doctors tell her that there is no cure in her case. She makes the decision she can't destroy Terry's dream of having a legacy and one day when he's working late at the dojo again she packs her things and leaves. Terry comes home and finds a letter from her, she apologizes and asks him to forget about her and find someone who will give him family. How would he react?

I once wrote how I don't think Terry Silver would necessarily adopt because he's too much of an egoist to do so and an anon sent me a message threatening to kill themselves (hope they're okay) so, yeah, don't do that, because I'm saying it again --- if beloved couldn't have children, I feel he'd just swear off the notion, in fact, in his old age, one gets the impression he long since swore off the notion. He's regretful, yes, but he isn't out here actively doing anything to change it. He wants those kids to be him. And beloved. He wants a mixture of his and their eyes, their skin, their blood, their character, their habits, their mannerisms, their everything reflected in his heirs and if he can't have that, he'll be damned, he doesn't want it at all. If beloved was barren or reproducibly impaired in any way, Terry would prolong his legacy in other ways. Through business. Enterprise. The accumulation of power. Expansion. Control. General takeover. You name it.

Because, consider it.

Terry Silver's an extremely wealthy man. If he wanted children all these years, he could've had them. Powerful people adopt and hire surrogates all the time. Constantly, in fact. The very fact he didn't means something. It means he wants his kids to be his in every way they possibly can be and he wants them to come from someone he's devoted to as much as it is humanly possible. Everything or nothing. Hey, that could be a selfish or even smallminded notion, but when was Terry Silver ever a saint? Beloved packs their things and leaves because they fear they're causing Terry to be bereft of something by being unable to give him his (biological) legacy and it only has him going after them and retrieving them home where they belong because they are already his family, as they are. His name will echo across the world. He will make sure of it. And he will be remembered long after he's gone and he'll achieve this with beloved firmly by his side. His legacy will be his power.

[loserlvrss]

꒰ 𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐀 ꒱ 钱锟

summary : after waking up from anesthesia, you're faced with a handsome stranger... who might not be all that unfamiliar after all

genre : fluff, kinda angst, kun x afab!reader tws : language, mentions of surgery (not specified for what), hospital/doctors environment author notes : she a wolf she a beauty and a beast she a wolf word count : 1.6k

you blinked a couple times, the fluorescent lights momentarily impairing your vision. a hand came up to block them, shielding you as you adjusted. 

“it’ll be a little bright,” a woman’s voice echoed in your hollow mind. “you’ll be a bit sensitive for a while.” 

you turned your head, a croaked groan leaving your lips. “my arm hurts.” 

“it’s from the IV, we’ll give you something to take home with you for all the pain.” she smiled, running her gloved hand along the tape and checking your veins color. “i’m going to check your vitals one last time and go grab your guardian, okay?”

you swallowed, nodding but not hearing what she had been explaining after. however, she was a nurse, so you believed her. 

she took her time to check you over, making sure that everything was normal enough for a post-operation patient. your vision, hearing, blood pressure, heart rate and breathing. and by how long it took (which was only a couple minutes in reality) you were convinced she not only had double, but triple-checked. 

you could remember the moment before you were put under, but everything else was still a little hazy, as if it was a dream. you could barely even think about anything other than what was right in front of your face. 

she had asked you to confirm your last name and date of birth, the hesitation making her stifle a smile. 

“i’m going to go get him now,” she took her stethoscope off, hanging it around her neck like a snake would. “it’ll only take a minute, okay?” 

“who?” you had asked, too late as she was already out of the room. you must’ve spaced out, trying to conjure up in your mind who she was talking about. “who are you getting?” 

you stared at the wooden door for what felt like forever, contemplating what to tell the nurse when she came back with someone you’d never met. 

you bit your lip, fidgeting with your fingers and picking at the skin until the door finally opened again. 

your eyebrows came together, a familiar sense washing over you. you looked over the man at her side, and you swear you had to clench your teeth to keep your mouth from falling open; he was the most beautiful person you’d ever laid eyes on. 

you know to each their own, but you wanted him to be your own. you couldn’t stomach the thought of another girl perceiving him even though as far as you knew you’d never seen him before. i mean, how could you forget such a face? 

he had a bright smile plastered to his god-awfully-pretty features. he glanced down at the nurse. “she looks confused,” he laughed. “has she not fully recovered from the anesthesia?” 

she hugged the clipboard in her hands close to her chest. “not yet it seems, she asked who i was getting earlier. it should wear off—we had to give her a slightly higher dose.” 

so, she did hear you but, chose to ignore you? that was cruel, however a laugh threatened to escape your throat… maybe it was the hyper amount of drugs you were on. 

maybe she hasn’t actually gone and got him (whoever he was) yet, maybe she had grabbed another nurse; a doctor; an anesthesiologist. but he didn’t look like a doctor, or anything of the sort, clothed regularly. he looked smart, but in other senses—non-medical. 

nonetheless, you couldn’t help feeling like you knew him. somewhere in the back of your mind you knew you could conjure up his name, and you cursed yourself for forgetting someone so beautiful. 

the nurse came back over to you after washing her hands, pulling the rolling stool up to your bed. 

you leaned in. “how do i know him?” 

she laughed again, but it wasn’t funny to you. you were starting to feel distressed, stupid even, because even she couldn’t understand how you’d forgotten him. she leaned in whispering. “your husband.” 

shocked was the simplest word you could’ve used.

“this might bruise, but it’ll go away within a couple days. and, your memory will come back within the hour, okay?” she started to remove the covers from your body, your bare legs on display. “and, you can change back into your regular clothes now, i’ll step out.” she turned to the man. “just let me know when she’s ready and we’ll go over the post procedure process, and schedule her a follow-up appointment.” 

“okay, sounds good.” he smiled as the nurse began exiting the room. “thank you.” 

the clicking of the door rang out against the silence, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. your eyes must’ve been wide, eyebrows confused as you looked him over again. 

“my what?” you finally spewed out. 

“husband, y/n.” he smiled, walking over to you. “we got married two months ago. i’m a little hurt that you forgot the best day of my life.” 

“i-i,” you began, watching as he picked your clothes up off the side table. “i don’t need help.” 

“yes, ma’am.” he seemed a little taken aback, obviously amused. “whatever you want, love.” 

you groaned as you willed your legs over the side. you were still a little skeptical, but it was starting to come back to you; how could you actually forget? 

there was a feeling inside telling you that you’d been with him way longer than the two months, and his presence was starting to jog your memories—maybe that was the trick to getting them back. him. your presumed husband. 

despite feeling determined too, you couldn’t even stand up, stumbling back over when you tried. he flinched towards you, but stopped himself, obviously wanting to respect your prior direction. 

you didn’t want to give in—still a little uncomfortable with the whole thing. you wanted to make him turn around, but you feared it was him that would be doing all the work in a couple of seconds. mind over matter though, right?

the bed let out a loud crack when you tried to stand again, this time he wouldn’t (couldn’t) stand back and watch. 

“i’m sorry,” he whispered, coming in front of you and grabbing your arms. “just let me help you.” 

you bit your lip, being raised by his strong, yet gentle grip. “i promise there’s nothing to worry about.” 

you nodded, feeling a sense of relief at his touch—one you didn’t know you could feel for him. “o-okay.” 

“can you stand on your own now?” he asked, carefully letting go of your skin, but keeping them close in case you started to tip. 

once he made sure you could, he reached down to your knees, holding the hem of the hospital-gown. you took his forearm within your fingers, non-verbally telling him to stop. your stomach was turning, but you trusted him? a feeling you don’t know where it came from. 

“if i close my eyes, will that be better?” he glanced at you, soft eyes catching your perplexed ones. “i’ll do whatever you need, y/n.” 

you nodded again, not really sure what to say. how would he know what he was doing with closed eyes? how could he feel so strongly towards you that he was prepared to do anything? but, he did as promised, fingers accidentally grazing your torso when he dragged the fabric up. 

the touch, however, sent you reeling, and suddenly you could remember a little over 6 months ago when he proposed. the night you cried like a baby, the man of your dreams down on one knee in front of you. 

the whole situation was also now starting to get on your nerves. why’d you forget? why’d it all start coming back with his lingering touch? why’d you have to get a case of amnesia? why couldn’t you just remember? you really wanted to. 

he kept his eyes closed, reaching to the clothes and feeling for your shirt. he found it, holding it up. “right way?” he asked. you hummed in response, helping it over your head. this time, as he adjusted the hem, his hands held your waist, twisting the fabric. but, it reminded you of further back, when you made him slow dance with you on the second date—even before you’d ever kissed—your arms draped around his neck, bodies swaying in a gentle rhythm.

you remember enough to know how you felt about him. you remember enough to know you loved him eternally. 

“kun…” his eyes shot open, hands stilling in their spot. “i’m sorry.” 

he grabbed you further. “why?” he asked, genuinely confused by your apology. you had nothing to be sorry for, he was only joking when he said he was hurt by your medically-caused amnesia. it happens. he knew you’d never be able to really forget him. “why are you sorry, my love?” 

you put your arms around his neck, embracing him in a tight hug. a long overdue hug. you pulled your head away, feeling a shiver down your spine when his hands stroked along it soothingly. you kissed the side of his mouth, causing a gentle smile. 

“i didn’t mean t-to. i forg—“ 

“don’t apologize.” he interrupted. “you remember now.” 

how could you ever really forget? 

“yeah,” you laughed. “it’s all coming back to me.” 

he pressed his lips to yours, and you urgently recognized fine-details that you’d engrained to memory. little things about him and your life that you could never discard as irrelevant—everything about him was relevant to you. you loved him, and part of love meant knowing it all. knowing the gorgeous and down-right nasty about each other, but still seeing them in the same light. and, you’d already learned everything about him, as he did you, vowing to commit your life to each other; and the next one, and the next one. forever and ever. for better or for worse. through sickness and health, poverty and wealth. 

‘till death do us part. 

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[chidoroki]

Hell’s Paradise EP13

aka: one last huzzah

Is it me or does it look like Nurugai’s hair is styled a bit differntly?

And I thought Shion was coming in to help them defeat Mu Dan, I wasn’t expecting him to send the girls away so he could solo this thing! Though I love the confidence Nurugai has in him.

Seems Shion already figured out the tanden weakness.

NOPE! Don’t you dare start to sprout flowers! I will not accept any more deaths this season Shion, you hear me!!

Glad he got rid of them but Shion you are seriously losing so much blood right now. I know Yuzuriha was gonna use some salve to stop Senta’s bleeding, but do we have a spare perhaps?

I’m sure Nurugai’s grandpa said her hugs energized him just to be cute, but apparently you can share tao that way? If two people’s types are compatible, I’m assuming.

Did the girls bandage themselves to help with defense someway? Also, are they using some of Yuzuriha’s slime too? They’re dripping.

Shion didn’t actually know about the tanden being the tensen’s weakness.. he just struck there randomly.

“It should be able to prevent scratched and keep flowers from growing.” Figured as much, but damn, they really prepared for this so quickly.

“Is it really necessary to lick it?” “No.” Pfftt, I love Yuzuriha so much.

Despite Mu Dan having lasers now or whatever, this trio is working out nicely, but Sagiri and Shion are really pushing themselves here.

Ooohh they got both hands pinned down, now to finish it off Shion! Let’s go!

Senta?? You’re still alive and sorta standing?

Hell yeaaahh Shion!! One tensen down! And a bunch more to go..

Not at all surprised Yuzuriha would wanna use the last salve on Shion instead of Senta. The latter is too injured to fully recover.

Ah man.. of course Yuzuriha knew it would happen and did her best to get him to relax during his final moments but it definitely hit her hard.

“I won’t let anyone else die. I swear we’ll all leave this island alive. I swear it.” I seriously hope so Sagiri.

Why are y’all journeying further into Horai?? I know it’s the place where the elixir is supposedly located, but all the other tensen are most likely there aren’t they?

Oh my god, Chobei stole the doshi’s coat for himself. And those vine markings are still on him, so I’m concerned.

“It might even affect one’s consciousness or memories.” Wait, I thought Gabimaru was just confused on where he was upon waking up, but did he truly forget everything that’s happened on the island? Would explain that fierce look in his eye.

Ooohh Yuzuriha, I love the new outfit!

Yuzuriha may have a point, maybe Gabimaru’s village chief was using a genjutsu to show he was “immortal.”

“Shinobi are merely pawns. It’s different for women, but would they really have such a young man get married?” YEAH. I only found out a few days ago but apparently Gabimaru is ONLY SIXTEEN!! like what?? Dude seemed so much older. I’m still baffled.. the same with Sagiri being seventeen and Nurugai twelve.

“I can’t remember. Is it some type of memory impairment.” Ah shit, the overuse of tao did effect Gabimaru’s memories. (Dude entering his post-demon world Emma phase).

Nooo no no, STOP! Don’t lead me to believe his wife was an illusion this whole time! Aaahh!

Damn, he reverted back to his “hollow” self. Even Mei could sense something is wrong with him

Shion looking nice in the new fit and him being a lowkey romantic is precious too.

Probably said it before but Sagiri is beautiful with her hair down.

Oh? More asaemon are being sent to the island? With how this Shugen dude looks I think that’s gonna be a problem.

Okay, so here comes the debate on whether or not I wanna jump into the manga. The episode didn’t leave off a big cliffhanger so I could very well just wait til the next season (whenever that will be), but at the same time, I wanna find out what happens with Sagiri, Yuzuriha, Shion, Chobei and Gabimaru. The story was fine but it’s the characters I’ve really come to love so far. Apparently the series only has thirteen volumes which is bad at all. I could clear it in a reasonable amount of time if I wanted to, but still gotta think about it.

[sleeperswakewriting]

Levi returns from the war, suffering a severe head injury that impairs his memory of Petra and his child with her. Petra works with him day and night to help him regain his memories.

Rating: G

I could write a whole one shot of this, but I hope this suffices 🥺💕

A knock at the door startles Levi awake. Vision blurry, it takes him a second to clear his throat, take in his surroundings, and then answer, “Come in.” 

The door opens slowly. Pensive. Then a ginger bob pokes her head in with a small smile and a tray with food. Toast with butter and a piping cup of tea make Levi’s mouth water, and his eyes are drawn more to the food than the woman. His stomach rumbles, unable to remember the last time he ate, and he sits up a bit straighter as she plops the tray onto his lap. 

“The tea is hot, so you might want to wait a bit. You always prefer it on the cooler side.” 

Petra. That’s her name, the beautiful and enchanting woman who is apparently his wife. He doesn’t remember much of anything besides his name and a few blips of his childhood, having lost his memory in the war. His body has also seen better days; currently, he uses a wheelchair and there are stitches across his eye and face. Petra’s shown him pictures of what he looked like before, and the image is both familiar and unknown. 

“I was on your squad, we were friends first before we…” A blush paints her cheeks, and even though Levi doesn’t know her, he swears he could fall in love if he could elicit a reaction like that.

She’s biting her lip and Levi has the insane urge to kiss her. He wants to remember, but the doctors told them it might take some time. A concussion, head trauma, there are too many medical terms for Levi to make sense of, but Petra took diligent notes and distilled the information for him. 

They’re staying in an old barrack. Petra tearfully tells him their house was destroyed in The Rumbling since their home was tucked on the outskirts of the city, just by the Walls. Flashes of images and screams sober Levi until his throat bobs with fear. Gently, Petra takes his hand while she gives a furtive smile despite the ring on her finger. A matching one is around his neck—gold—and he isn’t sure if he should put it back on with the missing digits on his left hand. 

It’s only been a day since they settled in and Petra pads around him like a wounded animal while she adjusts his pillows. 

“Did you have a nice nap? The doctor said you need lots of rest.” 

There’s something off. Levi can’t tell what it is; he gets the sense he isn’t great with people by his clipped tone, but Petra’s kind nature has him wondering how he managed to land her. There’s apprehension in her eyes like she wants to say more than pleasantries. 

He scoots to the side of the bed, which is big enough for two, and he asks if she’ll be joining him tonight. 

Petra stiffens and an adorable yelp escapes her while she smoothes out the nonexistent wrinkles on her skirt. “I don’t want to intrude. The couch is fine.” She waves her hand to the hallway where a dusty set of furniture awaits her.

He can’t help but tease her with a smirk. “I thought we were married.” 

“We are,” she says quickly. “But I understand if you don’t want a stranger in your bed—“

“Petra, if I’m going to remember anything, I think having my wife nearby will help.” He means it even if he enjoys catching her off guard and his voice softens. “Can you sit with me and tell me about our life? I want to hear about our wedding.” 

A girlish smile escapes Petra and she sits at the edge of the bed. Too far away for Levi’s liking, but she takes her time as she traces patterns into the sheets, her voice laced with honeyed nostalgia. 

“It was a quick one. We had it the day we came back from discovering the ocean. It was just Hange and the kids, but it was special. Our honeymoon without worrying about Titans was probably my favorite part.” She giggles then, coughing into her hand, but her eyes harden into solemnity. 

“Levi, there’s something else you need to know.” She faces him, her amber eyes like the north star in the light. “After our wedding, I got pregnant.” 

And like shattering glass, he feels a part of his heart open into an ache he didn’t know he was missing. Petra is next to him now, her hand atop his into a beautiful smile. “Kuchel is waiting for you. She’s with my parents and she knows you were in Marley. It’s a lot for a three-year-old to handle so I didn’t want to bring her right away or overwhelm you, but it felt strange not saying anything. I don’t expect you to do anything—“

“I have a daughter,” he says in disbelief, his eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar. 

“Yes,” she affirms. “She’s beautiful, baby. She has your eyes and my hair and you’re her favorite person in the world. She misses her papa.”

Levi sees her, then. A small infant, his world becoming right in a breathless second, and moments of crying and gurgling hit him like a hurricane. 

Finally, he is home.

[sjmsstuff]

Light And Dark

Chapter 5

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4

Warnings: same as always x

A/N: Here ya go folks! I rewrote this chapter twice and I still kind of hate it but it is what it is, enjoy!

Her first kiss. Gwyn kept her back pressed against the cool wood of the door. It was several seconds before she felt Azriel’s presence moving back down the hall.

She let out a long breath, and clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle the giggle that seemed to be forcing its way out.

Her first kiss and it was Azriel.

The shadowsinger, the big bad Illyrian spymaster.

It was the powerful male who cut people down without hesitation. The one who others whispered about.

The one who had held her so softly in the morning light. The one who had taken her hand so hesitantly as they walked through the halls...

The one she had to see for training tomorrow morning.

Nesta and Cassian would probably be missing, presumably still in bed. Emerie would be absent too if her friends smudged lipstick was anything to go by.

It was funny, Gwyn didn’t remember Emerie wearing lipstick earlier in the night, but when she came back after disappearing for two hours, Gwyn had politely pointed out the smudged crimson on her lips. A crimson that suited a ruffled blonde who entered the hall minutes later.

Gwyn couldn’t blame Mor, Emerie had looked fabulous in an orange gown tonight, wings gleaming, and hair braided with her Valkyrie ribbon. The blonde didn’t stand a chance.

Neither did Emerie apparently, as she disappeared with the Morrigan minutes before Gwyn herself had left the gathering.

Nesta too had been striking in a midnight gown. She had gotten ready in her own rooms. And if the the smug male air around Cassian was anything to go by, she had had to get ready a second time as well.

Gwyn was truly happy for her friends. Even if her only comforts were smutty novels, thoughts of scarred hands and her own fingers.

Alone with Azriel tomorrow. Maybe he’d pretend nothing happened. Maybe she should pretend nothing happened.

It was only earlier tonight she had been furious with him for ignoring her. It was embarrassment that truly fueled her anger, but the point remained that he had ignored her for three days.

It was Nesta’s idea to dance with another male tonight. Jurian was the first to offer, but when she looked up from her dance with the human, Azriel was simply in conversation with Rhysand.

So she drank and danced on. Only when he had slipped into a quiet hallway did she decide to follow him.

He was leaning against the wall when she rounded the corner. He had immediately uncrossed his arms, tucking his hands behind his back, under those magnificent wings.

Then she had taken his hidden hand and they had walked until her doorway. Then she had kissed him and everything seemed to fit into place.

Fit so perfectly that Gwyn had to flee before she decided to discover how other things would fit.

***

Morning dawned cold and grey. Gwyn slid into her leathers, ignoring the headache pounding through her temples. The other priestesses were attending an early morning mass, their own celebration of Starfall. Which meant it was only Azriel who stood in the early morning light.

The shadows clambered over his shoulders to reach out to her. She waved at one and could have sworn it waved back.

Azriel was fumbling with the handle of a sword, he quickly turned his back to her and Gwyn walked over to begin her stretches.

She began her own drills as Azriel ran through his. It had been about an hour and neither had said a word.

It was getting too awkward.

“Would you like to spar?” Her question cut through the chilly air like a sharp blade through paper.

Azriel started where he stood slicing at an invisible foe. “Of course.”

He replaced his sword on the rack and Gwyn quickly cast her own blade aside.

She had been suggesting sparring with steel but Azriel clearly wanted hand to hand combat.

They entered the small circle on the ground from opposite sides. A few feet away from him but she could’ve sworn she heard his heartbeat.

A blush was high across his cheekbones, probably from exertion, and it deepened as their eyes met.

Gwyn moved first, a feint, then a strike low to the abdomen. Azriel saw the move coming and his wings flared as he stepped out to dodge. Another strike but it glanced off his chest.

It was Gwyn’s turn to duck as a swing came next, then she was in close, fists ready to strike and the world tilted.

Gwyn slammed into the hard earth and rolled. She swept Azriels feet from under him, then swung herself over his hips.

Face to face, him pinned beneath her, hands bracketed in scarred hands. He didn’t even fight, just stared up at her. Breathing each other in. Feeling every inch of where they touched.

“Well done.” Azriel’s voice was oddly rough.

Gwyn unfroze and jumped up reaching out a hand to help him up. This had the fortunate side affect of placing them face to face while both vertical

Or rather face to chest as he was significantly taller than her.

Gwyn was being an idiot. He hadn’t said a word about the incident last night and she was still furious at him for… something. Her memory seemed to be impaired by his proximity.

Taking initiative, Gwyn stepped backwards, turned swiftly and snatched back up her blade from where she had left it. This occupied her hands so they would not find their way into his hair.

“With steel this time?” Gwyn’s voice sounded strained to her own ears, but Azriel seemed not to notice as he strode to retrieve his own weapon.

He fumbled slightly with the hilt again. If anything Gwyn would suppose he seemed nervous.

That was extremely unlikely. They’d sparred hundreds of times and he’d been to wars and back. Perhaps his shadows had whispered some dangerous information to him that he was still in shock over.

He seemed to gather himself, then marched resolutely over to her. She readied her stance but he didn’t even raise his sword.

Azriel merely stood in front of her and opened his mouth.

Then closed it again.

Then opened it again.

This time he managed words. “I understand that you were tipsy last night, and that you may not even remember, but we kissed. You kissed me. By your door. Of your room.”

Gods was he embarrassed?

“I just thought,” He hurried on, “I’d let you know that should you want me to completely forget that happened, I will forget. Well maybe not forget but I swear I will never mention it again, and should-“

“Azriel,” Gwyn gripped his arm, “I was aware of my actions last night. I apologise if I put you in an uncomfortable situation-“

“No!” Azriel exclaimed, “No, not at all, I wasn’t uncomfortable, I just didn’t want to put you in an awkward position.”

He was blushing and that somehow emboldened her. Perhaps it was the hangover and leftover lowered inhibitions.

“Azriel, you can put me in any position you would like.”

His head snapped up, eyes darkening.

He stepped closer.

They were almost nose to nose.

“You, Gwyneth Berdara, are dangerous.”

She smiled softly.

His gaze dipped to her mouth.

His hand reached towards her cheek.

It drew back.

A noise behind her on the stairs.

Azriel’s eyes flicked over her shoulder and he stepped away.

“Azriel, Gwyn. I hope we’re not interrupting anything.”

Gwyn spun to see Nesta and Emerie climbing up the stairs.

“We can come back… if you…”

“No,” Azriel’s voice was low as he pushed past her, “I’m leaving now anyway” He turned back at the top of the stairs, “Goodbye Gwyn” Gwyn was close to punching her friends.

All malice washed away however, when Azriel had disappeared into the darkness of the house and the other Valkyries descended into fits of giggles.

Nesta was the first to surface, “Gwyn! What the fuck were you two doing up here?”

“Sparring,” came the indignant response. “Just training and drills!”

“Oh I’m sure,” drawled Emerie, “That’s why I can smell the arousal hanging thicker than cream in this air.”

Nesta snorted, “Must have been some very interesting drills.”

A/N: ooooo it’s heating up. Someone guide the two of them, they’re helpless.

Tag list: @bookstantrash @perseusannabeth @champanheandluxxury @sayosdreams @booksloverforlife @princessofmerchants @princessofmerchants-reads @azrielsshadowsdanceforgwyn @illyrian-valkyrie @lovelywordsandwine @thron3ofbooks @velaaaris @gwynkyrie @acourtofmidnightsnacks @simpforfictionalmenandwomen @bittermuire @mirubyai @velvetrays @tealnymph24 @dealingdifferentdevils @siyeoncruella @spookylightkidranch @cantkeepmyeyesoffofyou-x @claukiki @maja2801 @madie2200 @zaffydee @allisonmb2017

Chapter 6

Let me know if you want to be added or removed from the tag list for this fic or my writing in general x

[triplexdoublex]

Alpha Omega

Pairings: Colson x Reader

Warnings/Tags: alcohol, drunk, attempted rape (colson saves you before ANYTHING happens), potentially triggering dialogue about it the next morning, strangers to friends to lovers, smut, squirting 💦

A/N: Inspired by a weird dream I had and a real tweet I read, the person Jake in the fic was actually Jake Paul in my dream (ew). If you think the beginning backstory may trigger you and just want to read their friendship turn to lovers/smut, then scroll to the 2ND time skip marked with stars (***)

College mid-terms were finally over, which meant the same thing every year: the Alpha Omega annual fraternity party! It was the biggest party on campus every year, and even though it’s not really your scene, you decided to attend this year. Maybe it was the stress of mid-terms weighing extra heavy on your mind, but you needed an escape. But now, five full drinks and some shots later, you find yourself stumbling around the drink and keg area in the kitchen with a half-empty red solo cup, wondering how the hell you're supposed to find your way back to your dorm to sleep off what was obviously a very poor decision.

“Hey pretty thing,” you hear, suddenly feeling an arm slink around your waist.

“Do I know you?” you ask, disoriented and confused as your eyes try to focus on the face of the person touching you.

“The name’s Jake,” he shouts over the music, guiding you out of the kitchen and into the main party room. “You should come back to my room, you look like you need to lay down,” he says with ill-intent, but you’re too intoxicated to argue, letting him lead you up the stairs.

Even though most of your senses are impaired right now, you can’t mistake the distinct, pungent smell of weed wafting towards you as Jake escorts you down the hall once the two of you reach the top of the stairs.

“Yo, Jake!” a voice shouts from an open door, smoke billowing out as you pass.

“Hey Cols, what’s up?”

“Nothing much, man,” he says, blowing a smoke ring as he passes the blunt to his roommate Pete. “Wanna hit?”

“Maybe later, gotta get this pretty little thing back to room,” Jake answers.

“Aye, she alright? Colson questions, quickly rising to his feet.

“Yeah, pal she don’t look too good,” Pete coughs.

“Nah, man, that’s fucked up. She’s gooone!” Colson says getting a closer look at you. ‘You can’t talk her back to your room like this. That’s just wrong.”

“The fuck I can!” Jake retorts. “Look,” he says turning to you and lifting your slumped head. “You wanna go to my room with me don’t you, sexy?”

“N-nno” You slur, drunkenly shaking your head ‘Yes’

“See, she shook her ‘yes’,” Jake argues.

“Yeah, and her mouth said fuckin’ NO, Dawg!” Colson snaps back.

“Listen, I’m taking her to my room and there ain’t shit you can do about it!”

“The fuck there is!” Colson swings, his closed fist making contact with the side of Jake’s face, knocking him out cold.

***************************

The next thing you know you’re opening your eyes; an unfamiliar room and bed coming into view. You slowly sit up holding your throbbing head

“Hey, you’re awake,” says a soft voice to your right. Quickly, you turn your head in a panic to see a tall blonde sitting on the edge of the bed.

“W-who are you? Where.. Where am I?” you ask on the verge of tears.

“My name's Colson,” he reaches out for your hand. “I —”

“Don’t touch me!” You yell, scooting backwards pulling  the covers up over you when you realize all you’re wearing is a thin, white, mens t-shirt. “Where are my clothes?”

“Aye, yo, it’s not like that. Relax, listen,” he stands with his hands up backing away from you. “I slept on the couch, I just wanted —”

“Where are my clothes!?” you demand.

“You threw up on them,” he answers.

“So lemme get this right … I threw up and you took off my clo —”

“NO! No! God no!” he says waving his arms. “My roommate Pete —”

“So your roommate Pete took off my clothes…?”

“NOOO! Please, just listen. I swear I was just trying to help you and keep you safe.” The desperation in his voice causes you to let down your guard a little. “I was saying, my roommate Pete. His girl. She stayed over last night and I asked her to help get you cleaned up and changed. I saw nothing I swear,” he puts his hands up again.

You sit there in silence, confused, trying to process everything he just said.

“You really don’t remember anything from last night? Do you?” He asks, stepping slowly back towards the bed.”

“No,” you shake your head, disappointed in yourself.

He cautiously begins to sit back down on the edge of the bed then pauses “Can I?” 

You nod ‘yes’ and he takes a seat.

“Yo, you were in really rough shape last night. I’m assuming you had too much to drink?”

“Yeah,” you admit looking ashamed.

“Aye, we’ve all been there. I’m just glad you’re ok,” he smiles. “Me and my homie Pete were just up here smoking when we seen some dude we know trying to take you back to his room. I could tell you were wrecked. Fuck, you where barely conscious. I tried to tell him how wrong that was but he wouldn’t listen so I knocked him the fuck out. I didn’t know where your dorm was or if you came to the party with anyone and I wanted to make sure you had a safe place to sleep it off.”

“ Thank you. I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions,” you apologize.

“Nah I completely understand,” he accepts your apology. ‘That’s why I wanted to be here when you woke up, I figured you might be a little confused.”

“More than a little,” you let out a small laugh.

Colson cracks a smile, then heads to his dresser, pulling out a pair of his athletic shorts. “Here, tell you what,” he says, tossing the shorts on the bed. “ Imma head out there —” he points to the door. Let you get dressed and I’ll drive you back to your dorm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you answer with a thumbs up and a smile as he steps out the room, closing the door behind him.

*******************

“Seriously, thank you so much,” you say when he pulls up to your dorm.”What can I do for you? I feel like I can’t thank you enough.”

“Nothing. Any respectable man would have done the same thing,” he says.”I can only hope that one day if god forbid my daughter even finds herself in that position that someone would do the same for her.”

“Awww, you have a daughter?”

“Yeah,” he smiles like a proud father, lifting his backside from the drivers seat to pull out his wallet. “Her name’s Casie,” he says opening to her picture.  

“She’s beautiful.”

“Thank you,” he says, then tucking his wallet back into his pocket. “She lives with her mom but I still see her all the time.”

“I’m glad. You seem like you’d be a great father.” you smile. “Thanks again,” you add, stepping out of the car.

“Hey, ummm, wait,” he calls out the car window as you walk towards your dorm.

“Yeah?” you turn back to face him.

“Ain’t you in that bitch Mrs. Pearson’s creative writing class with me?”

“Oh yeah,” you thought he looked familiar. “You usually sit up in the back row right?”

“If you mean ‘take a nap in the back row’, then yeah that’s me”, he laughs.

“Well see you bright and early tomorrow then I guess,” you smile.

“Yeah, see ya,” he smiles back before driving off.

**************************************

The two of you became quite close after that. Gradually moving your seats closer and closer to be near each other in class and pairing up for projects together. You even got to meet his daughter Casie briefly once before her mom picked her up from their weekend visit. You spent a lot of your free time together.It was amazing how you could do absolutely nothing when you were together yet there was no awkward silence or moments: much like right now where you're both hanging out in your dorm just laying on your bed scrolling aimlessly through your phones.

“Oh my god why are men so stupid?” You blurt out in laughter, showing him a tweet on your phone. “This dude really had the audacity to make a whole ass thread about how to eat pussy but he obviously has no clue what he’s talking about; girls don’t squirt out of their clits!’ No wonder girls never cum and have to fake it. Ya’ll mother fuckers don’t even know where the clit IS, and I’m pretty sure squirting is just something made up by the porn industry cuz that shit never happens in real life.”

“Aye, nah I hope you aint including me in that, cuz lemme tell you, ya boy knows where the clit is!  My girls always cum,” he smirks. 

“Yeah, okay,” you roll your eyes. “How do you know they’re not faking?”

“Cuz squirting ain’t made up, that shits VERY real! Maybe not every time but it has happened so I know they weren’t faking,” he smiles. “You mean to tell me a guy has never made you cum?

“Uhn uh” you shake your head no.

“And you’ve never squirt... even ..uhh..by yourself...or with whatever toys you chicks use?”

“I mean I’ve cum alone, but never squirt. No,” you admit blushing. You and Colson have never discussed anything sexual with each other before.

“That’s bananas, dawg!” he exclaims, slapping the bed.

The room grows quiet, the silence feeling awkward for the first time in your whole friendship.

“Aye, uh you trust me right?” Colson breaks the silence

“Yeah, of course, with my life!” you exclaim.”Why?”

“Trust me enough to uhmm...show you what I can do?”

“Are--are you saying you wanna — “

“I wanna make you cum,” he blurts out, cutting you off. “If- if you’ll let me that is.”

“I...Uhmm..I..”, you stumble while thinking it over.

“Sorry… uhhh let’s just forget this whole conversation, okay?” he says ashamed, thinking he made you uncomfortable.

“Why not,” you blurt out nonchalantly.

“Wait!, why not, like… like you … you wanna —”

You silently shake your head yes biting your lip.

“Oh shit! For real?” He says in surprise, getting up off the bed. “Uhh, c’mere,” he calls you over to the edge of the bed.

You do as you're told crawling over to the edge, sitting with your legs dangling off the bed. “You know, you don’t gotta go easy with me,” you smirk waiting for him to make his next move.

“Good, I wasn’t planning on it,” he says, immediately flipping you over and yanking your panties off from under your dress.

“Ugh you boys are all the same,” you groan looking back at him assuming he’s just gonna start fucking you from behind. “Haven’t any of you even heard of foreplay?”

“Don’t tell me no one’s ever eaten your pussy from the back before?” he questions, kneeling down behind you. 

With both hands he grabs your ass making it jiggle for him before delving his tongue between your folds, his tongue exploring every crevice. You gasp at the sensation and feel his muffled laugh buzz against your core, intensifying your pleasure. Gripping your ass tighter, he alternates between plunging a firm, pointed tongue in and out of your wet slit and assaulting your clit with a series of rapid fire kitten licks. Your legs weaken with each lash of his tongue, your body slowly collapsing against the bed.

“Keep that ass up, girl,” he pauses briefly to say. You try with all your might but it’s no use; Colson has reduced your legs to a pile of jello. Roughly he tosses you onto your back, spreads your thighs open and gets back to work. Keeping his tongue focused on your clit, he slides two fingers deep inside of you, his lengthy digits perfectly pressing against your G spot. “I can feel this pussy tightening around my fingers, I know you're close, right?” He pauses to ask cockily.

All you can manage is to nod, ‘yes’, your bottom lip clenched tightly between your teeth as you look down locking eyes with colson; the fiery passion in them is a stark contrast to their ice blue hue.

Colson quickens the pace of his fingers, the sloshing of your wetness audible as he brings you closer to the edge. Then resting his free hand on your mound he gently pulls back the hood of your clit with his thumb exposing the most sensitive part sending your body into convulsions when he rapidly flicks his tongue against it.

“Colson, FUCK!!! ” you scream out in pleasure as the most intense orgasm of your life rips through you. “Oh my god... oh my god,” you chant in pleasure and shock as you realize you’re actually squirting. Colson doesn’t miss a beat continuing to work you through your high, relishing in the mess you're making all over his face and fingers. When you finally stop twitching he removes his fingers and sits up with a smug look. He pulls off his shirt, wipes his glistening face with it, then tosses it on the floor and hurriedly starts undoing his belt.

“You didn’t think I was just gonna stop at one, did you?” He says cockily pulling himself from his boxers. “Awhh, fuck yeah, sooo wet and tight,” he groans as he pushes in, then bringing his hand between your two bodies, and begins to rub your clit as he thrusts.

“Mhmmmhhmm,” you moan, the bundle of nerves still sensitive from your prior orgasm.

“Told ya I could make you feel good,” he teases, his breath ghosting over that one reactive spot on your neck just behind your ear, causing you to let out a little squeak. “You like that?” He laughs, nipping at the same spot while his hips roll in like the tide, crashing repeatedly against the shore of your pelvis. He nips and kisses along your jawline making his way to your mouth, harshly tugging your bottom lip with a groan. Your tongue reaches out, searching for him as he pulls back.

“Fucking tease,” you whimper.

“That desperate to taste yourself on me?” He chaffs.

To be honest you’re desperate for everything he’s giving you right now; you’re body has never felt such pleasure. So when he offers his mouth back to you, you happily welcome the tart taste of yourself still present on his ravenous tongue. Your mouths move in a hungry rhythm, following suit with your hips. Your breaths and moans echo each others, increasing in speed and volume as climax nears. He can tell you’re so so close and he knows just how to get you there. He  grabs your legs pulling you flush against him and throws your legs over his shoulder, keeping your thighs pinned to his chest with both arms as continues to pound you.

“Mhmmm… Yeah, Yeah, Fuck me! Fuck me!”  you whine needily clawing at the sheets as you enjoy his cock from a whole new angle, slamming into your g-spot at the perfect tempo. It’s just a few more thrusts until he has you completely undone, cumming for the second time today.

“Jesus Christ, Colson” you moan breathily as you ride it out.

‘Ughggg,” he grunts loudly, quickly pulling  out, your legs falling to hips as he finishes on your stomach. 

“Can’t believe you were out here talkin’ ‘bout men don’t know where the clit is and no man ever made you cum,” he says mockingly after he catches his breath. “Nah, girl, you just been fucking with some losers. Gotta get you a real man like me.” 

“Well looks like I got myself one now,” you smirk. “ because we will definitely be doing that again!”

“Awhhh shiiiit,” he says loudly, his hand covering his smile. “ Got you addicted to this dick already, huh?” He teases.

“Shut up,Colson-,” you laugh, chucking a pillow at him “- and go get me something to clean off my stomach.”

[mggpleasedontlookhere]

reid’s anatomy

summary: spencer gets a gunshot wound while working in the field and gets transported to the hospital you work in as a 4th year resident. 

word count: 2,325                                                                                             reading time aprox: 9 mins

masterlist

Gurneys, lights, flying commands, and patients. The trauma room was my favorite place to be, other than the OR of course, it felt like a second home. But nothing compared to the home I had when I laid in Spencer’s arms. 

I was currently working in the trauma room, triaging the patients as I did my rounds. I dismissed a few individuals that had minor injuries, while discovering various accidents that required solutions as small as stitching up a patient to booking an OR for an emergent surgery. 

“Honey can you move your toes for me please?”

In front of me lay my latest patient, a 5 year old boy who had been pushed off of a swing set and had happened to land on his ankle. His cheeks were painted red from the crying he had previously done, a thumb cemented into his mouth as he continued to suck on it for comfort. His mother sat beside him, panic evident in her eyes, although she kept an amiable expression to reassure her son on his well being. 

The boy shook his head frantically, earning a break in composure from the mother. She reached out and folded her hand over her son’s and held on tight to it, with a tight-lipped smile on her face. 

“You’re going to be okay Timothee, mommy’s right here sweetie”. The mother squeezed her son’s hands continuously, looking to me for answers.

“Your son- well Timothee here seems to have sprained his ankle” I explained in layman's terms, lifting up the boys ankle to locate where the injury occurred.  “The issue here is that he seems to have an eversion ankle sprain and has fractured his deltoid ligament, which is more uncommon than a inversion ankle sprain, since the deltoid ligament is close to impossible to fracture”. 

As I finished my description, the mother returned her attention to her son, massaging his head to console him. “We-well it’s just a sprained ankle right? It can heal. My husband has had multiple sprained ankles from how much of a klutz he is” She joked in attempt to lighten the mood. Despite her attempts, there was more news to deliver.

“I wish it was much more simpler than that” I sighed, motioning for the on-call nurse to come over. “Due to Timothee’s young age, my biggest concerns are the development of his bones, considering the fracture he had suffered and that the nerves responsible for motor skills in his legs might have been severed. In most adult cases, the individual is able to recover because the durability of the bone had been fully realized from age. But, Timothee here is at risk of deformation of his osseous matter” I doefully confessed, a small pit forming in my stomach while delivering his diagnosis. 

As the mother’s face dropped, I turned to the nurse telling her to call Neuro and Peds, then asked her to file the paperwork. I looked back at the small family with a sigh, placing his chart at the end of the bed. 

It was moments like these that make me envision the life I’m going to have with Spencer if we ever decided to have children together. Despite our young age, I couldn’t help up configure an idealistic future than only composed of me, Spencer, and 2 or 3 little children running around us in glee. 

“The nurse will be back with the pape-” 

I was cut off by sirens and a magnitude of shrilling voices shouting commands. These were the indications of an incoming trauma. I turned around to peak for a second with the possibility of wanting to check on another case, but the interns and 2nd year residents had beat me to it. 

My focus remained on the child in front of me, checking his vitals from time to time, while eavesdropping on the commotion behind me. 

“We’ve got a caucasian ma...federal...with a GSW in the thoracic cavity, with intercostal tears”. Most of the sentence was muffled by the loud wheels of the crash cart, residents fumbling around, and the attendings yelling orders at the scene. I turned around to witness the chaotic scene, only to be meet with heads full of hair and some that didn’t actually have hair at all. 

Geez, I wouldn’t want to be the guy with the GSW to his chest

In emergent surgery, GSW’s were the most lethal in the clinic as most of the time the patient is either too late or the bullet had caused multiple complications in the patient, causing distress in the body. The tricky thing about GSWs were that they were different every time, it was almost always a different procedure depending on the location. 

I nodded goodbye to the perturbed mother, earning a tight lipped smile and a nod back. I turned to walk towards the nurses station when suddenly I was paged to trauma room 3. I rushed over to the area, sanitizing my hands before walking in. A privacy drape hung from the lower abdomen of the individual, with nurses and residents scrambling to keep his vitals stabilized.   

I faced the trauma nurse as she explained the patients situation. “We’ve got a caucasian male, seems to be 25-35 with a GSW in his thoracic cavity with no exit wound, the bullet is possibly lodged in the pericardial cavity” She spoke in haste. 

“Push 10 of Norepinephrine and call Cardio” I stressed, rushing out of the room to find another resident to scrub into the surgery as I wasn’t finished with my rounds yet. 

On my way around the nurse’s desk I noticed a familiar face that sat glum and slumped over in his chair, well it was more like a familiar group of faces. My steps slowed in order to get a better view to confirm my suspicions, then shuffled over to determine what the occasion was. 

“Hey Morgan-hey guys” I furrowed my eyebrows at the group, my worry peaked at the numerous melancholy expression that they wore on their faces. Despite my observations, there was one face I noticed was missing from the ensemble. 

Spencer. 

A chill ran up my arm, which was usually an indication of something wrong. In spite of the unfavorable pit in my stomach, I was at my workplace where everything usually puts me on edge, so I pushed it aside. 

“Where’s Spenc-” 

My words faded out into an uncomfortable silence when Morgan lifted his head to face me and in his eyes were the deepest of browns, anguish pooled in his irises, similar to the look I gave to the mother of the patient I was treating previously. I glanced at the rest of the team, who wore a identical stares. 

My stomach had churned and twisted into knots. The chill that had ran up my arm traveled to my legs, all the way to the tips of my toes. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, I could feel my heart still and my fingers twitch. The overhead lights of the clinic became overwhelmingly bright and a nauseating sensation began crawling up my throat. 

“Y/N-” Morgan began as I stared at him wide-eyed. He grabbed one of my hands and wrapped it in between his rough and sweaty palms, but I tensed in the midst of it, while adrenaline ran up my veins. 

“Reid, he’s...we-we were workin- I...he’s” 

Despite his attempts at an explanation, he wasn’t able to complete any of his phrases as I yanked my hand out of his grasp and bolted towards the trauma room. I heard my name being called in the background, although it became a voice of a phantom as my surroundings became impaired with the sounds of my heartbeat, the loud thuds my feet made as I raced towards the room, and the anxious thoughts that flooded my mind. 

I pushed into the room, only to see a bed was missing. I bee lined to where the residents were, pivoting around the various carts that decorated the room. “Where’s that patient with the GSW in his thoracic cavity? What resident was assigned on his case? What was his name?”. The words spewed out of my lips like a waterfall, earning alarmed looks from the residents. 

“Um, he was transported to OR 3″ One of them explained with naive looks on their faces. 

“Yeah, they’re in surgery right now with Dr. Burke and Dr. Montgomery” Another one added. 

“What’s the patient’s name? Do you remember?” I responded, prying them of all the information they knew. The residents peered at each other dumbfoundedly, looking at each other for answers as if they were taking their MLE exams again. 

“Dr. Y/L/N, no offense but you’re not on this case” One of the residents added with a condescending voice. 

“Dr. Mallory, if you don’t answer me in the matter of 10 seconds, I swear I will go to your senior resident and have you be doing scut for the rest of your medical career” I retorted. Fear was evident in all their eyes, I knew my eyes were brimming with multiple emotions, condensing into nothing but a fiery and aggressive tone.  

“Sp-spencer Reid, Ma’am” A quiet voice spoke up in the group. I nodded a small thank you to the individual and ran to the OR where they held Spencer. 

When I got into the prep room, I grabbed a face mask and entered the OR, witnessing a man’s body, the love of my life under heavy anesthesia and tubes wired up to his chest. Before I could speak, the attending spoke up and questioned me of my presence. 

“I-i was wondering if I could scrub in sir” I replied. “I-I, um, heard that there was in upc...incoming trauma for a GSW and I was wondering if I could scrub in” I repeated. 

“You already said that Dr. Y/L/N” 

“I understand sir, but I-” 

The attending than turned around exposing the sight of Spencer’s chest being retracted open. My entire body ached at the sight, the lifelessness of his body creating an image in my head that couldn’t compare to the images Spencer would see of his victims. I cringed and turned away, tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I knew I couldn’t let myself go, especially if I wanted to be included in Spencer’s operation. 

“Dr. Y/L/N, with all respect, I know you’re one of the best residents we have in this hospital and I know you’re a phenomenal doctor” The attending explained, letting one of the other senior residents take over for a moment. “But, I also know who this is laying on my table. For this case, you’re not his doctor, you’re family, and I need you to trust that I am able to do my job, as you do yours” He concluded, signaling to one of the nurses to take me out of the OR. 

I nodded hesitantly, following the nurse out of the room, my eyes still locked on the individual that lay on the table. After the nurse had went back inside, I sat on the ground with my hands on my lap, staring at the abyss of the hallway. 

Our future depends on if a single man can maneuver his scalpel with enough wisdom and efficiency. The father of my future children lay on the cold metal table, where I used to find comfort and power in when saving someone else’s loved one. Who knew there would be a time where the roles were switched. 

Who knew that no matter how many years you’ve trained, how many books you’ve read, and the degrees you’ve obtained to save people’s lives, you could still be powerless against what life throws at you. The worst part is the irony that comes with tragedies. I spent a quarter of my life learning how to save people, yet I sit here purposeless when someone that I live for is struggling to stay alive. How malicious is that. 

Tears began streaming down my cheeks, although my expression hasn’t changed. The wetness that enveloped half of my face was the only thing that reminded me of the reality that I was in, keeping my consciousness grounded momentarily. 

I swear my heart pauses, everytime I hear a change in the monitor that indicated Spencer’s vitals or a command that the attending would spew out to the helping resident. I was completely fixated on everything that was happening in the room adjacent to me, disregarding the entire atmosphere that lay in my vision. 

It wasn’t until large legs halted in front of where I was crouched down. I didn’t bother looking up as my thoughts clouded my sensibility. The figure then sat down to my level, I could feel the individual’s eyes boring at my blank visage. I felt a large arm pull me closer to the individual, only this time I realized it was Morgan who had come to console me. 

Awaiting a pursuance of some sort of speech that’s supposed to bring me clarity or amenity. But to my dismay, only the loud presence of silence filled the gap of our exchange. That’s when my emotions began to seep into my skin, filling my heart with heavy matter, making it close to impossible to keep up my facade. 

A whimper escaped my lips while I laid on Morgan’s shoulder for the time being, only for the rest of my somber to follow. I cried in defeat, holding onto the clutches of Morgan’s shirt as he gripped onto the back of my head, massaging it in the process. 

I felt droplets hit the top of my head and a wetness forming rapidly. Weak sniffles emitted from the man above me, betraying his collected composure. We both sat here together with heavy hearts, waiting for what seemed like an eternity. 

We both sat in silence waiting to see if his colleague was alive and if my everything was still breathing. 

-

Pt. 2

A/N:

Pt. 2 coming soon! most likely tomorrow. I was going to write the whole thing today, but frankly, I just need a fresh mind.  

Part 2 out now

[hcywards]

pool — jj maybank

summary: in which y/n finds a stranger floating in her pool

words: 1.7k+

t/w: mentions of abuse, swearing, a make out session

note: y’all seem to really like jj and i cant say that i blame you,,,, so here you go

     Y/N frowned, looking out of her window with the confused nervousness of a girl who could see a stranger in their pool at nine in the morning on a Saturday — because she could, and she wasn’t sure why he was there or how he’d managed to get there.

     The blonde boy was splayed out across a floatie, one arm covering his face from sight, and Y/N figured he was either asleep or had just woken up. His clothes were soaked — he must’ve gotten fully in the pool at some point, and, despite her fear, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at the thought of him rolling off of the floatie in the middle of the night. 

     He didn’t look like he belonged on her side of the island. No, he was definitely a Pogue, and, from what little Y/N could see, an attractive one, too.

     But that was besides the point — the point was, there was a stranger in her pool when he hadn’t been the night before, and Y/N wasn’t sure if he was a murderer or not.

     She gulped as she tossed on an oversized shirt. not wanting to waste too much time getting dressed and potentially miss him as he got out. She didn’t take her eyes off of him as she backed out of her bedroom, and the second he was out of sight she was whirling, sprinting through the house with her heart hammering in her chest, thoughts clouded as she tried to get back to a place where she could see him again.

     By the time she made it out of the house, he was awake, back facing her as he tried to jump out of the deep end of the pool. Y/N watched with fear clogging up her throat, but she eventually managed to get out: “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”

     He jumped, falling back into the pool and spluttering as he whirled to face her. Now, Y/N knew for sure that he was attractive, and, under his wide-eyed stare, she couldn’t help but blush.

     “Fuck!” he exclaimed, knowing he’d been caught, and he turned away from her again, jumping up and out of the pool and starting to run through Y/N’s yard. Y/N rolled her eyes and began charging after him, and when he stumbled over a football, she managed to catch him, pinning him down to the floor and pulling her phone out from where she’d tucked it inside her bra. He winced as she moved around above him, and she frowned, but didn’t say anything, just stopped moving.

     She probably should’ve called the cops sooner, she thought, and she cursed herself internally as she tapped in the three digits.

     “Wait!” the blonde boy she had trapped beneath her blurted out, and she looked down at him with an arched eyebrow, thumb hovering over the green button threateningly. “Please, don’t call the cops. I’m sorry.”

     “Why would I not call the cops?” Y/N almost snorted. “Please, enlighten me.”      He gave her a smirk, and she rolled her eyes, turning back to her phone, and he whined beneath her, before blushing at the realisation of how that’d look to anyone who might’ve been watching.

     He’d have to leave that bit out when he told the Pogues about this later, if he didn’t want to be teased about it for the rest of his life.

     “Okay, sorry!” he pleaded. “I’m sorry. Please, don’t call the cops.”

     “Look, you’re going to have to give me a valid reason,” Y/N stated, and he sighed, nodding.

     “Yeah, yeah, I know, me being hot won’t cut it,” he bantered, and she hit him lightly in the ribs, causing pain to flare up across his side, spreading like a wildfire. He let out a yell, and then quickly clamped a hand down over his mouth. Fuck. The girl above him arched her brow even higher, giving him a silent question, and he sighed. How was he going to answer that believably? “Uh. . . I fell down the stairs?”

     Y/N sat up a little higher on her knees, so that no part of her body was touching his, and frowned. “Dude, I can tell that you’re lying. Tell me what happened.”

     “Why should I? You’re going to call the cops anyway,” JJ responded, but when Y/N just frowned a little more, he sighed. “Okay, I. . . got into a fight with Rafe.”

     “Bullshit, the Camerons are on vacation,” she shot back.

     JJ groaned, cursing himself for suddenly forgetting how to lie. “Right, they are.” He ran a hand over his face, trying to think of anything else to tell her. “If I told you it was actually Topper I got into a fight with, would you believe me?”

     Maybe it was the fact that she was straddling him that was impairing his ability to talk his way out of this. He liked to think that that was the case, though, really, he knew that it was because he’d been crushing on her since the day he first caught a glimpse of her at the Boneyard party a few years ago, laughing and talking with Sarah. Kie had been with them, too, as it’d been on her Kook year. JJ had only looked over to give his friend a grin, but having seen Y/N, he’d immediately forgotten what he was doing.

     They’d never had a proper conversation, of course. Every time he was mowing the L/N’s lawn, Y/N was out, and every time he was delivering food to the house, she was upstairs, and every Boneyard party, it was a boy getting drinks from JJ to bring to her. He wasn’t surprised she didn’t recognise him, if he were honest, but that didn’t upset him any less. After all, it kind of hurt to discover that he was nothing but a Pogue to her, when she was the girl he imagined every Touron was, and thought about when he went to sleep, and then again when he woke up.

     And of course it had to be her yard he decided to spend the night in.

     “No, JJ,” she responded, snapping him out of his thoughts. “I wouldn’t believe you.”

     “Great,” JJ muttered to himself, and let out a long, drawn out breath despite the stabbing at his side when he did so. “Okay.” It couldn’t hurt to tell her, right? After all, she didn’t know who he was. How could she tell anyone about it? And it wasn’t as if the cops didn’t already have their suspicions. “It was my dad. That’s why I’m here, actually — to get away from him.”

     Y/N sighed, putting her phone down and looking at him closely, wanting to make sure this wasn’t a lie. “That’s a hell of a story, pool boy. I guess I won’t call the cops.”

     Neither of them moved for a moment after that, seeming to forget where they were and what they were doing. Y/N couldn’t even feel the water seeping into her shorts, and JJ forgot that she was basically pinning him to the floor, her hands pressing down onto his. However, when he remembered this, all breath seemed to be taken from him, and suddenly he felt his cheeks heat up as he realised their close proximity — and it seemed to be getting smaller, though he was unsure which one of them was leaning in. Perhaps it was both, but suddenly her lips were on his, and his eyes were shut as her hands moved to his hair. 

     He forgot about his dad, forgot about the pain in his ribs and forgot about anything other than Y/N as his tongue slipped between her lips and his hands moved to pull her onto his lap properly.

     This was the exact same as all of his hookups, though it felt nothing like it. It felt right, like he was only ever meant to kiss her, and it felt passionate rather than lust driven, calming and overwhelming all at once. He couldn’t think of anything but her when he kissed her, and he didn’t want to, because, for once, he didn’t have to imagine his lips on hers. And sure, it could’ve been just teenagers being stupid, but it felt like a lot more than that.

     She gave his hair a light tug to pull away for air, and he smirked at her. Something inaudible slipped past his lips as he pressed a kiss to her neck, and she cursed quietly, grip on his hair tightening as she let out a gasp. He grinned against her skin at the reaction, never wanting this moment to end. He had to pull away again, though, looking up at her staring down at him with swollen lips and a pout.

     Holy fuck, he could get used to this.

     “Sorry to ruin the party, but I don’t usually have sex in someone’s backyard,” he joked — in reality, he just didn’t want to take his shirt off and reveal his bruises and scars to her. It wasn’t exactly a turn-on, to say the least.

     She nodded, laughing as she stood up and took his hand to pull him up. “I don’t have sex with boys who I don’t know the name of, anyways, stranger.”

     JJ laughed at that. “It’s JJ, and I know yours. Y/N.”

     Y/N nodded, not even questioning how he knew her name as she lead him into her house. “You need some new clothes, JJ, and I could make breakfast, if you’d like.”

     JJ grinned, suddenly aware of how hungry he was. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate. And Kook food? Who was he to turn down such an offer?

     “God, I really like you,” he suddenly blurted out, and then his eyes widened as she turned to him with a narrowed-eyed gaze.

     She laughed, though, and he nervously laughed with her. “That’s a hell of a declaration coming from someone I’ve just met, but thanks for the gratitude. And it’s nice to know I’m that good of a kisser.”

     JJ smiled, a genuine, happy smile, and he felt like a Kook with all of their forgotten troubles. It felt odd to him that, even though he’d only just met her, Y/N was making him feel as lightheaded and carefree as she was, but it felt great, and he didn’t want it to ever stop.

     Needless to say, JJ managed to get her number and a few more kisses that day — as well as a plan to meet up the next day, and an offer to stay at hers overnight.

taglist! there is a form in my description if you would like to be added!

@thorsangel @dpaccione @ceruleanjj @thatsonobx @spilledtee @supremestarkey @babypogue @sadcupofcoffee @sacredto @poguemacking @outrbank @ilovejjmaybank @calumbroutledge

[cajunquandary]

Hands that Heal

Link: (coming soon to Ao3)

Summary: Sometimes all you need is a little push the right direction...

Created for: @negans-lucille-tblr SPN Secret Santa Fic Exchange

Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Jay)

Warnings: Jealous Dean, fluff, smut, smidge of angst, medical IV (briefly), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy)

Wordcount: 3.8k

A/N: Happy Holidays, @jay-and-dean! I was so ecstatic to have received your name and hope that my ramblings make you smile a little.

.

It’s a funny thing, the way everyone goes on about the eyes being windows to the soul. Of course, they can be very telling, and if you ever catch yourself getting lost in those of the Winchesters, how could you believe anything else? Or perhaps you are more like Jay. 

Jay has been with the Winchesters for quite some time. She’s been lost in those eyes. And she’s been found. The pure green folds of Dean’s have scooped her up, swaddled her, saved her. So have Sam’s hazel, but not in quite the same way. Not that either brother knows. Only Cas. 

Cas has seen the way her deep brown eyes linger just a little longer than they ought to, can feel the ache in her chest. There are times when Jay meets the angel’s gaze just afterwards but looks away just as quickly. They both know, but they won’t talk about it. And that’s okay. 

But for Jay, she can see beyond the green. Beyond the freckles and blushing pensive lips, the curve of his jaw, the gently rolling hills of his chest and arms. She traces the majestic waves and ripples beneath his warm skin with only her eyes and her heart. They come to rest just past strong wrists and fall like weighted feathers upon Dean’s weathered hands. 

You see, that’s where the soul really reveals itself closest to visible flesh. Each scar and busted knuckle tell a story. The pattern of freckles and tan lines speak of years in the sun. The calluses of his palm and fingertips disclose a rough life, a tough job. They are toned with skill, accurate in all things. They can field strip a gun and put it back together in the blink of an eye, tie complicated knots with dexterity, bait a hook and cast a line without hesitation, and even mold and create custom parts for Baby as they fix her up.

And yet, the skin between those marks is soft, no longer as elastic as it once was, but still full of life and love. The very muscles that hold together the bone and sinew have the capacity to both take life, and give it. Jay has watched them rip apart monsters and gently caress and hold victims within the same minute. 

Such an extreme duality shouldn’t be so neatly wrapped up in one man, but it was. It was both Dean’s light and his curse. Jay shivered as she hesitated just a moment too long on the fantasy of those thick muscled, deadly, yet oh-so-gentle hands, imagining how they might tickle as they might glide over her smooth skin. Of course, Dean notices. 

“There’s no way you’re cold, Jay. It’s a hundred friggin degrees outside!”

Right. Jay had to remind herself that they were on a case. No distractions. “Yeah, I-I’m good. Just got a chill because, ya know, we’re next to human refrigerators.” She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth to help ground herself back to reality. 

It really was hotter than a witch’s tit out there and not much cooler inside the mortuary. Dean continued to read silently from some forms on the coroner’s clipboard before licking his thumb and index finger to turn the page. Heat washed over Jay, spreading like drunken honey from her scalp all the way to her toes. She tried to steady her breathing, remain in persona as a stoney FBI agent, but the hot red of her cheeks was giving her away. 

She tore her gaze away to inspect the body. Not that anything she made mental note of would stick at this point. Dean cleared his throat and pulled the clipboard closer to his face before setting his thumbnail between his teeth the way he always did when he was laser-focused on something. She only caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, but it was the final bit to break her. 

With a huff, Jay exclaimed a little too loudly, “There’s nothing here for us, Dean. I’ll be in the car.” Her legs carried her much too quickly out the swinging doors and up the stairs. 

“Um, okay?” Dean grumbled to himself before setting the paperwork back in its place and following Jay. “What the hell got into her?” 

Jay was glad to leave Texas. Mid-July heat drained her, along with every plant and tree scorched under the unrelenting and searing white sun. The world around them was bleached and bathed in the almost-eerie too-bright light. Well, everything except what existed in the shadows of the Impala. The sparse countryside rolled away mile by mile as time ticked by with every song on Dean’s favorite cassette. 

The air conditioning just couldn’t keep up, so Dean rolled down the windows. Jay tied up her locks in frustration, leaving a messy excuse for a bun resting on top of her head. The leather seats did nothing to help as she sweat through her shorts until she was nearly sliding off the seat. 

“How much longer until Oklahoma?” She sighed. For the third time that hour.

Dean shot a glare in her direction before settling his attention back on the highway. The heat was getting to him too, and even with sunglasses on, spots were gathering in his vision and impairing him with every piercing flash of the sun off of the windshields of passing cars. “Jay, I swear if you ask me ‘are we there yet’ one more time, I’m going to friggin pull over.”

“Ugh, FINE.” Jay wished to be nearly anywhere but here. Resignation set in and she slumped in the seat and let her bare feet hang out the window, crossing her arms. 

Dean turned the music louder, trying to drown out his own misery rather than her. He began to belt out slightly off-key to “Dazed and Confused.”

Jay cracked a half smile but hid it from Dean. 

He rapped out the solos on the steering wheel, his hands keeping perfect time as they danced upon the taught leather. 

Maybe pulling over wouldn’t be a half-bad idea, Jay thought. 

She closed her eyes, allowing the steady rumble of the engine to echo through her as hot wind whipped through the cab. She cracked them open again just long enough to witness the stretch of tight skin over Dean’s knuckles, the way the washed out wilderness blurred past behind them and accentuated the tan he’d gained from driving. 

The image was burned into her mind. To help pass the time, Jay granted herself permission to linger on it, explore it. Despite the heat outside, a new, different heat grew steadily in her core, stirring somewhere deep between her heart and soul. 

Not too long after, the Impala slowed and turned into a run down gas station--the first one in an hour. As Dean filled up, Jay took the opportunity to find shelter in some air conditioning and hopefully an ice-cold drink. Inside the store was no better. In fact, it was worse. The air was still and thick with humidity from the cooler, which buzzed and whirred as if it were possessed. 

“Sorry, Miss. Cooler is out. Hot drinks only,” a disheveled and sweat-drenched employee slouched over the register. 

“Thanks… got any pie?” Jay decided that if they had to drink hot water, they may as well have some comfort food. 

“Whatever we got is over there.” The clerk motioned with his eyes, no strength to even lift a finger. 

Jay stalked back to the car empty handed and more pissed than ever. If the summer heat was something tangible, she could just strangle it. Kick it, punch it. Anything to fight it. 

Dean finished up just in time, careful not to touch the scorching black paint and chrome on the car. “What, you go pee and come out with nothing? I’m dyin’ here!”

Jay snapped. “NO DRINKS. NO PIE. NOTHING. K?!” 

Dean was taken aback by the outburst. It was then he noticed the sunken look and dark circles under her eyes and the red sheen over her face and neck. She was getting pale and wasn’t sweating anymore.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” His brows knit as he drove slowly through the town, hoping for a decent motel to rest at for a while. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait but a few blocks before The Moonlight Motel came into view. 

Pay by the hour may not be the greatest, but at least it was cheap and would likely be empty this time of day. 

Jay was losing touch and the following events were a blur. The next thing she truly could grasp and remember was lying mostly clothed in a cold shower. Dean sat facing her atop the closed toilet seat, a worried face perched upon clasped hands. Still a bit out of it, Jay relaxed into the cool water as it slowly washed the fever down the drain. The world slipped away, replaced by a gentle, dark nothing.

When Jay stirred, the room was too dim to still be day and shadows were held at bay by only a small lamp on the far side of the dingy room. She couldn’t remember how she got there at first, but as she woke, things gradually came back to her. 

Dean had practically carried her to the room. He’d carefully set her in the bathtub and removed her belt, overshirt and boots. He’d turned on the cold water and at first, she’d protested, but slipped in and out of consciousness. He’d retrieved ice from the machine down the hall and poured it over her as he constantly monitored her vitals and temperature. 

He’d withdrawn her, a soaking wet dead weight, stripped away the sopping clothes while careful not to look where it would make her uncomfortable, and buttoned her up in the softest flannel he had. 

Jay glanced down at her right hand, as it felt stiff and sore. A needle was taped there, no longer hooked to the empty bag of saline, taped down and left in place just in case. Jay wiggled slightly when she realized that her other arm had gone quite numb beneath her and--Dean?

His soft snores disrupted as she shifted, equally mortified and elated to be nestled into the crook of his arm. Dean woke and rubbed his eyes, as if pretending he’d been awake the whole time. His voice was low and gravely from sleep. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He looked down at her, so small in his arms, furious with himself for not taking better care of her. 

“M-good,” Jay choked out, completely entranced by being so close to the hunter. Close enough for their breath to mix and his cologne to shroud her senses. Close enough to see the flecks of golds and blues and dark greens in the folds of his irises. Her breath caught and she shivered. Again. Jay mentally kicked herself for that tell. “Thank you… Sorry I was being a brat.”

“No. No, this is on me. You were sun-sick. I’m sorry. I should’ve--”

Jay put a finger to his parted lips with only the intention to stop Dean from blaming himself (like always,) but the touch sent electric pulses through her fingertips and set fire to every nerve in her body. They were impossibly soft and warm. 

Dean caught her hand tenderly in his before she could pull away and planted a slow kiss on her knuckles. He watched anxiously as her pupils dilated and her breathing became more shallow. Pulling their hands out of the way, Dean leaned forward just slightly and planted a firm, reassuring kiss to her forehead. 

Jay’s mind was a mess. This was more than familial. Were they crossing a line? Or maybe it just meant that Dean was comfortable with her, and concerned. But even as the thoughts swirled, her lips had a mind of their own. As Dean traced his nose down hers until their heads were pressed together, Jay angled upward to meet him. 

When their lips locked, there was no more question. Jay loved Dean, and he knew and he loved her back. It was soft and sweet, with their eyes shut tight, just exploring and tasting and sucking gently. 

The remainder of the trip back to the bunker was spent with Dean humming, a stupid smile plastered on his face, and Jay resting across the front seat, her head in his lap. Dean stroked her soft, brown hair adoringly. The night was much cooler and comfortably dark with only dim, scattered stars to blanket the hunters. 

~

Everything was different after the motel. The kiss. 

Almost six months had gone by and for the most part, they’d been wonderful. Jay spent more time in Dean’s room than her own, and the hunts had been good so far, like old times. 

Until this one. 

Jay, Sam, and Dean were doing a bit of recon at a local bar to dig up some answers, or at the very least, a lead. Jay had dressed to stun, as usual. (After all, men’s lips tended to be a bit more loose around a pretty girl.)

Dean was hovering. Everytime Jay got close to some useful information, Dean would scare off the burly locals with a death glare. 

Until this one. 

This man was built like a tank. He towered even over Sam by a few inches and dwarfed Jay in comparison. Sam eyed her uncomfortably from a few tables over, but he always got like that when someone was bigger than him. Dean didn’t adjust his tactics at all, and when the big guy had enough of Dean dancing around him and bumping his chair with an insincere, “sorry, man,” the guy stood up and puffed out his chest. Dean moved to both protect Jay and get in a prime fighting position, but Jay yanked him away by the collar of his jacket faster than he could complain. 

She didn’t stop until they were completely outside the bar, then shoved him into the soot-covered brick wall. Dean opened his mouth to spout something pigheaded, but stopped himself as he felt the chill of her glare more than the chill of the snow flurries swirling around them. 

“Would you just trust me to do my job? What is your problem?” 

“I do! I just--” Dean waved in a flustered motion, unable to find the words. All he knew was that when she got a little too... comfortable... with anyone, he saw red. 

Still, Jay seemed to understand. She reached up and held his face firmly between her palms, forcing him to maintain eye contact. 

“I’m yours. I know that you worry, what you fear. I’m not going to leave you. Ever. No one can ever take me from you, either, because I’ll haunt your ass and you know it.”

Dean’s bottom lips quivered just barely, and he quickly bit it back. “Don’t you even joke about that,” his voice broke. 

“De- I’m right here, okay?”

 He nodded and leaned into her until his face was buried in her neck. He squeezed his arms around her, never wanting to know what it would feel like to have to let go. 

A muffled “let’s go back to the motel” emanated from somewhere within Jay’s scarf and she nodded in response. 

Dean grasped her hand as they walked the short distance back to the rented room. Jay stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and pointing over to the edge of the woods. A startled “Dean!” escaped her, and Dean dropped her hand and withdrew his gun, ready for a fight. His plumes of hot breath on the air slowed to nearly nothing as he steadied himself and visually searched the area. 

What had she seen?

Before he could ask, something hard, round and icey struck the back of his shoulder with decent force. He spun on his heels and lowered his weapon to find Jay wide-mouthed and laughing, another snowball forming in her hands. 

“Son of a bitch! You want to play dirty, huh?” Dean howled. He holstered the pistol and raced to close the distance between them. With a squeal and a grunt, the two ended up in a heap in the wet, mushy snow. 

Jay managed to end up on top of him and leaned in for a deep kiss. She could feel the smile on his lips as his tongue graced across hers. When at last they came up for air, Dean was moving his arms and legs haphazardly. 

“A slush-angel?” Jay giggled at the sorry creation. 

“What, my art not good enough for you?” Dean retorted while wearing a shit-eating grin. “And no, actually, it’s a Yeti.” 

The wet chill began to sink into their bones, so they hurried onward. Dean fiddled with the key card but the lock gave him fits. 

“C’mon, Dean! I’m freezing to death!” 

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Hold your horses.”

At last, the door swung open and Jay rushed inside, leaving Dean to close and lock the door behind them. She’d already started stripping off the wet outer layers when Dean approached. With every step bringing him closer, his heartbeat rose and he wrestled out of his own layers. 

Jay moved to lift off her shirt, but Dean covered her hands with his, intertwining their fingers. He stood against her, and in one swift move, wrapped both of her wrists in a single firm grip behind her, and with the other, pressed an open palm against her belly. 

Jay gasped, her knees going weak with what she knew was coming next. Despite the weather, his touch was toasty. Coarse skin slid over her soft flesh, causing a friction that left Jay needing more. Heat flushed her cheeks and pooled deep in her stomach. Dean melted with every shuttered breath of hers as he stroked up and down beneath the fabric of her shirt, making sure to linger over the more sensitive areas as she twitched and bit down on her lip. 

Dean massaged her breasts with skilled fingers for a few moments, but a sensual twist of her nipple sent Jay reeling backwards, supported only by Dean’s other arm. With her head tilted back, Dean took the opportunity to kiss and suck and nip zig-zagged lines over the most delicate parts of her neck and along her collarbone. 

Jay squirmed and panted with lust-blown pupils and a cry just on the tip of her tongue. Dean’s grasp only steadied her against him more until he found himself grinding into her, faint moans already filling the air. The growing bulge in his pants drove Jay mad. She wanted to be covered by him, skin on skin, needed him inside her. 

“D-Dean please, please…” Jay whimpered and attempted to wiggle out of his hold once more to no avail. 

“Please, what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.” Dean breathed against her ear, just above a whisper. He sucked and nibbled in the hollow behind it.

A shudder wracked Jay, but this time, she didn’t mind the tell. She had him. He was hers. But right then, she needed more and she knew he was holding back. “Unnghh, please… need you, now,” she managed.

“Okay, Baby,” Dean crashed his lips to hers and shifted until Jay was suspended in the air and straddling him as he walked them towards the bed. He dropped her playfully and they scrambled to see who could lose their remaining clothes the fastest.

In a fray of scattered clothing, Dean climbed on top of her, comfortably crushing Jay into the lumpy mattress. He let his full weight rest upon her. 

“Stop it,” she giggled as his scruff tickled her cheek. 

“Why don’t you make me?” Dean grinned between planting kisses everywhere he could reach. 

Before he could react, Jay had him rolled onto the floor. She straddled him and tried to concentrate despite his hard cock resting perfectly between her hot, dripping folds. Her hair created a curtain around their faces, blocking out everything but that moment and the sensations it was riddled with. Dean’s eyes closed and mouth opened like a fish out of water. His breaths were shallow and shaky. Jay fought the urge to lift her hips just so, knowing that if she did, and she came back down upon him, his throbbing dick would line up just perfectly… and they’d end up on the floor for the remainder of their romp. 

She rose to her feet, grasping his hand and pulling him up with her. Dean’s eyes were full of question, longing. His cheeks were flushed and hot to the touch. He was melting at every touch and could do nothing about it but wait for her. 

Jay led him over to the chair and pushed him into it. He nearly tripped on his way down. That stupid smile she loved so much spread across his face again as he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her onto him. She let out a yelp as the broad head of his large cock spread her entrance, dripping with precum, and buried itself deep inside until her walls stretched almost uncomfortably. The shock of his size was something she’d never get used to. Each time was like the first, the same butterflies swarming in her stomach, the same jolts of pure lust burning through her veins.

Dean gasped and held her close to him, trembling hands roaming her back and squeezing her ass. Jay carded her hands through his hair and pulled just slightly at the nape of his neck as he whined in approval. Those laments made her head swim and her limbs weak. Drunk on Dean, she adjusted her position until he was sunk deep into the spot that was just right, then began to move back and forth, slow and steady. Dean’s breaths stuttered and his head fell back, leaving his neck open for Jay to take into her mouth. 

“Fuck--Baby you feel s-so good,” he stammered between increasing moans and grunts. She could see in his eyes that he was losing control.

Jay cried out as he began to fight her movements with his own, pounding up in all the right spots. She arched her back as the coil wound tighter… higher… tighter… higher... until she shattered in his arms, his name and curses spilling from her gaping mouth. 

He held her through it and chased his own orgasm, sucking a mark onto her chest before he spilled into her. Everyone would know she was his, and only his. Her walls clenched in waves and he pulsed within them, his delicious sounds filling her ears as she came down. 

Jay crashed her lips into his, and he returned with fervor until they were both completely breathless. Wrapped there in Dean’s arms, Jay was home. 

No, nothing was ever the same after that first kiss. And that was okay. It was amazing.

.

.

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @taste-of-dean @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby @wonder-cole @itsangelpie @thinkinghardhardlythinking

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling​ @abbessolute @emptywithout

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278 @will-winchester

@waywardbaby* the smut was heavily inspired by The Scene. Tagged as promised lol

Tag List now open!

[jawritter]

The Devil And I

Pt. 2

Summary: What doesn't kill you only makes you stronger, right? You survived after you thought your mate had died, but how will you survive finding out he's alive, only different.

Warning: ABO dynamics. Heartbreak, mentions of blood, mentions of past Demon!Dean. Abandonment, Abusive relationship I guess? Swearing. I think that’s about it for this chapter. 

Pairing: Demon!Dean x Reader; Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 1681

A/N: This mini series is complete on Patreon. This is completely unbeta'd, so all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! Hope you all enjoy this one!

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You weren’t sure for a moment if it was all a dream or not. Nothing that happened seemed real. You could feel a soft bed underneath you, and you were warm; warmer than you had been in a long time.

Even in your own bed since your Alpha had abandoned you, you had felt cold.

You take a deep breath, trying to will yourself to open your eyes, and instantly that familiar scent that was at the bar hit your nose. You whimpered as you rolled yourself around and forced your eyes open, quickly finding out it was no dream.

His scent was everywhere. You were alone in an older styled room that had brick and concrete walls, and furniture that was old and outdated, and there were weapons on the wall. This had to be his room. 

You had become accustomed to waking up in strange places when you were with your Alpha, but this was the first time in months that you had woken up in a place you didn’t recognize at all. It was startling.

You sit up slowly and look around the empty room, trying to remember how you got there, but everything was a blank. The last thing you remember was Dean catching you right before you passed out at the bar.

Pulling the covers back, you throw your feet over the edge of the bed and stand on the cold concrete floor. The clothes you were wearing were not your own. They were a red and black flannel that was way too large for you and a pair of sweats that had been rolled up around your hips in an attempt to keep them from swallowing you whole. They reeked of your Alpha, so you assumed that they belonged to Dean, and he’d put them on you once you brought them here.

You made your way to the door and opened it. Looking down the hallway you see more and more doors. At first, you had no idea where to go, but the longer you stared at the lines of doors you noticed the number descending, and ascending; so you followed the doors as the numbers became smaller.

The further you went down the hall you could hear the voice of your Alpha, as well as Sam, and you stopped just short of the doorway.

“I don’t know Sam!” Dean bellowed. “Hell, I don’t even know the girl's name! I don’t remember her at all!”

You felt your heart stand still for a moment before tears started to prick your vision. You knew there was only one person they could be talking about, and that was you.

“How can you literally claim an Omega and not remember doing it, Dean?” Sam said, and you heard Dean sigh tiredly as if this was an argument they had been having a while before you wondered out of the room Dean had placed you in.

“I didn’t remember claiming the girl until after I touched the mark on her neck. I don’t even know her name. I just remember the act in which she was claimed. Other than that it’s one big blank. You saw what kind of shape she was in Sam, I couldn’t just leave her at the bar to die, and I’m pretty sure If I would have walked away from her it would have killed her,” Dean said, his voice slightly muffled as if he had his head in his hands.

“We’re going to have to make some phone calls, find out what to even do about this. You were not really you when you claimed her. Why was she so blindly focused on you like she was? She followed us out of the damn bar, Dean.”

“Look, Sam, just because I was a Demon doesn’t mean she is, we did all the tests on her, she’s normal as I am right now. She obviously recognized my scent. I can feel the pull… She’s still my Omega.”

The sound of a chair sliding across the floor broke off his sentence, and the sound of pacing filled the room; heavy, dragging footsteps you recognized as Dean’s. 

“Well, if she is your true mate, then you would feel that pull, Dean. I think it will be good for you to have an Omega,” a woman’s voice came from the direction of Dean’s voice. Clearly, it was Sam’s Omega, who was apparently hearing impaired.

“She’s mine, I’m not turning her out, Sam, end of story,” Dean said, and you started to make your way back towards the room that you had just left. You couldn’t listen to this conversation anymore.

The good news is he wasn’t so heartless that he was going to throw you out on your ass, so you did have some hope there, but it stung that he had no memory of you at all.

You remembered everything so clearly. Black eyes till this day still haunted your dreams. You remember the feel of his skin against your own. His teeth scraping possessively over your mark as if to remind you that you belonged to him, and him alone. There were some good things there that kept you from just giving up, and walking away to die when he’d claimed you.

Though you also remember the fear that was there, and you remember evil that seemed to seep sinisterly out of his every poor. A shiver creeped through your body. There was always blood, so much blood. 

Then there were the mind games he’d play with you, those seemed to be never ending. It was as if even though you were bonded, and he’d claimed you, he always carried this fear that you would leave him. In turn, he would do things that kept you weak, confused, always moving you from place to place, always keeping you in the dark until he needed you; until biology became too much.

Thankfully Dean never had a rut while you were together. You weren’t sure what would happen there if he had. Some Alphas become more aggressive during a rut, and you were sure that Dean would have undoubtedly killed you.

The most disturbing thing of all was the lack of heartbeat. When you were allowed to be close to him, and would put your head against his chest, there was never a heartbeat. Just another reminder that what you were dealing with was not human, not even in the slightest.

The sound of the door behind you opening and closing made you nearly jump out of your own skin. You spin around in a hurry in the middle of the bed you were laying, to find the green eyes of your Alpha staring at you from the doorway, a small tray of sandwiches and drinks in hand.

“Hey, you're awake,” he said, stepping inside cautiously, moving diliberly slowly as if he was aware of your fear of him, or at least suspected it. You were afraid, but you were drawn more than you were afraid. That was something you didn’t even understand, but there was no fighting it. 

“I’m sure you’re hungry.”

Slowly he made his way over to the bed, and placed the small try down in front of you before moving to sit down beside you, grabbing a sandwich of his own.

He’d never done anything like this before. Even when you would go into heat you would have to fend for yourself. He didn’t care much for you past your biology. He made that perfectly clear. Now here he was, bringing you food.

“Thanks,” you mumble, grabbing your share of the food, and bringing it slowly to your mouth without looking at him even though you could feel his eyes on you.

“Are you afraid of me Omega?”

The question came slam out of nowhere, and it caught you off guard. His voice was never so soft when he spoke to you before. It was unnerving.  His scent was so strong that it was becoming hard to focus, and there was a comforting wave filling the small room that you were pretty sure that was coming from him.

“I don’t know,” you told him earnestly.

“Well, don’t be, please. I don’t know what I put you through before now, but I’m not going to hurt you.”

You continued to slowly work on your sandwich without a word, keeping your head down submissively as if this was another test, another game, and at any moment the demon would return.

“What’s your name Omega?” Dean asked you, his voice small. It was as if he was ashamed of his own question, and for the first time your eyes drifted up to meet the impossibly green orbs staring back at your. Your heart seized in your chest as you looked into a soul that was never there before, one that was torn and broken, but his own. Not the black nothing that was there before.

Dean was not the same man that had claimed you, not in the least.

“Y/N, my name is Y/N.”

Dean swallowed hard around the hug lump that formed in his throat at the realization that as a demon, he’d probably never even ask you your name before.

His large calloused hand came up slowly and cupped the side of your face, his eyes searching your own as if trying to convey some message that he didn’t know exactly how to say.

“I’m so sorry sweetheart, I promise this time will be different. I’m not a monster anymore Y/N, and I want you to know that I’m going to do whatever I can to make up for everything I did to you.”

You held your breath and nodded at him before returning to your food he shoved closer to you, an unspoken command to eat your food he’d brought you.

He promised to fix things, to make up for things, but things were always so broken that you didn’t know if they’d ever be able to be fixed. Even though he said he wouldn’t send you away, he still made no move to reclaim you since he’d brought you in here, to reestablish the bond, and that scared you the most.

Forever Tags: 

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@akshi8278​

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Mini Series Tags: 

@that-one-gay-girl​

@maniacproffesor​

[limerental]

ficletvember - day 2

yennskier/yenralt/geraskefer - prompt: amnesia

"Ah, Geralt! There you are!"

Geralt looks up from his untouched morning meal of soggy groats, peering through the haze of cigar smoke that fills the mess hall of the boarding house even so early in the day. He does not quite have the patience or time to deal with the bard's theatrics, not when last night Yennefer had not met him at their first planned rendezvous or their second. Geralt has been reluctantly forced to fall back to their third option which is, infuriatingly, wait as instructed until something happens.

Jaskier, ignorant of or used to his tense mood, flops onto the stool across from him and leans to inspect Geralt's meal for anything worth stealing.

"Morning, good morning, I've uh, well, I've acquired something of a charity case since we last parted."

"Is that some code for something I’m meant to be savvy to?"

"Yes, yes, you old man, it's code for I found a lost girl last night with not a lick of memory. Must have bumped her head or something. And very poorly dressed. Barefoot on the streets. Brought her back to my room to--"

"Jaskier."

"Oh hush, always thinking the worst of me, Geralt. It's truly offensive. I fetched her some clothing and was quite gentlemanly. She's still sleeping."

"And?"

"And we're going to help her."

"I'm busy."

"What with your erm… what were you doing with Yennefer again? Tracking that mage?"

"She didn't meet me last night."

"Oh."

"Could be trouble."

"Right, yeah, and what's the plan then?"

"Wait for her," Geralt grits out. He hates this plan. But trusts Yennefer. The mage is dangerous and potentially ornery, and this is Yennefer's business, Geralt involved only by chance meeting and because she allowed it. Nothing to be done. 

"Mmmm riveting. Sounds like you simply have too much on your plate to help one poor young maiden. Booked full."

Geralt sighs.

If this is just another of Jaskier's more elaborate methods of wooing some poor, confused, likely hungover girl, then he will have some choice words to say.

*

The girl is not hungover or otherwise impaired, the stink of enchantments hitting him before Geralt has even reached the landing on the narrow stairs that lead to the bard's rented rooms. Soot and copper and something else, something familiar.

The room is sparse but comfortable, a spare cot placed by the crackling fire and a lumpy shape on the mattress by the window. A woman, curled in a fetal position, slight and olive-skined, lies dressed in one of Jaskier's blue undershirts, her dark hair tangled across the pillows. At the sound of the door closing behind them, she startles awake and shoves herself up, the oversized shirt slumping off one shoulder and hair a mess of frizz.

Geralt knows her at once and in the same breath, she is a stranger. He grunts, his mind blurring as he resists whatever magic lies heavily on her. Simply requires some concentration.

"Here she is then, Geralt this is-- ah yes, she's forgotten her name. Poor dear. We can fix that though, yes? My friend is here to help you."

"I know her."

"Er…"

"It's a memory enchantment. I could push through it with a bit of time."

"Right, right, don't allow me to hold you back. Get right on that. Push on through."

"And quiet."

"Peace and quiet, yes, yeah. Undoubtedly. Makes a good bit of sense."

"Jaskier?" asks the woman, her voice soft and touched by uncertainty. "Is it too late to come back to bed? My head is killing me." 

She gestures with an open palm, the other resting on her folded knees, as though expecting the bard to settle down with her on the mattress. 

Jaskier reaches to take her hand.

Geralt gives him a Look.

"Thought you didn't--"

"I didn't! She had a nightmare. She--"

"I'm no maiden," says the girl. "I don't need your protection."

"Haven't you lost your memory? How could you know that?"

She goes a bit cross-eyed in consideration of this. Jaskier settles onto the bed beside her, his arm snug around her shoulders. She lets out an unsteady breath and slumps against him, turning her forehead into his side. Jaskier ignores Geralt's disapproving look to tuck a lock of dark hair behind her ear.

"Geralt can help. He'll moan about it, but he’s plenty good at helping. Except with sums, I swear, that man cannot count to ten to save his--"

"Jaskier. Concentration."

"Right. I'll just let you--"

"Jaskier!"

Geralt breathes through his nose, eyes closed, allowing the room to fall away and the enchantment to thrum around him. Wood-ash and smoke, a sharp, acrid scent, then lilacs and--

He opens his eyes to see Yennefer cradled under the bard's arm, brow relaxing its deep grooves as he hums something into her hair.

It may take only her name to dispel the fog in her mind and lift the curse.

Geralt hesitates.

"Would you sing the one you did last night?" Yen mutters, meant for only Jaskier to hear. How vulnerable she looks, voice heavy with sleep. "The one about the nightingale?"

He relents at once, whispering the lyrics against her hair, shifting subtly back and forth in time to the melody. How small Yennefer looks curled up next to Jaskier, how strangely well-suited they appear to one another. They scarcely can stand each other at the best of times, falling into nagging and bickering when forced into close proximity. 

Not so now.

Yennefer balls her hands into fists against her the bard’s chest, her lashes dark against her cheeks. Jaskier's eyes drift shut, cheek against the crown of her head, shaping the lilting tones of the lullaby with rounded mouth.

Oh, neither of them are ever going to live this down.

"I know who she is," says Geralt softly, loathe to break the moment. 

"And?"

"It will have to break naturally. Memory is fickle. Dangerous to mess with."

"And when will that be?"

"Not long. It's a strong enchantment. But not for one such as her."

"Come to bed," whispers Yennefer against Jaskier’s neck, her jaw stretching in an exaggerated yawn. "Fucking exhausted. Sing me the one about the housecat and the fiddle."

"Right away, my lady."

*

Geralt feels the curse break just past midday, Yennefer tensing suddenly in the sleeping bard's arms, her head lifting from his chest. 

"Geralt," she says stiffly, rousing him from his light meditation near the threshold of the room. "How much did I fucking drink last night? And please, if I embarrassed myself -- which I clearly did -- tell me it wasn't in public."

"You'll be the talk of this town for ages."

"Shut up, Witcher. What did I--"

"Memory curse. On you and around you."

"Amateur bastard," she cursed. "He could have at least cast something more creative."

Jostled by her shifting and griping, Jaskier awakes with a sleepy moan, soon swallowed by a shrill squeak of alarm as he recognizes his bed partner. He seems ready to attempt a dramatic escape off the other side of the bed if not for the body pinning his arm.

"Yennefer! Lovely to er… remember you!"

"Good morning, darling. Give us a kiss," drawls Yennefer.

Jaskier blanches, looking from the mage in his arms to Geralt and back again, until his floundering is finally interrupted by his brain properly kicking back on.

"You!" He points at Yennefer who blinks at him innocently. "You made me sing you lullabies."

"Mmm doesn't sound like me."

"And you!” He swings to point at Geralt. “You knew and didn't say anything! Gah!"

Yennefer shoves herself up, narrowing her eyes. Uh-oh.

"You knew? And allowed this idiot to rock me in his arms like a babe?"

"You looked peaceful," says Geralt. 

"Mmmm," hums Yennefer.

"Oh!" Jaskier exclaims, his hand curling around Yennefers hip as he snuggles down into the warmed linens. "I slept with Yennefer of Vengerberg."

Yennefer’s violet eyes gleam.

"You have permission to beat him," says Geralt.

"When did I ever need your permission to do anything?"

Alarmed shouts echo through the walls of the boarding house. 

But that night, music.

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 8

Summary: Post Mi6, Alternate Canon. August escapes Ethan Hunt with his face intact and is currently the most dangerous man alive. Unwilling to back down from his murderous agenda, he plots to continue where he stopped, unaware of the trained assassin who is sent to bring him down. 

Chapters: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10| Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Completed.

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 5.5k

Warnings: Smut, blood, violence, gunfight, choking, rough, angry, unprotected sex, foul language, bodily fluids.  

A/N: Okaaaay, it’s time to fuck shit up. The moment you’ve been waiting for. I lost sleep over this chapter, writing action sequences is HARD!!! So please leave feedback! Thanks, @agniavateira​ for editing my work and being my muse.💖

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it or parts of the source material and claiming it as your own*

Title: Maw of the beast

Following the coordinates given to him by Knight, August steps through the muddy ground in the darkening evening sky. He listens to the squelching sound as his shoes sink into the moist mud, making sure the steps are his and his alone. His hand pushes a curled-up cooper fence that blocks the way and ignores the warning sign as he continues forward, following a man-made path of wooden planks.

A monstrous abandoned building towers in front of him, looking like something out of an Italian horror film. Scaffoldings and metal bars surround the dark concrete brick of what appears to be a spire or a gothic opera house of some sort, construction not nearly halfway finished.  

August narrows his eyes with deep suspicion, making careful hesitant steps while looking around him. His hand reaches for the gun holster beneath the long beige jacket, ticking the clasp off in preparation of whatever awaits him tonight. 

The entrance is guarded by two large gargoyles, leering at him from above a large archway. He stares back at the sculptures, focusing on their empty eyes before stepping through the open gate.

A great hallway welcomes him, accompanied by large pillars that guide the way inside. They’re engraved by winged creatures-angels or demons, he cannot tell. The corridor is showered by red construction lights chained to the floor, laid next to each tall column. 

Bright enough to determine shadow from light, yet not strong enough to conclude if the deconstructed hall is a church, an opera house, or the gateway to hell itself. 

Only one thing is certain: it’s most probably a trap. 

August’s own steps echo in the acoustics of the tall ceiling. Marble shines on the floor through the wooden debris, and large sheets of nylons huddled on the floor. His soiled shoes step between them carefully, trying to listen to whomever walks with him among the darkness. 

There in the umbra, a stalking predator moves behind the pillars. August pauses, his right hand resting on the grip of his gun while his ears capture the tapping sounds of small steps. An odd sensation spreads through each of his nerves, it almost feels like deja vu yet not as quiet.  His heartbeat accelerates, her name rolling on the tip of his tongue even before the outline of her petite figure becomes clear. 

‘How the fuck…?’

He might as well have summoned her into appearing by his endless thoughts of her. He can almost see her face as she moves with him with a succubus grin and shining eyes. She can tell he sees her, yet she does not bother hiding. 

This is a game.

Aggravated, August sighs and moves to seclude himself behind one of the pillars. His gestures are nearly graceful, displaying a lack of panic even though the blood in his veins begins to boil. This will be the second time she is messing up his plans.

The petite woman moves through the columns like a playful ghost; she is silent yet in his mind, he swears he can hear her demonic giggles. August begins to slowly mimic her behaviour, stalking behind the opposing pillars like a large feline creature, watching her face and learning her movement methodically. 

There is a loud drum in her heart, her muscles slightly quivering beneath the skin from the thrill of finally seeing him. The chase was prolonged, and even now where they’re finally sharing the same air, there is an unforgiving distance between them.

‘I will kill him with my own hands if I have to.’

Perhaps that’s the intimacy he deserves.

“You really value your life so little, princess?” August's deep voice finally graces her ears, and the baritone makes her heart flutter. Not out of fear, but the rush of having him close after days of chasing him with sick intent. 

“On the contrary, Mr. Walker,” she replies with a smile on her soft-spoken voice, her eyes alternating between his figure and the path which is nearing its end. Arriving at the last wide column, she pauses, half-hidden behind the angels and demons that embellish the pale stone. August does the same, staring directly into her eyes from the other side. 

No festive facade this time, just plain jeans and a black t-shirt. She grips her gun low to the side of her hip, her finger circling the trigger while her eyes stalk down his suited form, trying to learn as many details as possible. This time there will be no surprises, no hidden knives, or sins of vanity and arrogance which made her fail in the past.

“I told you, I will keep coming for you.” 

“And I promised you, I won’t be merciful.”

A gun would be quicker, yet he would very much love to kill her using his bare hands. For a week the ghost of her face haunted him and now as her vision appears in the flesh all he fancies is to mount her small body and have his hands around her throat, squeezing hard until the breaking sound of her hyoid bone will fill his ears.

‘I wonder how many people know that it happens while choking someone to death.’

“I finally read your manifesto.” 

The many images of him pinning her to the floor fade by the softness of her voice. His gaze pierces through hers. A shimmering glint sparkles in her eyes which are now painted twilight red by the lighting of the room. 

“Do not mock me,” he warns while sliding his gun out from its holster. The sound of hard metal scratching against boiled leather makes her shiver with anticipation. 

“I’m not. It’s beautiful, I mean it,” she replies with sincerity. Her eyes focus on August’s long index finger as it ticks the safety off. “The suffering I bring you is the bridge to ultimate peace.”

August scoffs as she recites his own words to him, mesmerized by how her voice speaks his own written vows. 

“Are you trying to get me hard, princess? Because I’m halfway there.”

She offers him a slight chuckle, her mind tempting her with visions of his naked form, yet she brushes them away, her smile quickly fading. “Too bad, you have to die.”

“Too bad,” he answers back, his eyes drinking her pleasing sight one last time before a final farewell. He takes a hasty mental photograph of the facility, planning his strategy carefully, memorizing every exit route and possible guarding point.   

“Well then, do we do this like in the American western films?” she taunts with a grin on her voice. “We count to four and draw? ”

He chuckles and shakes his head with amusement. 

“However you wish to die, babycakes.” 

“Alright then, on four,” she answers and turns to lean against the pillar with her back while cocking her gun, now switching to hold it between her hands while they are folded up, the barrel pointing to the ceiling. 

“One…”

Stripping his jacket off quickly and throwing it on the ground, August prepares himself for the assault. With his back shoved against the thick column, he holds the gun close to his chest and glances at her from the corner of his eye. One eyebrow crooks up as determination paints his chiselled face.

“Two…”

The sounds of shots being fired shudder through the hall and ring painfully in their ears. Too loud to be able to hear the expensive stone blasting and falling apart at the floor. There is a high-pitched hum buzzing in Ingvild's ear as she crouches down to defend herself. Her hearing becomes somewhat impaired from the loud blast, making it near impossible to hear his movement. 

He counts two shots from her weapon and sneaks on his knees to switch positions. Now hiding behind the doorless frame, which leads to another room. The lighting of the facility makes it difficult to see movement, and the gunshots have temporarily damaged their ears. He wants to praise her for selecting such a perfect location for a showdown, but he knows she won’t hear a damn thing if he will. 

Breathing slowly, Ingvild sticks her head out carefully, just enough to seek his location. A whiff of violent wind grazes her cheek as a shot is fired too close to her face. She crawls back to her hiding position, glancing at the bullet that is pierced through the wall. Quickly, she sneaks out from her hiding place and sprints as fast as possible to stand at the same row of columns that August previously occupied.

He spots her movement and empties his gun four times, trying to hit her before she makes it to a barricade.

“Fuck!” he yells, missing her on all four shots. Her slender limbs and small figure make her far too agile for long-range combat, and he already spent 5 bullets. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he quietly slides down the wall and disappears into the back room. His eyes quickly run through the next corridor, finding nothing but construction equipment, the scaffolding that holds the wall, and a half-exposed wooden floor that seems unstable as it creaks beneath his shoes. 

There is a disturbing silence coming from August’s frontier. Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, she attempts to sense his presence, trying to remember Liam’s training. Yet her heart pounds too fast in her chest making her forget everything she ever knew. She had endless successful terminations since she was 14, yet fighting August is like fighting Lucifer himself.

For the first time in her life, she feels doubt. 

Grabbing a rock that fell from one of the pillars, she throws it into the room, hoping the movement will fool him and evoke him to shoot yet there is no reaction from him, which makes her conclude he escaped to another room. 

Taking a deep breath and trying to keep silent, she presses against the wall, smoothly advancing toward what seems like a crooked door frame. Her hands reach inside first, her head turning back for a swift second to make sure he is not lurking behind in her dead-zone.  

She makes her way into an unfinished hallway of some sort, her eyes seeking for August in desperation, trying to determine movement, her feet nearly floating in the air as she hopes to remain unseen. The stern silence is needling and pricking her skin. 

The hunter is caught by her own trap.

Cold sweat covers her forehead, and a sharp intake of air is forced by her lungs as she feels his presence behind her. She attempts to turn and face him, but something hard hits her on the back of her head. Her knees lose the battle to the physical trauma, her gun falling from her shocked fingers as pain blooms through her head like an electric shock. 

Feeling triumphant for a split second, August seizes her by the neck with incredible force, eliciting a distressed scream from her lips. 

“Shush now, beautiful angel.” he coos at her and points the gun beneath her jaw. “You already died before, you know what awaits you.”

‘Nothing.’

August watches as she stares at him, helpless. Her big eyes reflect his face in cherry hues. She is drenched with fear, even her sweat is soaked with it. Darn. Doesn't it smell amazing, combined with her natural body odour. 

It’s an aphrodisiac, making him semi-hard, drawing him to smell it.

Ingvild scowls with shock as he nuzzles her neck, his moustache scratching at her skin. A terrifying chill flutters through her spine, adding to the harrowing sensation of death’s welcoming invitation. 

She is not accepting it yet, though. 

Her hands grab onto his and struggle to hold the gun away from her face. She claws her nails onto his fingers, leaving bloody trails across his fists.

The gun fires five more times, emptied into the ceiling until it runs dry, shooting desolated clicks again and again until August grunts with wrath. Still holding her neck, he shoves her toward the wall and slams himself against her back. The wooden floor creaks beneath them, its foundations starting to become unstable beneath their chaotic dance. 

“Why did you have to make this so fucking complicated?!” he barks at her, his hand lacing itself with her hair, pulling her head back against his chest. She can hear the stark sound of a knife being pulled from its sheath and watches as her eyes reflect on the sharp silver. 

“Why do you have to be such a fucking cunt?!”

August rasps at her, attempting to anchor the knife against her throat. Bracing a leg against the wall, she counters herself and pushes both of them back, also managing to knock the knife out of his hand and set herself free of his grasp.  

August’s shirt is stained with circles of sweat as she turns to face him; he is trying to catch his breath while glaring at her with blazing eyes. His infuriated gaze begins to travel lower, falling to the corner next to her and fixating on the floor. Bemused, she follows the direction in which his eyes are staring, finding her lost handgun resting on a pile of nylons. 

Their eyes meet together in a piercing glare, trying to read each other’s thoughts and calculate their next move. There is nothing between them but their loud breaths and the throbbing in their ears as their hearts pound heavily. 

Arrogant as ever, August is the first to make his move, lunging forward with ferocious speed. Infuriated, she moves to block him, her knee lifting high enough to kick his chest. Coughing violently he stumbles on his feet, his ankle thudding back through the rotten wooden flooring, causing the planks to fall through the basement level.

Ingvild stares horrified as the floor crumbles as if Hellmouth has opened in the ground. She attempts to step back, watching August fling his hands in the air as he loses his balance. His hand grasps the collar of her shirt, pulling both of them through the pit in the ground.

~*~

The air jolts from his lungs at once as his back hits the ground with incredible force and a twinge in his spine rips through his body, letting him know he is still alive. The sound of his own husky grunt is a plea in the darkness as his body remains stiff and immobilized. 

A sharp chill prickles his skin, moments of distilled fear are cold on his sweat. His mind begs to move yet his muscles ignore it.

Somewhere in the eclipse of the room, he hears Ingvild’s suffering grunts. Small movements catch his attention from the corner of his eyes. Attempting to find her, he slightly sticks his head up, watching her crawl on the floor with immense effort. Her black jeans are torn at the knees, blood and dust cake her chafed flesh. She coughs, holding one hand over her chest while the other supports her weight on the basement floor.

Scratches and blood stain her once porcelain face, her hair is a mess while her eyes are glossy from both the struggle to breathe and the burning hatred that boils within her. Dragging her limbs, she breathes so loudly every exhale comes out as a shrieking mutter. 

“You look so beautiful.” August mocks and chuckles in a rusty voice, his laughter melting into a pitiful cough. He manages to regain some of his motoric abilities, turning on one side, yet his body betrays him, every muscle screams with exhaustion as he attempts to get up. 

While watching August trying to get back on his knees, the bile rises in her throat. A spike of adrenaline shoots through her heart, and like a screeching cat, she lunges at him. Her hands push him back down on the dusty ground, securing his neck. She thrusts his head down and tightens her grip, strangling him while screaming with despair.  

She never hated anyone in her life as much as she hated him right now. 

August stares at her maddened face as she lies on top of him. Tiny wrinkles from between her brows as savage cries tear from her mouth. Her thumbs suppress his intake of air and force at his jugular. All the while, tears seam at her beautiful grey eyes, he can see his own reflection in the translucent glass. His lips are parted open, face turning purple. It almost feels like falling asleep. 

As his mind nearly drifts away, he thinks of Lacey. 

‘Was I the last thing on her mind?’

Aching as they are, his hands find their strength, reaching around Ingvild’s delicate throat. She hisses in disdain, trying to lift her upper body away from his reach yet he pulls her flat against him with all that remains in him.

Tiny spasms shock through her entire body as his lips crush against hers.

Her whimpers are divine, so gentle and delicate. He hums as if he is eating the most decadent desserts and devours every angelic sound her body produces. His hands are large and stark, restraining her head. Coarse fingers latch around her jaw, tethering her every movement while he dominates her mouth.

The scent of his own blood fills his nostrils as her claws paint his jawline threads of crimson, a pathetic attempt to resist him. Gory trails sear his skin, yet he is distracted by sugary-sweet lips. Capturing her, he suckles hungrily, flirting between the south and north of her maw while his thick moustache leaves the skin above her upper lip red and irritated. 

The devil’s kiss leaves her in daze, the touch of his lips made her heart beat to an irrational speed, fuming in her ears and between her thighs. 

It’s as if her nightmare came to being in order to haunt her, or perhaps the pit they fell through is hell itself. 

Fruitlessly she tries to pull away. Yet his grip is iron, her small breasts mash against his chest as he holds her and entangles their legs together. Somewhere amidst her impossible attempt to escape a dangerous throb awakens between her thighs.

‘No, I don’t want this.’

August’s sharp teeth nip at her succulent flesh, his tongue stubbornly fights to exhaust her defiance. Yet it’s not his mouth that tricks her into submission but a rogue gasp that rudely forces her mouth open as she feels him bumping his hips and grinding his rock-hard erection against her torso.

August smirks in vanity and exploits her disarray. Penetrating the hot velvet cavern of her mouth and groaning at the sweet cinnamon of her tongue. He licks and swallows every tender whimper while molten bliss dances through his tendons. 

Fear of death is replaced by a whole new strain of terror, making her squirm as August conquers her mouth. Ingvild’s mind whispers dark words, keenly reminding her that August Walker will not settle for just a kiss. The thought of his Adonis-like naked body pressed against hers sets a wild shiver in her arms. Horrified, she releases his neck and begins hitting his chest, exploiting the last drops of strength that still stream in her muscles. Her fist ploughs at him, seeking for that weakness until finally, his punishing mouth tears away from hers with guttural growl. 

Ingvild inhales sharply. Rage is hot and loud on her breath as she glances down on the man who violated her mouth. His unforgiving hands slide from her nape to her shoulders, caging her forcefully while his tongue flicks to clean himself from her taste provokingly.

A malicious smirks sparks his face as he watches her grey eyes turn into crimson. The sight of her mouth engorged and glistening from his abuse is enough to make his cock twitch with sheer anticipation. He wonders how hot and wet she is for him down below, how wonderful she will sound taking the entire length of his cock.

“I bet your cunt tastes even better.”

The blood seethes in her. Any coherent thought is lost, there is nothing but hatred as she bestows him a sharp smack across the face, causing him to turn his head aside from the force of her slap.

Iron caresses his tongue as he tips it at the small gash that formed in his lower lip.

‘Just like Lacey.’ 

He growls at her dangerously, his eyes narrowing and his grip tightening. He readies himself to hit her back but is stopped by delicate lips that smear blood across each corner of their mouths. 

Like an animal licking her prey, she drinks him. 

For a moment she feels weightless, floating feather-like, anchored by nothing but the gravity of his strong body beneath her. But the yearning to brutalize him grounds her back to reality. She bites and sucks, her fangs creasing small cuts at his chin and the apex of his lips before moving to torment his mouth which kisses back at her in a wet synergy. 

‘I knew it’d be fun to break her.’

August's hands travel south her spine, capturing her taut ass and squeezing it tightly. The heartless succubus tries greatly to be aggressive, yet he finds her kisses delicate as butterfly wings flapping on his flesh. The warm hums of her voice tickles his throat and her taste, a fear and lust mixed elixir. 

He could swear he has never been this hard in his entire life. 

Unrelenting desire flows through him, having had enough with letting her explore. He takes the reins and flips her down into submission. His tongue writhes into her mouth, snake-like and slippery while his hands ravage her body. He kneads and gropes, making sure to be as crude and ruthless. He hopes to hurt her every possible way. 

She wriggles beneath him, legs locked, entwined between his, her boots kicking the ground helplessly. Sharp talons tug at her shirt and her bra at once, huddling it up beneath her chin. Just enough to expose her perky breasts to feast upon. August breaks away from her lips, staring at her naked chest while his teeth chew at the gash in his bottom lip.

A rosy blush spreads down her naked torso, the cries that leave her mouth speak of just as much pain as they tell of pleasure. August’s fingers thread between her peaked nipples before reaching to kiss and nip at her breasts. Ingvild shakes beneath him, exclaiming small hisses as his teeth leave purple marks across her body. 

“Remember how I promised I’d fuck you, princess?” He asks darkly, a twisted fascination marking his face as his finger traces the stitches on the wound he gave her. 

“I wish you’d die.” she bites back with loathing to which he replies with a cold smirk.

“You can’t even get that right, little girl.”

Snarling like a possessed thing, she finds herself clawing at him. Berserk, mind twisted, sick with desperation, her hands seek through the shadows, nails ripping and yanking at fabric and skin, shredding at whatever she can find until his battered body is exposed to her.

August huffs at her, his nostrils flaring. The small vixen beneath him awakens his every primal instinct; he wants to gnaw at her bones, to reduce her to nothing as he fucks her through her tears. 

The violent scuffle to remove her jeans takes seconds. Sturdy fingers tug at both her undergarments and her trousers, pulling them down the bones of her hips in sheer brutality while she snakes her hips and kicks her feet. Exposed to the chill of the room and to August’s darkest needs. 

Alarm spikes in her chest, beating with anxiety as his hand runs smoothly up and down her creamy limbs. Her legs shut together instinctively yet the beast shoves his knees between her thighs, starved to enter the warmth of her body. He fumbles with his belt, and the noise of the buckle clicking makes her jostle with fright. She attempts to catch that whimper before it leaves her mouth yet fails. August sneers, pulling out his large erect cock and letting the base grind against the wetness of her slit.

One hand cradles her skull, his thumb pressing against her lips, holding her head in place. The horror feeds him, stupendous panic, making her shiver beneath his large body. 

The frozen girl who never feared death is afraid of him.

Feasting on her sight, he reaches his fingers to his mouth, letting his slippery tongue flake the tips. His thick saliva coats them before he sends his hand down to lubricate her inviting slit.

Ingvild’s breath suspends as scenes of her nightmare come to life. August hovers above her like a great incubus, and she muses if this is all but a dream, yet the brush of his wet fingers between her petals proves to be the only thing that feels real in her existence. There is a pulsating void in her chest and between her thighs, aching at his touch.

“Fuck.” he calls out ecstatic as the tip of his fingers finds her sleek and hot. Unable to wait anymore, he immediately grips at his cock and positions himself in her narrow slit. ”You’re soaked, you want this.”

Frozen in time, her breath takes away as the hard velvet of his manhood breaches her entrance, desecrating her with sin. His invasion into her body is brutal, ripping through her fresh core, while chanting moans of the most divine pleasure.

Every sensation becomes vivid inside her as he is buried in her depth, the astonishing, overwhelmingly tight grip around him, the nails that bite into his biceps, the small body that shudders unstoppably. 

It almost feels as if he just broke something inside her.

“Oh…”

Realization seeps into his mind as she remains still but for the twitch in her muscles. Frowning bemused, he tilts his head down, noticing the quiver in her lip and the wetness beneath her glassy eyes. Ingvild watches silently, white with shame as August reaches his fingers to the space where they’re connected and returns them stained in crimson.

“Huh,” he exclaims, playing with the blood between his fingers before landing his palm next to her head. Sick pride poisons his beautiful blue eyes, his tarred heart singing of great victories. He didn’t think it was possible to be even more aroused, having wanted her for so long, but the fact that he just stole something from her that she will never gain back drives the degenerate feral animal inside him wild.

“Did I just pop your cherry, princess?”

Ingvild answers with silence, ignoring the arrogance that beams on his face and the searing pain inside her. She feels the warmth of her blood and the righteousness of her walls trying to defend her lost honour while his manhood throbs inside her with excitement.  

Ever so slowly, he pulls out, his mouth ghosts over hers, aphrodisia coursing through his veins, fueled by the despaired gasp that leaves her mouth. 

“Aww…” he coos at her yips and cries with false sweetness, his hand snapping at her inner thigh, handling it against his hip to force another punishing thrust. Pain surges through her cervix as he hits too deep. His low groans are languished, guttural melodies of pleasure.

“You feel so good, princess.”

Unwilling to succumb to his cruelty, she growls in anger. As he pulls back for the third time, she pushes hard to meet his thrust, taking his thick cock all the way into her chasm. Still raw, her muscles scream with protest yet she grits her teeth and smiles twistedly, unwilling to let him triumph over her. 

August closes his eyes with delight, an onslaught of curses spilling from his lips at the sensation of her succulent walls engulfing him with woven warmth. He couldn’t be gentle with her even if he wanted to. His entire existence calls to shred her, to see her lips parting to small pathetic sobs of pain and pleasure as he conquers her. 

Pain still spasms in her core as he drives into her in a lewd manner, yet the odd sensation of fullness achieved with the reach of his cock to the pit of her cervix evokes a new pleasant tingle in her essence. Like a gentle chord it vibrates, playing the sweetest music and blooming within. 

Every time he pulls away, she suddenly grows desperate for his return. 

‘More please, more.’

Deep whimpers and laboured groans fill the empty spaces between the shadows, creating a violent harmony as August fucks into her in a wild, primal rhythm, ending every thrust with a slam which makes her arch against him and tear his skin with her nails. 

They can feel themselves pulsating in rage against one another, flesh slapping into flesh, blood and fluids, hot, savage like animals, reduced to nothing but their carnal lust. Their bodies move in unison, lips and tongues collide, teeth nipping at each other. 

“You like that?” August rasps, his voice cracking into groans as he continues to pump in and out mercilessly, feeling her walls growing tighter, milking his cock in demand to drain him from his generous offering. 

A hazed memory of a long time ago brushes through his mind. There’s a familiar sensation to this, surging through his ribcage, a desire to unload all his anger and hatred into someone else, to be baptized by her essence. It makes him fuck her harder, mistaking the thought that he could experience the slightest moments of redemption. 

‘She doesn’t feel like that ungrateful bitch, nothing about her does.’

Ingvild bites her lip tightly, withholding from crying his name. There is a wholeness in her she never felt before. Tears well in her eyes, loving and hating the way his body fits inside her, making every sensation she ever felt in her life become insignificant. All that matters is his lips, heart, and cock as it sinks into her in an unstoppable pace until the colours and tunes dance in her heart, and a burst of white flames explode within her.

For the first time in her life, she comes around something, feeling complete. 

‘She looks beautiful when she comes.’

“I’m going to come inside that virgin pussy of yours.” 

August gasps a threat as he rocks above her, astonished by the sight of ecstasy on her face. His balls clench against the seam of her cunt, and his cocks swell between her clutching muscles. Spiralling out of control his fingers snap at her feeble throat, choking tightly as he’s thrown beyond rapture. Ignoring her desperate fight for air, his orgasm takes him by force. He moans deeply and spills his seed into her virginal womb.

Sobbing gasps leave her mouth as he strangles her. Tears roll from the corners of her eyes, falling down to her dusty hair in the dim light. Too meek to fight him off, she watches as his stare turns black, lost in some trance.

‘What are you doing to the girl, August?’ 

As if waking up from a dream, he snaps back and gazes down on her, surprised by the vulnerability and fright in her grey eyes as his hand holds her down. 

‘End this.’ 

He frowns at himself, nearly frustrated, his hands releasing her slowly, backing away in the air, allowing her to breathe once again. 

‘You fucking idiot.’

August watches her heave, sobbing beneath him silently. Her skin trembles beneath his heavy body. Shock and grief storm in her eyes at her lost innocence. As his knuckle grazes her cheek, she suddenly flinches and looks at him oddly. 

The blue ocean in his glance shows no emotion, yet he croons at her and comforts her with the soft hush of his lips. His coarse thumb dries her tears, wiping them away and stroking her hair to cease her from shaking. 

“Shhh… it’s okay. It’s okay.”

His touch is tender, almost relaxing. But the more she stares at him, the more chaos charges in her chest, making her want to scratch her own eyes in anguish. Pushing him away, she forces him off, guilt-ridden and ashamed. She tugs her shirt back down and fumbles for her pants desperately. A pink mixture trickles down her inner thigh as she pulls her jeans up.

Her blood, his semen.

His cock is coated by her innocence as well, tainted by a thin layer of blood. He chuckles to himself, coldly while sitting up and holding himself from making a humiliating joke about it while she moves around between shadow and twilight. 

Unaware of what to say or do, he pulls his trousers back up and stands on his feet, trying to find his remaining piece of clothing before deciding what to do with her.

The sharp sound of a gun’s barrel being stretched pauses his musings before they even begin to take shape. His glare lifts up slowly to meet hers. There she stands, the untrustworthy whore, her gun gripped between her hands. A distressed look on her tortured bleeding face.  

‘Just like the rest of them.’ 

Her lips tremble as she speaks, her brow rising up as if out of mercy. 

“I have to kill you.” 

A burst of light flashes in the room, making her grey eyes shine so bright they glisten like stars in the darkest skies.

It’s the last thing he sees before his world goes black. 

_____________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own Mission Impossible franchise and/or August Walker

[cotncandyboifics]

The Bidding of the Prince Twins: Chapter 1

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Chapter 2 ~

Pairings: (vague/qpr) Loceit, eventual Analoceit

Word count: 2,977

Story summary: Virgil finds himself being held hostage in an unknown location. His two suspected captors seem to care for him more than any strangers should, especially strangers who kidnapped him. But were they really the ones who kidnapped him? That aside, Virgil also can't shake the feeling that there's something familiar about them. He just can't pin-point what it is. As time passes, the layers of lies the three of them are caught in are gradually peeled away, one by one.

General CW: U!Roman, U!Remus, food, kidnapping, implied Stockholm Syndrome, moderate to severe amnesia, swearing, sexual innuendos, graphic descriptions of gore/violence/scarring, minor character d-aths, anxiety attacks, panic attacks, non-graphic descriptions of needles (will be added to as I write more)

Chapter CW: food mentioned, minor amnesia, kidnapping hostage, swearing, non-graphic description of anxiety attack, non-graphic description of a needle (let me know if i missed anything please!)

Author Notes: <none>

...

Virgil winced, squinting sharply as a blinding white light was trained on his face. A giant light getting forced into someone's face would be jarring under any circumstances, but it was especially so considering he had previously been engulfed in an almost equally jarring darkness. He'd also just awoken from an unexpected stint of disorienting unconsciousness.

He felt a presence behind the light, and the edges of hair tufts caught bits of light from behind the cone of death that was focused on him. The figure was clearly tall, and though Virgil was seated, he could easily tell that if he weren't, this person would probably be a head taller than him at the very least. He tried to twist his wrists in the several zip-ties that had them bound together behind his back, as well as to a rod running up the center of the back of his chair. He clenched his jaw, looking down as the light sent a shock-wave of pain through his eyes.

"Virgil Black." A stern monotone voice came from where he'd seen the shiny bits of hair before. It's familiarity wasn't striking, but it had a relatively calming effect on Virgil's nerves, so his mind didn't feel the need to follow that train of thought.

"That's me, man," He tried, voice coming out slightly hoarse. "Mind explaining why the fuck you've got me tied up in this interrogation basement? Last I checked I'm not involved in any CIA bullshit," He sneered. Suddenly, he heard the sound of someone pushing a chair out and standing sounded somewhere to his right, behind the first figure. Someone else was there too. A step or two sounded as the second entity vaguely came toward Virgil. Great, two assholes to shake off.

"Very funny." A deeper voice came, much snarkier than the first. Virgil felt his spine tingle. This voice was oddly familiar as well, but he was still too out of sorts to try and figure out why.

"I apologize for the unsavory conditions, but it is imperative that our identities be kept classified for the time being. All we need is a minute amount of information, and we will be on our way." The first voice again. A very small clacking sound of plastic came from near the figure's face.

"Imperative to what?" Virgil hissed between clenched teeth, looking back up at the mysterious person. This time, he was able to pick out another feature; the light also caught what appeared to be the rim and lens of a pair of square prescription glasses. That explained the plastic clacking, he guessed. Virgil doubted they could be any other sort of glasses; it's possible that this person was a constantly-wearing-sunglasses type, but based on his brief time interacting with them, Virgil didn't really buy that. As well, some part of his intuition told him they were most certainly prescription, the same part that had noted the familiarity of both voices.

"That will also have to remain classified for now. But enough." The voice grew firm. Virgil tried to keep himself from swallowing audibly. "What are the most recent events that you remember, Virgil?"

He tried to think. "Well it's awful hard to recall anything with that giant light in my face, so can I have a minute to think? On top of that my memory is shit anyway because of my anxiety. Is that cool with you, thing 1 and thing 2?" A scoff came from Thing 2, seemingly off in the corner. Virgil hoped the half-hearted remark would keep them entertained as he tried twisting his ankles. They were tightly and securely duct taped to the legs of his chair, which was slowly cutting off his circulation. He felt his toes starting to grow cold and tingly. That meant he'd only been secured like this for a short amount of time, a couple minutes at most.

"By all means. Take your time." Still the first figure's voice, dripping with sincerity. Virgil detected what seemed to be a hint of remorse in their voice, as if they genuinely felt sorry, or at least uncomfortable with what they were doing. Virgil wondered why the second person was so evasive. He figured he'd try to provoke them into speaking again soon.

But for now, he had to think. What was the last thing he remembered? Before a throbbing headache, before the pitch black, before the sound of heavy rusty doors whining open and closed, and two sets of footsteps approaching him. He hadn't really registered them at the time; he'd been too disoriented, he guessed from some sort of anesthetic.

He tried to think back further. He pulled basic facts from his mind, hoping to jog his memory. He lived in New York, in a one-bedroom apartment with his roommate and best friend Patton. They'd fit two twin beds in their little bedroom. They were both Seniors at NYU. That started things off, at least. He spent a lingering moment recalling the cat they both took care of together. Her name was Natalie, and she was pitch black, each and every hair on her body a rich raven shade.

He knew Patton had planned to have a little get-together with some Psych major friends he had, and encouraged Virgil to bring some of his Techie buddies. They'd gone shopping for snacks last night.

He figured he'd start with that.

"Well, I remember Tuesday night for sure. Me and my roommate went grocery shopping. Getting snacks for a little get-together we were having. Not my idea, of course. I'm not a huge fan of parties, or-"

"We asked for your most recent memories, not your life story," drawled the second voice. Virgil smirked behind his bangs. "Will you get on with it already? Unless Tuesday night is really your most recent memory."

"As much as your- contributions - are appreciated, J, I am conducting this interrogation, and I'd prefer if you'd keep your snide comments to yourself for at least the first session," The first voice came again, hushed and sounding strained. Virgil clung to what little information he got from the comment. The second voice belonged to someone who could be identified as "J" apparently, and this was the first... session? Virgil had to set his mental notes aside for the time being though, since he had evidently not yet produced an adequate response. "My apologies, Virgil. My colleague is... rather, anxious, to... move things along. You may continue."

"No sweat. Sounds like J just needs a bit of a chill pill." Virgil smirked in the general direction he'd heard J's voice coming from. He was met with an almost disturbing silence. As expected. "Anyway. I remember shopping, and heading home, and... eventually sleeping. Ah, I guess I woke up a little late Wednesday morning, because I was rushing around and shit. My roommate looked kinda worried about it, but that's just how he is." Virgil paused for a moment. He wondered if these two mysterious figures knew about Patton and NYU and where he lived and everything, and considering he knew nothing about them or what they wanted from him, he wouldn't have been surprised. Regardless, he figured it would be best to keep things as anonymous as possible for the time being. "...Hmm. Then I think I rushed onto the bus. I think I caught it just before it was leaving. I got to, where I was going, and did what I was meaning to do, and then... I guess I headed home? I remember the thing I had to do, and finishing it, but... after that things get kinda foggy. I dunno." He paused again. A beat of silence. "Then again, I'll probably remember more in a few minutes. Especially if I'm not being literally slowly blinded." He finished, looking up at the figure behind the light with as large eyes as he could manage. The figure cleared their throat.

"Thank you Virgil. As well, there is no need for anonymity. We are fully aware of your roommate Patton, and the Economics lecture you nearly missed on Wednesday. However, your attempt at omission was... if nothing else, entertaining." Virgil scoffed under his breath. Even if his anxiety had predicted this just moments before, he was getting really freaked out now. It's never the same at all, imagining worst case scenarios and actually living them. The initial shock of this whole situation was wearing off, giving way to panic.

"At this time, in return all I can offer you is this. You are aware of the second man in your presence, I'm sure. For now you will know him as J, as you clearly caught on to rather quickly."

"He loves the witty ones," J's voice came this time directly from Virgil's left, and much closer than before. It took all of Virgil's self control not to flinch away. "So you'll entertain him well. He's L, by the way."

L cleared his throat. "Yes, thank you J. I shall be addressed as L. You will likely only see both of us at once. Perhaps on rare occasions we will each come in alone, but J and I are partnered, so that would likely do little more than impair our... performance."

"Partnered? Performance? What am I, a high school science project?" Virgil snickered bitterly. "My wrists are starting to hurt pretty fucking bad. This is pretty sketchy, L. I didn't fucking do anything wrong. Why am I here?" Virgil tried not to let the shrill breathiness overtake his voice too much, but the anxiety rising in his chest was far from merciful. He tried to calm himself internally, but that wasn't exactly working out.

"I can understand your frustrations," L replied, and the glint of his glasses shifted, the small plastic clacking sound coming again with it. Virgil realized it was just L adjusting his glasses, likely out of habit. "But, for your safety, I cannot give you a direct answer to any of those questions yet. Ah, except; no, you are not a high school science project." Virgil could practically taste the smirk on L's face. He wanted to spit at him. He wanted to tear himself out of the fucking zip ties and duct tape. He felt his heart pounding in his chest.

"Listen, I get that you two are having a jolly good time fucking me up, but I'm," Virgil struggled, each word becoming harder to force out of his trembling mouth, "I'm kinda freaking out here." He hated the way his voice cracked then.

Virgil could see the glint of L's glasses shifting again, the tall man turning to look at his sarcastic counterpart. A short nod, and with a small clicking sound, the light was shut off.

Somehow, the room seemed darker than it had before. The change was so disorienting that Virgil couldn't pinpoint just where the sounds of shuffling of feet around him were coming from or going. No screeching metal door sounds came though, so he knew J and L had to be in the room with him still. His breathing was becoming very labored, and it overwhelmed him as the only sound he could hear. God, how he hated anxiety attacks.

"Virgil." J's voice came from directly in front of him - J was likely crouched to be on Virgil's level - and it was uncharacteristically silky smooth. He flinched that time, but was able to keep himself from hissing. He was only sure it was J's because of its specific inflections; there was no way this could be L, and there was certainly no fourth person in the room (he hoped). "I understand you are very disoriented right now, but the last thing we want to do is cause you an anxiety attack. My sincerest apologies for triggering the beginning of one. That aside, I need you to focus on your breathing. Nothing but your breaths and the sound of my voice."

His voice felt like butter melting, gliding across a hot pan and leaving a silky trail. Or maybe like warm honey running down flushed skin. Virgil was captivated, and thank fuck, because if it weren't for Fuck Face #2 over here, he doubted he would have been able to get out of this one so easily. So he focused, focused hard on the labored breaths he was huffing.

"Now, I need you to try to slow down. Just a little bit. Slow down for me. Feel the air filling and retreating in your lungs. Let it stay a little longer. Then, let it leave in a gentle skip instead of a frantic sprint." God, if Virgil wasn't Fucking Freaking Out right now, he'd probably be trying to flirt with Mr. Butter-tongue, considering the shivers going up his spine weren't only thanks to his panic disorder.

Gradually, he managed to slow down. It wasn't a straight path, but eventually he got there. J continued cooing sweet nothings to him as he came down before any sort of climax. He thanked the darkness for hiding his horridly hot face from his captors. He heard a slight creasing of fabric.

"All better?" J's smile was practically visible with the way he almost sweetly sneered those words. His voice came from higher up, so Virgil knew he must've stood once again. He just scoffed in a half-assed cover up.

"Sure, Fuck Face Number two." He tried rocking himself side to side in his chair, but it seemed to be attached to the floor. He groaned.

J tsked a few times. "Is that any way to talk to someone who just kept you from what would surely have been a horridly exhausting anxiety attack? Honestly. You ought to be more grateful, Virgil." Virgil was beginning to passionately hate the way J talked; so sassy and drawly, as if he thought he was some serious hot stuff. Virgil wanted to smack him something awful.

He heard soft receding footsteps, feeling J's presence recoil.

"So how does this work? Is someone gonna have to whip out my dick for me when I have to pee?" Virgil prodded at the void around him.

"Very funny, Virgil. No, you will soon be... enlightened, regarding your temporary living situation, so to speak." L's voice came again, finally, from slightly to the right. It was a lot less variant in tone than J's, and Virgil greatly appreciated the constancy.

He couldn't respond soon enough; he felt something pierce his skin on his left outer thigh. Warm breath teasing at skin behind his left ear was the last thing he remembered. "Go to sleep, V. We'll see you again very soon."

"Night night, J," He whispered, before the lights really went out.

...

Logan sighed, shrugging off his navy pinstriped suit jacket as he shut the door behind him. He held it by the collar in one hand, turning to survey the disheveled mess that the observation room had become over such a short period of time.

Piles and piles of paper were stacked high on the wall-to-wall desk, and stacked higher on the floor. The interrogation light - just an industrial Flashlight with a cone of metal wrapped around it's end to amplify it - had been discarded lazily in one corner. Janus was seated at said desk, slouched over himself on a fold-out metal chair, resting his chin on his palm as he looked out through the false mirror at a peacefully sleeping Virgil.

His hat was resting on a corner of the back of his chair, along with his gold-encrusted swallowtail coat. He looked a bit of a mess. His hair was fraying and splaying everywhere. His eyes looked tired, even if Logan could only see his one blind eye from this angle. The jagged scars that crept up his neck and covered the side of his face seemed paler than usual.

"Are you okay, Janus?" Logan inquired as neutrally as he could manage, sitting beside his friend.

Janus merely side-eyed Logan, in his all-knowing way. "I think you and I both know the answer to that question."

"Look, I know this method is-- well, disconcerting," Logan's words rushed out of his mouth as if they were being chased, "but we do not have another choice right now. We will get this over with soon... we will find a way to get through this." Logan cleared his throat and fidgeted with his tie. Janus considered rolling his eyes and responding snidely, but he knew Logan wasn't taking kindly to these new... circumstances either.

"We will." He settled on an attempt to be reassuring. Janus had always been good at that, or at least he'd been told so. He only wished it worked on himself too, especially now. Logan offered a small smile.

A long silence overtook them. They both simply sat side by side and observed their unconscious hostage. He was sprawled rather inelegantly across a deep grey satin bed, one arm wrapped in a death grip around a plush pillow. His leg stuck out haphazardly over the edge of the bed, and his hair was in worse shape than Janus' - which was saying something, since Janus' hair was notoriously wavy and curly and constantly out of sorts, while Virgil's was just straight. His mouth was slacked open, but he didn't snore. His eyebags were somehow visible under his black eyeshadow.

Logan broke the silence first. This normally would have dismayed Janus, but again, these were... unusual circumstances. "Well, he seems figuratively out cold for the time being. Shall we seek out some sustenance?" Logan shrugged his suit jacket back on. Janus didn't move a muscle.

"I'm not hungry right now. You go ahead, I'll make sure he doesn't wake up and start tearing out his hair or something." Janus' somber tone stole his voice's usual sarcasm. Logan rested a hand on his shoulder with a great softness.

"I'll grab you a little something. Try not to stress yourself out too much." With that, Logan set a water bottle on the desk beside Janus' elbow and left in near silence.

Janus heard a faint receding clicking as Logan walked away down the hall.

[merakiaes]

Wrongly Accused - Jack Thompson

Pairing: Jack Thompson x reader

Requested: Yes. 

Prompts: None. 

Warnings/notes: Not proofread so I apologize in advance for any possible mistakes. Leave a comment a let me know what you think xx

Wordcount: 2006

Summary: You’re picked up from the street by two SSR agents and brought in for questioning as a possible suspect in a case you have nothing to do with, and Jack is shocked, to say the least, when he finds out. 

You’d had a few things planned for the day, none of which included being picked up on the street, put in cuffs and forced into the back of a police car.

And yet here you were, cuffed to the table in a dimly lit up interrogation room at the SSR, leg bouncing up and down anxiously and your fierce glare set on the two agents in front of you, anger pulsating in your veins and fear causing your heart to beat violently in your chest.

“I’ve told you probably like ten times now but seeing as both of you seem to be hearing impaired, I’ll tell you again.” You snapped, leaning forward and staring them straight into their eyes. “I’m not saying anything else before my lawyer gets here so you might as well go make the call now.”

One of the agents sighed, sinking into the chair on the other side of the table and leaning forward on his elbows, giving you an annoyed look. “If you would just cooperate then this would go a lot quicker. Just tell me what you know and you’ll be free to go.”

You immediately scoffed. “Do you actually expect me to believe that? Do you think I’m an idiot?” You asked. “I know how your system works. All you want is someone to put the blame on so that you’ll get the case off your back. You don’t care who goes down for it, if he, she or they are guilty or not, you just want it to be quick, over and done with.”

The second agent walked up to your side, crossing his arms over his chest and giving you a pointed look. “Now, that’s very rude misconception.” He said. “But if we’re going to talk about misuse of power then that would be the cops you’re talking about, and we’re not cops, we’re agents. The only thing we want is to make sure the guilty one gets the punishment he deserves.”

“Cops, agents, you’re all the same.” You scoffed again. “It doesn’t matter what I say, so I won’t say shit without a lawyer, even though I have no idea why you would think I’m involved in some fucking trafficking circle in the first place.”

Both of them stared at you for a moment, before the agent sitting down heaved a heavy sigh and stood back up, turning to his co-worker. “This is a lost cause.” He said. “We should go get Chief Thompson.”

You instantly picked up on the familiar surname, eyes growing wide and you head nodding rapidly. “Yeah, go get Chief Thompson.” You encouraged. “I’ll talk to him.”

The two turned and gave you a strange look, and you quickly wiped the excited look off your face, replacing it with a glare once more.

They shook their heads, and one of them pointed a finger at you, giving you a stern look. “You stay here.” He said, and you had to stop yourself from laughing out loud.

How stupid could they be?

“Well, yeah. It’s not like I can go anywhere.” You deadpanned after you’d successfully suppressed the laughter, tugging on your cuffs to further prove your point.

But they were already walking out of the room, the door slamming shut behind them a second later.

You sighed, beginning to impatiently tap your fingers on the surface of the table, your leg bouncing quicker than ever at this point. You may not have showed it to Tweedledum and Tweedledee but on the inside, you were panicking.

All you could think of was your father, and being in the situation you were in was bringing up all of the memories you had been trying to forget, all the trauma.

Luckily, however, you didn’t get too much time alone to think about it, the door soon opening again and bringing you out of your thoughts and back to reality.

Your eyes were wide as they met Jack’s, and his were even wider, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he saw you sitting there. 

When he had been fetched from his office and asked to help his agents with a “difficult suspect”, this was not what he had been expecting.

As the shock slowly wore off, he opened the door fully, stepping inside the room. “I- What are you going here?” He asked, and you snorted, your leg finally stilling now that he was there.

“I’ve been asking myself and your brainless co-workers the same thing for the past twenty minutes.” You replied and he sighed, crossing his arms over his chest and bringing one of his hands up to rub the bridge of his nose in frustration.

He heaved another heavy sigh, and then brought his hand back down, giving you an apologetic look. “I’ll go get the keys. I’ll be right back.” He promised and after getting a nod from you, he walked back out the same way he came in, closing the door behind him and leaving you alone again.

He marched through the corridor and into the room next to the interrogation room, the room in which you could be seen sitting all by yourself, cuffed to a table, through the big one-way mirror.

“Why the hell is she in custody?” He wasted no time in asking, slamming the door shut behind him.

The two agents who were watching you through the glass jumped at the sudden sound and turned around, giving him a clueless look. “She’s one of our suspects.” One of them answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

But Jack only glared, walking up to them and getting into their faces. “Suspect for what, exactly?” He asked, and they exchanged a look.

“Being an informer for Kobra.” They replied.  “She claims he has an alibi but she refuses to give it to us. She’s replying to all our questions with questions, says she won’t say anything without her lawyer present, acting guilty as hell.”

Jack once again brought his hand up to his face to pinch the bridge of his nose, an annoyed breath leaving his nose.

“I am.” He said, and the agents immediately exchanged another glance, a confused look growing on their faces.

“What?”

“I’m her alibi.” Jack clarified, bringing his hand back down and crossing his arms over his chest. “She's been with me every night for the past six months.”

The agents exchanged yet another look, realization crossing over their face, their attitudes suddenly turning unsure as they continued to argue with their boss. “That doesn’t mean she can’t be a suspect. You haven’t had your eyes on her twenty four seven, have you?”

“Do you really want to go there? Do you even know who she is?” Jack glared. “Her dad was Mitch (Y/L/N). Ring any bells? No? Well, let me refresh your memory.”

He uncrossed his arms from over his chest and slowly walked up to them, causing them to back up. Jack wasn’t fazed, bringing his hand out to jab a harsh finger into one of their chests.

“Her dad was put on trial and sentenced to death row for a crime he didn’t commit, all because the cops on the case wanted to get it over and done with and he was one of the witnesses, easy to pin the blame on. All of the evidence proved he wasn’t the one and yet, the blame was put on him. He was proven innocent when they caught the real murderer, five minutes before his electrocution was scheduled.” Jack looked between them as he spoke, jabbing his finger into his chest again. “He died, because the system let him down. The system let his entire family down, including the woman you have in handcuffs in there. She was only thirteen years old. Of course she’s gonna put up her walls and fight back when she randomly gets picked up without an explanation.”

They were speechless, finally remembering about the man who was wrongfully killed at the hands of the system, and finally realizing their mistake.

“I- We didn’t know.” He said, smoothing out the front of his shirt as Jack removed his finger and stepped back. “We thought that she was just fighting back because she had something to hide.”

“No, you didn’t know.” Jack pointed a finger at him. “Because you didn’t take the time to pull out her file and read it, because you don’t know how to do your jobs.”

“We just thought-“ He hesitated, swallowing. “She matched the description that one of the witnesses gave us and she was hanging around the same corner that-“

“Well, now you know she’s not involved.” Jack interrupted him, and both of them bowed their heads.

“Yes, our apologies, Chief. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right, it won’t, because I’m assigning someone else to the case.” Jack said. 

Offended looks crossed over their faces but they didn’t say anything; they didn’t have time to, as Jack held his hand out.

”Give me the keys to the cuffs and get out of here.” He ordered and they sighed, but did as they were told, reaching into his pocket for the keys and dropping it in his hand.

He said nothing else, wasting no time in leaving the room and heading back into the interrogation room where you were still waiting for him to come back, impatiently so judging by the glare he received once he entered again.

“So, what happens now?” You wasted no time in asking, yanking at the chains annoyedly. “Are you letting me go or am I gonna have to claw my wrists out of these cuffs?”

Jack chuckled, slowly walking up to you where you were sitting and shaking his head. “Every time I think they’ve reached their full capacity of stupidity, they surprise me by doing something even more stupid. I’m sorry, about all of this.”

“It’s fine.” You said, sighing in in relief as he moved to unlock the cuffs. “I’m just glad my knight in shining armor was here to save me from another moment alone with those idiots. I swear their poor methods of questioning were making me lose brain cells.”

He hummed, sticking the key into the lock and twisting it to the side. “That’s usually how they get people to confess.” He mumbled. “They bore the truth out of them.”

You snorted. “I can imagine.”

The cuffs finally came undone and you wasted no time in getting to your feet with a heavy breath, rubbing your red and sore wrists.

Jack watched you, sitting down on the edge of the table and raising an eyebrow at you when you looked up to meet his eyes.

You raised an eyebrow right back at him, silently wondering what he was looking at, which only probed him to raise his eyebrow further, a teasing glint in his eye.

“You’re sure you don’t have anything to do with the kidnappings and trafficking, though, right?” He asked then, and you scoffed, your arm shooting out to shove his shoulder gently.

“I’m joking, I’m joking.” He laughed as you did so, pushing himself back off the table and stuffing the keys into the pocket of his slacks, before walking up to you and taking you by your arms. “On a more serious note, though, I’m gonna make it up to you.”

“Yeah? How are you going to do that?” You questioned, calmness and contentment filling your body at the feeling of his thumbs rubbing the bare skin of your arms soothingly.

He smiled, reaching his hand up to touch your cheek. “Dinner at my place, tonight.” He said, his words causing your lips to pull into a smile much like his own.

“Cook me up some of that pasta of yours and you’re forgiven.” You answered, leaning in to press your lips to his.

He hummed, his hands finding their way to your waist and his feet taking him a step closer to you, his voice coming out in a mumble against your lips.

“Deal.”

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