#this post was brought to you by: baby brick's CURLS

[gilliebee]

[roosterbruiser]

As is tradition, I humbly (violently) request some landslide tidbits…

first of all? this picture is so fucking funny

second of all? your wish is my command, darling....

okay I don't think I've posted this before but if I have PLEASE call my ass out!! that is on me!!

here's a deleted/reworked scene from the bachelorette party....

It was still early in the evening and The Hard Deck was still slowly building momentum, a handful of uniforms speckled around the wide-plank floors. Pool balls clanking, beer bottles chiming, distant chattering and light conversations were the only sounds then. The jukebox wasn’t on yet, the piano empty of Rooster or any Rooster-like form. 

Before we’d gotten out of our car, I’d sent a final text to Rooster, who had sent us away from his spot on the brick porch--grinning something fierce, cheeks warm, hair sandy. The boys weren’t there yet--he was waiting for them to pick him up. 

Me: Let loose!! Don’t miss me too much!! 

He responded just as we crossed the threshold of the bar, just as Bob held the door open for me and Phoenix, just as the crashing waves became a lull in the distance, fading from earshot. . 

Tramp: I’ll be drinking to forget you, baby ;)

Standing at the bar with Bob and Phoenix flanking me, watching Penny uncork a good bottle of champagne with a small, easy smile on my lips, I stuffed my phone into my pocket. 

The sun was sinking into the ocean just outside, casting a golden light over the polished wood and brown beer bottles; it all felt very warm. 

“Let the bachelorette party commence,” Bob announced, smiling coyly. 

Bob, wearing his suede jacket that I loved so much, looked down at me from his glasses. He was still sporting the shaggier look--hair grown out and pushing the Navy’s protocall, cheeks scruffy. He looked good, very handsome. But he still smelled like a freshly-bathed baby; a scent that seemed to ooze from him, filling all the air between us.

“You’re getting married tomorrow!” 

It was Phoenix who said it, her lipstick pink and her dress pinker. 

“I know,” I said softly, “counting down the hours.”

Bob and Phoenix grinned at Penny, who was looking at us through her lashes. 

“Smitten kitten,” Penny said, shaking her head, chuckling. 

“Bob, your veil is crooked,” Phoenix chuckled, her elbows on the bar, dark hair framing her smiling face as she looked at Bob. 

Bob sighed, moving to fix the short, tulle veil that we pinned in his hair on the drive over. 

“How embarrassing,” he muttered, shaking his head lightly.

Phoenix and I laughed--Bob’s cheeks bloomed, painting his face the pale pink of a rose. But he was smiling that sweet Bob smile; the one that was wide and kind, the one that was born from our joy. His girls. His best friends. 

“Here,” I offered, moving to adjust the pins so the veil sat straight. 

Phoenix grinned, her own veil pinned prettily--the pristine white fabric a stark contrast of her shiny, dark hair. 

“You were looking like a wayward bride there for a second,” Phoenix said, biting her lip, “and that’s Faye’s role, right?”

She nudged me, teasing. I bit my lip hard, stifling a laugh--very, very happy. Wordlessly, Phoenix smoothed my veil, too--her touch gentle as she adjusted the tulle over my curls.  

Penny slid us three flutes of pink champagne, placing a silver ice bucket beside me before settling the un-corked bottle in the ice. 

“How’s our blushing bride really?” Penny asked, the sun painting her face warmly as she leaned onto the bar, setting her chin in her hands. 

“Cool as a cucumber,” Bob answered, sliding Phoenix and I our champagne before he grasped the stem of his and brought it to his lips, “have you ever seen a more relaxed bride?”

He was telling the truth--I was totally, wholly calm. Not an itch in my palms, not a flurry in my belly, not a lump in my throat, not even a throbbing vein behind my eyelid to be found. All I felt, on the eve of my wedding, was solace. Bliss, even. It almost made me feel silly how serene, how completely balmy, I was. 

Penny’s smile was a familiar one--a happy one. Her cheeks were smooth and her lips were soft. 

“So, no cold feet here?”

I sighed, taking a sip of champagne. The bubbles tickled my throat, coated my belly, sank to my toes. I wiggled them in my heels--yep, still toasty warm. 

“Nope,” I told her, “snug as a bug and all that other stuff.”

Phoenix leaned on my shoulder. Hers was a weight that was becoming very familiar to me, too; one that I was beginning to cherish as deeply and know as thoroughly as Bob’s. She threaded our arms, squeezing me tight. 

“Can you believe it? You’re getting married to Bradshaw tomorrow,” Phoenix sighed, “and to think--we were all there the night you guys met!”

Bob leaned on my shoulder, taking my other arm as Penny watched, bemused. 

“It’s enough to make a grown man cry,” Bob sighed, “and believe me, it has.”

Phoenix snorted. 

“Well, as sweet as it was watching you two find each other--maybe I should get a smidgen of credit,” Penny said, a teasing lilt in her soft voice. 

I quirked a brow, already growing warm at her words. Phoenix and Bob cocked their heads, eyebrows raised. 

“Is that so?” I asked, now the bemused one.

She shrugged--turning her nose up slightly, biting her lip, giving us a very casual shrug before crossing her arms over her chest. My throat was throbbing.

“Well,” she started, “I might’ve put in a good word for you early on.”

“How early on?” Bob pressed, lips turned in a half-smile. 

Penny found my eyes and I don’t know why, but I suddenly knew the night she was talking about. The night that Rooster leaned against the jukebox and played Crimson and Clover, when I was sitting alone at the bar transcribing. It was the night that he’d escorted us to our cars--when Penny had said something to him that I couldn’t hear from my place by the doors.

“I’d say pretty much the start,” she smiled, eye falling in an inconspicuous wink, “right, honey?”

I nodded, still smiling with my lip bitten. 

It was the start of it all--I had been a fundamentally different person before that night, before Rooster played mine and my sister’s song, before we waltzed in the empty bar, before he told me and I told him, before his number was in my phone, before Sweet Thing meant very much to me. 

“Just let Rooster know that you were a sweetheart,” Penny remarked coolly, “but he’d already had his mind made up by then.”

Right--his mind had been made up by then. I think little parts of ourselves were already falling in love with little parts of each other. Yes, I remember how he had held me that night as we danced. I remember how secure I’d felt, how suddenly down-to-earth I was. I remember wanting to be held down by him forever. I remember all of it. 

Before I could respond, feeling choked with an overwhelming love for Rooster, Phoenix laughed, nodding wildly. 

“Oh, we used to talk about turning it into a drinking game,” Phoenix added, glancing at me mischievously, “like, take a drink every time Bradley tells a story with Faye in it. Or finish your drink every time he sleeps off-base.”

Bob laughed, continuing, “And take a shot every time he smiles at his phone.”

I elbowed them simultaneously, face burning.

“You’re teasing me,” I said, furrowing my brows, “we hid it very well!”

Bob rolled his eyes. 

“Shall I remind you of that one morning--!”

“--You shall not,” I quickly interrupted.   

[violetsandfluff]

Happy Mother’s Day, Mama

That other Mother’s Day post I was talking about… yeah. It’s late. ❤️‍🔥 word count: 900+

Enjoy dad/husband!Shawn.

“Happy Mother’s Day, mama,” a soft morning voice said from above you. You opened your eyes to see Shawn, supported by his arms, above you, smiling wildly. He began peppering your face and neck with hot kisses and you gave a soft laugh.

“What are you doing? Lemme sleep in!” you whined, snuggling into his chest. You ran a hand through his messy brown curls and he continued planting kisses all over you.

“I’m just giving my baby girl the best morning possible. I know you hate sleeping in.” He moved so he was laying with his head on your stomach, wrapping his arms around your stomach.

“Shouldn’t we get the kids up?”

“No. It’s early. They won’t be up for at least an hour. We have time.” He continued to plant kissed all over you before shifting to a half-sitting position beside you.

You grabbed his jaw and began to kiss his lips, playing with his hair all the while.

He let a small groan escape into your mouth and you felt suddenly heavy. You felt as if your body was made of lead bricks.

Shawn bit down on your lower lip and nibbled it as he pulled it into his mouth. His hand sneaked slyly down your back and started to rub it, which felt amazing.

It was your turn to moan into his mouth and he smiled against your lips. After pulling away, he held you so tightly against him that you could barely breathe. The air you were able to obtain smelled amazing. It was a clean scent that no laundry soap or air freshener could achieve. It was... Shawn.

Letting out a low hum, Shawn let go of you, giving the excuse that he needed to use the bathroom, though you could hear him being clumsy in the kitchen downstairs.

You enjoyed the time alone, though, the calm before the storm. Or the calm before the kids.

The baby monitor showed them sleeping soundly in their cribs. You had some tasks you could finish, but watching your beautiful babies sleep was more interesting. They were twenty months old now; this was your second Mother’s Day as a mother, but it still felt so unreal.

Indigo and Wade (any better name suggestions can go below) began stirring, waking each other up. It was time for you to go get them. By the time you got down the hallway, they were babbling happily to each other, reciting the words and sentences then knew and smiling over the tops of their cribs.

After the morning snuggles and kisses were finished, you busied yourself picking up clothes and toys that were strewn around the floor, but to no avail.

Indigo just dumped out the box of toys and Wade began fishing through the dresser. You turned on your phone with the intention of ordering some cheap, baby proof storage compartments, but Shawn messaged you. From downstairs. An entire fifteen feet away.

You scooped up the kids and brought them downstairs for breakfast, per request. He had made pancakes and fresh fruit, which was ultimately your favorite breakfast.

“Thank you, Baby,” you smiled as you strapped the twins into their high-chairs.

“You’re welcome, Y/N. My pretty girl. Sit down.”

The breakfast was delicious and when you were done, you got Indy and Wade into cute dressy

outfits for church. Wade was wearing a plain white onesie (bold choice knowing him) and blue pants. Indigo was wearing a navy blue jumper. And, of course, you and Shawn matched them both.

After church, you returned home with your parents. Shawn and your dad busied themselves with the barbecue and you and your mom blew bubbles from a bubble wand for Indigo and Wade.

The kids shrieked in amusement as the bounced around the bubbles, poking them with their fingers. You busied yourself taking pictures of them with your Polaroid camera and they were soon infatuated with watching them change colors.

Your mom watched them as they played and you went inside to get the potato salad and condiments as well as make baked beans.

When the burgers were ready, the six of you eased onto the warm, green grass to eat. Indy and Wade fumbled over their burgers, spilling the majority of it on the ground.

Potato salad and baked beans were scooped onto plates and condiments passed around. Indigo loved potato salad; she ate her brother’s too.

“Indy June!” you scolded. “Don’t eat your brother’s potato salad.”

She just smiled and you wiped at the sauce that was smeared on her nose.

Wade just smiled and gave an adorable chuckle. His face was also decorated with a variety of

sauces which you tediously proceeded to wipe off. ~~~

Later, after your parents had gone home and the kids were in bed, you sat on the back porch with Shawn, arms wrapped tightly around each other to fend off the evening chill.

“Love you, mama.” Shawn began giving you sweet baby kisses around your ears, cheeks, jaw, and mouth.

“Love you, dada.” you replied slowly, fully embracing the sensation of love that overtook you in that moment.

“Want some more kisses?”

You nodded weakly before shaking your head. “I wanna watch the sun as it sets, Baby, really quick.”

“You’re tired, Love, let’s get you to bed.”

You shook your head stubbornly and he gave in. He indulged you until the sun sank below the horizon like a submarine, leaving only light as its traces of its attendance moments earlier. The moon’s rule began, turning the world into a cold dark kingdom and Shawn guided you inside and up to bed.

There you succumbed to the kisses he left you everywhere; it was too hard not to.

[schmerzerling]

A saccharine, pointless fix-it fic, set post-15x19. Because you deserve it.

Dean doesn’t even make it down the stairs into the bunker before he’s already praying.

Dear Jack, who art in heaven, hope you’re eating your vegetables and wearing deodorant—being a noncorporeal celestial entity is no excuse not to—and, oh, could you please bring your dad back from black goo mega hell?

It seems a little selfish at this point to pray to Jack—kid just brought back the entire human race, so he could probably use a bit of a breather, but it can’t hurt to add just a little tick to his to-do list. Besides, maybe Dean’s earned being a little selfish. Maybe it’s finally Dean’s opportunity to cash in his “whoops, I killed your mom” favor with his wayward antichrist slash omniscient deity slash son.

He gets to the bottom of the stairs, tosses his bag down on the war room table, starts down the hallway toward his bedroom, and.

Oh. There’s Cas.

“It was the first thing he did,” Cas says, like he heard Dean’s prayer. He’s in the kitchen, looking consideringly between a frying pan and a recipe on his phone. From the smell of it, he could be making French toast, maybe, if French toast were black and hard and dense as a brick. “Well, after resurrecting all life on earth, I suppose.” Then Cas says, wistfully, like a proud father who’s just seen his son off to kindergarten, “I hope he’s having a good first day.”

His nose gets that—wrinkle it gets. Dean’s memorized that wrinkle. He knows that wrinkle, and yeah. That’s definitely his Cas filling his kitchen with toxic French toast smog.

“I got back early,” Cas continues, casual like he didn’t do anything more than dodge out of work at four to miss rush hour, “and I figured you and Sam would be hungry when you got home.”

Dean gapes like a fish, mouth open to gulp in toast fumes. Behind him, he hears Sam clang down the spiral stairs in the war room. When he hits the bottom step and clunks onto the concrete floor, he says, “Hey, what do you bet Chuck’s already knee deep in Naked and Afraid territory—”

He rounds the corner, sees Cas in the kitchen, and smiles like it’s his birthday. Then he looks at Dean briefly, uses two fingers under Dean’s chin to close his hanging jaw with an audible click-pop teeth-jowl combo, and flashes Dean a double thumbs up before he retreats quietly down the hallway.

Because he’s an asshole.

Cas looks up from the mess he’s making of Dean’s favorite pan and the nose wrinkle is still there, right above a sweet, wistful smile. He’s really fucking—cute. But he’s an asshole too. The absolute king of the assholes. Because the last time he saw Cas, saw Cas’s eyes, they were spilling over with tears that Dean put there, that loving Dean put there. They were wide and clear and almost reflective, so that Dean could see himself crying back, and so that Dean could see his own devastated face when he realized that Cas was saying goodbye a-fucking-gain. And the worst thing, the absolute worst thing about all that is that he’s smiling now like he was smiling then, like giving up his life for Dean makes him happy in the same way cooking Dean shitty French toast does.

Cas’s smile fades the longer Dean looks at him and doesn’t say anything, and Dean sees when the skittish uncertainty starts taking him over.

“Dean. We can—I know…” He licks his perpetually chapped lips and huffs a quick, fortifying breath. “I didn’t mean to ‘make it weird.’”

He curls his fingers around air quotes when he says it, and a feeling of nostalgic fondness swells up inside Dean so fast it hurts his chest, bursts up against his throat to produce a noise that sounds suspiciously like a whimper. He’s the same fucking Cas he’s always been, Dean realizes. He hasn’t changed, just like Dean asked him not to all that time ago. So the only explanation for the paralyzing feeling of earnest affection bubbling up his throat like top-shelf sangria vomit is—

That Dean has. That Cas hasn’t changed, but he has cast a new light on everything he’s ever done, and now Dean can plainly see that their whole history is painted over in colorful shades of I love you. Dean knew it before, he thinks. That Castiel loved him. But there’s knowing, abstractly, and then there’s seeing and hearing. There’s believing. There’s recognizing that Cas has a secret smile, just for Dean. There’s internalizing his I love you until it buoys him, until it keeps his head above water long enough to see that maybe that secret smile means exactly what he always hoped it did, because maybe he’s been worth that secret smile all along.

Dean lurches clumsily forward, promptly forgetting the two steps that lead down into the kitchen. He trips over his own feet, straight into the kitchen island, with a disastrous clatter. Every spoon and spatula and pot and pan hanging over the top of the island clatters. He can almost sense Sam listening from his bedroom, can almost hear him laughing about how Dean just went toe to toe with God, but one awkward blink of Cas’s baby blues turns him into an bumbling, lovestruck idiot.

Dean skitters around the island, straight into Cas’s space like Cas is always up in his. He says, “No, no,” desperately like that means anything, like he’s afraid Cas is going to disappear before he can make it clear. He breathes right into Cas’s mouth, sharing air like he can’t stand not to. Cas exhales softly as those fucking eyes flit worriedly over Dean’s face. He says, “Oh, Dean, you’re hurt—”

And Dean plants his lips right on Castiel’s.

It’s not much of a kiss. It’s chaste and subdued against the subtle background chime of settling pots and pans. But Cas brings up both hands to cup Dean’s cheeks, just gently, like he’s afraid of exacerbating wounds but can’t stand to let Dean pull away, either. And when Cas finally does pull back to look into Dean’s unfocussed eyes, the sense of beaming contentment that Castiel positively glows with pours directly into Dean through a long, lingering look.

It settles something tumultuous inside Dean. A quiet leaches down into his bones, nestles up against his heart like a purring kitten. And in the sudden silence of his scattered head, he can actually hear himself when he says, “I—I mean. You too. I do too. Love. You, I mean.” He almost ruins it by giving Cas his patented no-homo back pat, but he restrains himself at the last second. He finger-combs Cas’s fringe back from his wrinkled forehead instead.

He wasn’t expecting to say it, because he doesn’t say it, not even in the pathetic, fragmented way he just managed. And Cas clearly wasn’t expecting it either, because his eyes go wide like they were then and he says, “Oh,” on a gentle exhale. “Oh.”

Dean sees his own lovestruck astonishment, reflected again in Cas’s eyes.

Cas drops his hands from Dean’s face and says, all business, “Well. Good.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Dean clears his throat and steps back. Then he nods down at Castiel’s disaster toast and says, “Can I help you not burn the bunker down?” And Cas nods, slowly and fondly, and laughs because there’s no one to tell him not to. They bump shoulders while they cook and sit on the same side of the dining table while Dean eats and that’s that.

That’s all there is.

[iwas-baby]

a continuation of this post nsfw

tags: dick sucking. cum. light praise, slight degradation. 'baby' as a pet name.

"not quite" you respond, voice a bit raspy as you stare at matsukawa's lips as they curled around the cigarette. feeling your breath hitch, matsukawa grinned as if he could read your mind.

putting out the butt of the cigarette against the brick all he leaned forward bringing his hand against the base of your head and his fingers intertwined with strands of your hair. as he pulled you in you felt his cool sliver rings press against your scalp.

mattsun smelt of cigarettes and cedar-wood and as you were brought closer, you were entranced by his smell. biting your lip again, you looked at him with wide, almost curious eyes.

"i wanna suck you dick," you even surprised yourself with this bravery, maybe you could blame it on tipsy but as you muttered your desires matsukawa's eyes darkened.

he gave a tug on the root of your hair, snickering. "right here?" he asked in a mocking tone to which you nod. "dirty girl." he teased.

before you can unzip his pants he brings you in for a kiss, causing you to groan as he bites down on your lower lip. your gasp gives him the opportunity to slide into your mouth, sucking your tongue while his hands wondered your body.

matsukawa rested his hands over your ass, squeezing them with a satisfied hum. pulling away, a trail of saliva connected your lips. you let out a slight pant as mattsun traced his thumb over your lip, wiping away the spit. he proceeded to dip his thumb into your mouth, watching hazily as he pressed down against your tongue. he brought it out not too long after, making a popping nose.

"do your thing, baby." he whispers into your ear and you can feel his hard on pressed against you. your smiled, glad it didn't take too much to turn him on.

your tongue grazed over your lips before your hands slid down to his crotch, feeling his huge dick. you could feel his gaze burning into you as you carefully unbuckled his belt, slowly tugging down his zipper.

freeing his dick, you were already in a crouched position. his dick sat in your hands, a predominate vain sticking out and the tip a flushed pink. not to mention, how big he was.

it didn't matter how many times you took him into your mouth, he would never fail to make you gag. spitting onto your palm, you used the make shift lube to give him a few pumps.

"fuck," he cursed as you kissed the tip, your left hand still working around the base of his cock. shutting your eyes, you began to push in, knowing you wouldn't be able to take it all in one go.

you got about halfway, slopping to hallow out your mouth, hearing a slight grunt from mattsun as his hand only gripping your hair harder. you began pulling back, only for him to push you right back, his dick hitting the back of your throat.

tears were beginning to brim in your eyes, feeling a sticky feeling in your panties and your knees began to act against the pavement. nonetheless you worked away with your hands, fondling his balls at the same time.

"just like that," he praised, slightly bucking his lips to chase the sensation of your tight little throat. "c'mon i know you can take more," his hushed voice made you moan with your third attempt to take him all.

despite the slight gag, the tip of you nose pressed against his stomach, his dick harshly going down your throat.

matsukawa tipped his head back, finally letting out a bit of a straggled groan as you worked away. "shit baby," you could tell he was close just by the sound of his voice and you started to bob your head back and forth.

each bob was met with a forceful thrust as mattsun chanted your name like a prayer. you could feel yourself get wetter at the sound of his pleasured moans. it tempted you to remove on hand from his balls and bring it to your aching clit but you knew you'd get punished for that later.

"'m close," he huffed out and you hummed around his dick and through blurry eyes you looked up at him. to matsukawa, the sight of you choking over his dick, squirming around combined with your throat squeezing him so nicely was enough to send him over the edge.

"oh fuck," he called out for you as he came into your mouth, his cum painting your tongue white. his cum began to trip out of your mouth but matsukawa was quick to pull out and to stuff the sticky substance back inside you.

"swallow," he order and you obliged, "let me see," you opened your mouth, showing you'd successfully swallowed up his cum. "that's a good girl." he looked into the distance,

"now let me take care of you." with a smug look you could see he'd already gotten hard again.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Verboten - Chapter Two.

Previous chapters - One

Visuals - The Verboten cast of characters post

Words - 3,582

Warnings - Bit of angst here and there!

Tag list - In the comments! To be added/removed, please DM me :)

Chapter playlist - No song for this chapter!

“Oh, there’s my piglet, all smiley and happy!” Ella cooed, leaning over her husband’s bulk to smile down at Lani, her youngest daughter, lying all curled up with her daddy.  

“She was a cantankerous piglet at six o’clock this morning, so I just brought her in here.” Ella used to panic whenever he did that, for the crushing risk posed when sleeping with an infant. However, she reasoned that once Tyler fell asleep on his front, he didn’t move. It was like sleeping next to a warm corpse. Lani was always safe beneath her father’s supportive forearm while he dozed and she snored just like a piglet, hence the nickname.  

“Thanks. I needed to sleep, too much wine! I had a great time last night, thanks for being good about it all,” she told him, Tyler shifting over onto his back, moving Lani to his chest.  

“I’m still gonna take you out, though, just you and me. Mum’ll watch the kids; you know she doesn’t mind.” Granny Val was his children’s favourite person next to their three adoring aunties, plus Tyler’s siblings, their auntie Lizzie and uncle Charlie. His mother such a sweet, nurturing woman, or as he affectionately referred to her as, a crazy ole’ hippie.  

Smiling at Lani, Ella nodded, noncommittal in her reply. “Yeah, maybe.” Maybe. His life with her was built upon a series of maybe’s, it seemed. “Do you want a coffee?”

“Does the pope shit in the woods?” She snorted laughing, his bastardised phrase tickling her as ever. It was never ‘do bears shit in the woods?’ or ‘is the pope Catholic?’ any longer, not after he’d seen how hard she’d laughed, the first time he’d said a mixture of the two to her. He remembered it as he lay there with Lani pushing herself up to look at him, pulling ridiculous faces the baby giggled and gurgled at while Ella got dressed.

They’d been at a bar not long after they’d begun dating, Ella inquiring whether he wanted another beer. His reply had made her cry laughing, unable to breathe. ‘That’s it, she’s gone. On the table. Night, night, Vienna. It’s all over for Ella.’ He’d continued, his girlfriend only further descending into hysterics. It was what made her fall for him in the first place, how hard he’d made her laugh.  

She’d been his solace after being honourably discharged from the army because of the combat trauma he’d suffered, marrying her just thirteen weeks after they’d first met. Not a lot of people lent support there, with them eloping so suddenly, but it had worked. Ten years later and they were still together, albeit with a couple of cracks in their relationship now beginning to show.  

He’d thought them to be invincible, once upon a time. After all, Ella had been the one who was instrumental in his recovery from a pill popping habit, pulling him back to her when he flipped out a little after Grace was born and sought work back in what he knew, although private military was vastly different from the army. Ella was the one who saw that it was no good for him, that he would thrive through doing something more stable, more routine, but still being out there helping people, or as she often coined it, ‘getting to still run around being a brick shithouse with a gun’, which always humoured him.  

He’d considered the police beforehand, but never with any kind of serious intent on joining up. As it turned out, he took to it like a duck to water. Ella had been right too, the routine was just what he needed to iron himself out, quit the Oxy abuse and begin taking proper medication for what he’d identified to have been PTSD from the horrors of a life in active service, and begin to truly thrive. These days, he was down to just one type of med.  

He'd never been prouder of himself, and it was Ella who deserved the credit. Without his wife, he’d have been nothing, and it was that which pained him most about their current situation. How could they, a couple so close, who meant the absolute world to one another, have drifted apart like that? Well, it was her doing the drifting. He was still very much present, wanting the loving affectionate wife he knew back, despite her hesitations.  

“I know I said I was taking the kids fishing, but it’ll be shit conditions. It’s too sunny,” he began a time later, walking around the kitchen in his sweats and vest, shower fresh while sipping his coffee, Ella buttering toast and serving up the requested cereals for the kids, who were in the den being loud. They only had one volume. “I’m taking them out on their bikes instead. You wanna come?”  

Reaching for her, he felt his heart drop sadly when she pulled away from his touch, grabbing the brightly coloured cereal bowls. “Back in a minute.” He made a confirming noise in his throat, draining his coffee and pouring another. “No, I’ve got a pile of laundry I need to do, so I’ll just stay here with bubs.”

“I’ll help you with that later.”

“Tyler, it’s fine. You go enjoy the kids, you seldom get time with them to yourself.”

“I seldom get time with you these days either.”

“Yeah, you do! Don’t be silly!”

Sighing, he took another gulp of coffee. “Ella, I’m not. I feel like I’m being pushed away. You do this a lot, make excuses when I want to spend time with you. It used to be just when I suggested doing things alone, but now it’s extending to us going out and having family time as well. I kinda feel rejected, love.”

“Is it really about me not wanting to go out today, or is this about the fact I don’t feel ready to have sex yet? Tyler, Lani’s birth was bloody horrific, pardon me if I’m not feeling all too sexy after being torn six ways to Sunday! You need to stop pestering me for it.”

“It isn’t just about that. You’re being cold with me and then denying all knowledge of doing so. It’s hugely frustrating. Look, I don’t want a row over this. You always told me that if I needed to talk about anything bugging me then I could tell you anything, so here I am, attempting to talk about it. Except here’s the thing; whenever I do, you stonewall me and deny anything is wrong. I’m not fuckin’ stupid, Ella. Things have been different for six months now.” He kept his voice even and calm, really not wanting anything to escalate, especially since the kids were close by, just down in the next room.  

“Just drop it. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill.”

“I’m really not. Here, stop fussing and cleaning for five seconds.” Grabbing the cloth from her hand, he flung it into the sink, wrapping his arms around her. Immediately, she tensed. “Making a mountain out of a molehill, am I? You don’t even like me hugging you anymore. That’s not exactly pestering you for sex, is it? Which I haven’t been. Just relax, hug your husband for five minutes, for fucks sake.”

She softened then, sinking into his embrace, actually quite enjoying the feel of his hands stroking her back through the thin cotton of her top. “Is that better?”  

Her short reply was met with a slightly incredulous face. “Sorry. But, is it?”

“Wouldn’t mind a few kisses as well.” She granted him just that, Tyler feeling happiness inside blooming again for the return of a little affection from his wife, until Seth came hurtling in.  

“Ewww, you two are so gross. Dad, are we going fishing still?”  

“Nah, mate. It’s gonna be too sunny. All the fish will be hiding in the reeds. How about we take the bikes out instead?”

“Yes!” That was one child happy with the change of Saturday activities, at least, Seth rinsing his bowl before popping it into the dishwasher, running back out and informing Grace of the plan. The moment for affection was truly shattered when their eldest came through like a tornado, Ella kissing his cheek and pulling away as her daughter began to state her case, at high volume.  

“Daddy! Why aren’t we going? I’ve really been looking forward to this!”

“Because the fish will be hiding from the sun.”

“Then we spear fish in the reeds! You said you’d teach me! Give me a knife, I’ll go whittle some of the bamboo canes so we can still go.” If nothing else, Grace Rake was persistent and inventive, just like her father.  

“You can’t whittle bamboo, titch. It’s hollow,” he pointed out, his daughter hanging onto his forearms and climbing up his legs. “And you’re getting too big for this.”  

“I’m never too big for daddy hugs.”

“You’re too big for climbing me like I’m a tree.”

“You are pretty tall though, daddy-o. And there’s less risk in climbing you than trees.” She had a point.  

“I bet it still won’t keep you out of the trees though, huh?”

“Nah!” He couldn’t help but laugh there. At least she was honest.  

“So, back to cycling. You in?” He asked, Grace wrapping her legs around his waist and nestling into the crook of his neck. She truly was daddy’s girl.  

“Yeah, I guess. Am I okay to stay here for a while, though?”

“Absolutely, titch.” Kissing her shampoo scented hair, he smiled happily, glad at least one person he loved wanted to be in his arms for longer than thirty seconds. He was grateful he’d received a fleeting amount of affection from his wife, though. Little steps. He just had to not do stupid things like getting hammered and kissing his sister-in-law, the memory coming back to him when Ella began putting away the margarita glasses.  

What the hell had he been thinking? He hadn’t, evidently. His cock had, though. It wasn’t a cogent excuse at all though and he made a mental note to apologise humbly to Zoey the next time he saw her, because it shouldn’t have happened. The last thing he wanted was for there to be any awkwardness between them over it. For that moment, though, he had toast to eat, children to ready and bikes to load into his truck.  

They headed out to Brisbane valley rail trail, a long tail that ran alongside the now defunct Brisbane valley railway line. It was popular with runners, cyclists and equestrians alike, the latter being the focus of Tyler’s kids after they got off their bikes and approached the horses just like he’d taught them, asking the riders politely if they could say hello.  

“Daddy, can we get a horse?” It was always the same whenever Grace encountered anything with four legs, a mane and a tail.  

“Absolutely not, titch. They’re money pits, as I’m sure these ladies will agree.”  

“Yep, you got that right!” The younger of the two laughed, while her horse made a beeline for Seth’s crop of dark blonde curls, gently mouthing his hair and then snorting, Seth giggling as he was sprayed.  

“I like him, he’s really big!” He exclaimed, running back to his bike, Tyler thanking the ladies for obliging his kids before they all continued to cycle. It did his slightly hungover head the world of good, to get out in the fresh air, the part of the trail they were on lined with lush evergreen pines, the scent beautiful as they cycled through the dense canopy of shade.

“Kids, don’t go too far. Keep where I can see you!” Tyler called, his children slowing down in the distance. A few minutes later and out into the sunshine once more and their bikes had been set down, Grace then running at speed towards someone jogging, the woman picking her up to swing her around in her arms. It must have been one of her aunties, since the children were well versed in the risks of stranger danger.

“Please be Fran, please be Fran.” Tyler muttered. The youngest two of the Hudson sisters did look remarkably similar from afar. As she came into view though, no such luck. Of course, it just had to be Zoey running the trail in the opposite direction.  

He guessed that it might be better all round to get that awkward first meeting after their illicit drunken kiss out of the way quickly, though. The sooner it was dealt with, the sooner they could continue as normal. As soon as he was up close with her, though, Tyler realised that normal might take a while to resume. Viewing her, breathless with sweat sheened skin, it made his insides jolt, his mind’s eye imagining him working her into that state, being on top of her...being inside her.  

“Hey,” she spoke a little awkwardly, unscrewing the lid from her water bottle and glugging back a few mouthfuls.  

“Hey.” Yep, that’s all he could manage. ‘Stop thinking with your cock and talk to her normally, you moron!’ His internal monologue raged at him.  

“Daddy, can we go and forage for pinecones?” Grace then asked, giving him a few seconds to pull himself together.  

“As long as you’re carrying them back and not lumbering me with a forest floor.” She promised she would, scampering off with her brother. It was now or never, anything to cut the awkward tension between them.  

“I’m really sorry about last night, Zo,” he began, climbing off his bike and setting it down next to those of his kids.  

“Yeah, me too. It was the last thing you needed to happen, given what you’d just told me. We need to draw a line under it, it happened, it’ll never happen again and that’s it. Drunken horniness be damned. my electricity bill too, apparently.” She didn’t think it conducive to the efforts of drawing a line under it to tell him in as many words that the kiss they’d shared had gotten her so horny, she’d gone home and used her vibrator for the best part of an hour, but he laughed at the electric bill joke all the same, nodding.  

“I’m sure there’ll be a time when we won’t be embarrassed to hell about what happened,” he spoke, shielding his eyes from the sun as he watched his kids. “Seth, put it down!”

“But dad!”

“No tree branches!” He called back. “Fuck, I swear that boy’s part German Shepherd.”  

She snorted with laughter, feeling like the uncomfortableness was beginning to dissipate. Still though, when he looked back at her, she felt her heart somersault, remembering that kiss, being picked up and herded against the wall. God, he was all brute, exactly the kind of man she’d been craving. ‘Zoey! Stop it!’ She chided herself with. She needed to keep running, and not stop until the sexual steam still lingering for Tyler truly had died down once more.  

“I’m gonna keep running, I don’t want my heart rate to drop. I’ll see you next week at Cait’s thing. Bye, kids!” Smiling, she continued with her run, waving at her niece and nephew as they called after her, switching her music back on, with mid-00's cacophony of metal band Static-X filling her ears as her feet pounded the trail. ‘Must run out all the horny. Must run out all the horny! Jesus, I’ll be running to Perth and back.’ She thought, snorting with laughter and shaking her head.  

She had to get what that kiss with Tyler out of her system though, or rather, what the kiss had roused. Zoey realised she needed to do it hastily as well, because back there on the trail, they hadn’t been them. It was difficult and stunted. People would notice that, with how close they were. Questions would be asked, and she didn’t want that to happen, especially not at her sister’s birthday party.  

Caitlyn (or Cait, as she was more commonly referred to as) had suggested a joint celebration, since hers and Ella’s birthdays fell so near to one another, but true to what Tyler had alluded to, Ella had predictably been difficult about the idea of going out twice, as it had transpired after the babysitter had cancelled. As she ran, she wondered whether she would even turn up at Cait’s 40th birthday dinner at all, bearing in mind what she’d been made privy to the night before, Ella’s reluctance to go out.  

It did make her worry, really. Something she hadn’t thought of at the time was wondering if perhaps her sister might have been suffering from some kind of post-natal blues, but surely, Tyler would have noticed more evidence of that and deduced it for himself? No, it couldn’t be that. One of the sisters would have picked up on it too, if she was falling apart. The Hudson girls were too tight for that to go unnoticed.  

Whatever the problem was, though, she knew them kissing was absolutely the last thing he needed to stress over, so she was glad she got the chance to apologise and specifically acknowledge that. She still couldn’t quite believe it had happened, or that what had been stirred between them in dead of night still rippled out into the cold light of day. It kept on smacking her in the stomach, whenever she remembered it, both pleasantly and with a huge wave of guilt. Ella would be furious if she ever discovered they’d kissed.  

Zoey knew she deserved it for giving in to desire, no matter how drunk she was, so expected that wave of guilt to keep on hitting her for a while yet. What she did not expect, however, was to catch herself fantasising about it.  

Between clients at work that following Monday, when not guiding very wealthy people or companies in financial dire straits what to do with their money as a financial advisor, she sat at her desk looking out of the window in the large office block she worked in, her thoughts running away with her right on over to daydream land.  

Tracing the rim of her coffee cup with an immaculately painted fingernail, she imagined not leaving Ella and Tyler’s house when she did. She imagined him undressing her, his lips and hands all over her needy, sex starved body before finally offering the most fulfilling of satiation, hard and huge, her heartbeat crashing against her chest as he slowly filled her...

“Answer the damn phone, you fancy bogan!”

Still, she’d never gotten around to reassigning the ringtone for her sister to an actual ringtone, and not the drunken voice note Fran had personally assigned. Fancy bogan, it had been her nickname for her since she’d landed her high-flying career.  

Shaking herself from the erotic daze she’d fallen into, Zoey wheeled herself back to her desk, reaching for her phone. “What?”  

“Oh, so that’s how you greet your favourite sister?” Fran exclaimed.

“Yes, and you’re not my favourite. Cait is.” Cait was everyone’s, perpetually chilled, cool, and the effortless matriarch of her family, her three sisters, two daughters, an ex-husband she still remained best friends with, and a toy boy eight years her junior.  

“Cait’s everybody's favourite,” Fran confirmed. Of course, they joked. You’d never find four sisters tighter and more loving and supportive of one another than you would the Hudson’s. “So, anyway! Guess who got that vintage watch for a certain elder sister’s birthday?”

“Oh, damn you! I have to up my gift ante now you’ve gotten her that!” Cait absolutely adored Vivienne Westwood timepieces, and had a specific, discontinued watch that she’d lusted after for years, a watch Fran had managed find, brand new, and won the bid for on eBay.  

“Right? So, are we meeting for cocktails before we head to the restaurant?”

Zoey snorted with incredulity before answering. “Of course! Anderson’s at 6pm? I finish early so I’ll shower at the gym before going to get my hair done.” With that, the plan for the following Friday night was made, the call was ended, and Zoey went back to her day, trying not to continue fantasising about Tyler.  

She managed it, too, right the way through until Friday arrived.  Leaving work at 2pm, she headed to the gym for a quick session on the treadmill before going for a swim, showering and changing into her evening outfit of black flared trousers and a pale nude bodysuit, hotfooting it straight to the hairdressers afterwards so her stylist could top up her keratin treatment and style her mountain of dark tresses into sumptuous, silky waves.

“Swit swoo, lady! You look gorgeous!” Cait called from the bar as soon as she saw her youngest sister enter, opening her arms to greet Zoey. She wasn’t the only person to think similar. Tyler’s eyes nearly fell out of his head as soon as he turned and saw her. He’d been doing so well to not imagine pinning her down and railing the hell out of her all week. Seeing her again had shot that to smithereens.  

“What’s up?” Ella asked, noticing him frowning as she sipped her martini.

‘My damn dick, because of your sister.’

“Nothing, just thought I saw someone I’d rather not see.” He replied aloud. Half true, he supposed, because if Zoey was going to start having such an effect upon him after one stupid, drunken kiss, he’d rather not see her at all.  

[the-iceni-bitch]

A Warm Fire

Pairing: Valkyrie/Brunnhilde/Fem-Reader

Word Count: 3876

Summary: Val helps you warm up after you get caught in a storm.

Warnings: Fluff, Spoilers for Avengers: Infinity War and Endgame (erring on the safe side with this one), Explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex- f receiving, scissoring, fingering) SMUT, 18+

A/N: I’ve decided for my b-day week I want to bless all you sweet bitches with a brand new smutty fic each day. My holes are worn out from all the rough himbo sex I’ve been throwing at you, so today I wanted to soften things up with something for my WLW ladies. I sub for no man, but Val could spit in my mouth and turn me into a housewife!

“Well, fuck.” You sighed.

You had hoped you’d be able to outrun the storm you saw rolling in off the coast on your weekly trip to New Asgard but hadn’t even been driving for an hour when lightning started streaking across the sky and the clouds let loose a deluge that had your ancient pickup’s wipers maxed out. You couldn’t even see 20 feet in front of you and slammed on the brakes suddenly when you came upon a massive tree blocking the road. The engine stalled out and you had now been trying to turn it over for 10 minutes with no luck.

You had thankfully been able to contact Aud and Sigurd and have them bring your animals in and batten down the barn, but there was no way you were making it back tonight. You resigned yourself to sleeping in your front seat when a pile of rocks reared out of no where and tapped on your window, causing you to let out a shriek.

“Everything ok in there?”

“Jesus Christ, Korg, what are you doing out here?”

The massive Kronan straightened back up and you thought you saw his brow furrow before his face split open in a wide grin.

“Y/N, excellent! Some of us got concerned once the storm rolled in and Val sent out a group to make sure you made it off of the Fjord ok.”

“Ok, well clearly this piece of shit is not cut out for Skagerrak storms.” You told him as you stepped out into the deluge, pulling your parka around you tightly as the wind tried to whip your hood off. “I don’t suppose you drove here in any sort of vehicle?”

“As a matter of fact, Miek drove the Jeep.”

“I’m sorry, Miek drove?” The thought of the Sakaarian larval creature driving a vehicle filled you with equal parts horror and mirth. “Do you mind if I drive us back?”

“Probably for the best. I told him that knife hands are not conducive for steering but you know he doesn’t listen to me.”

You let out a laugh as Korg lumbered into the large trailer hooked to the back of the Jeep, causing it to sink into the mud a bit. Miek scooted into the passenger seat as you turned the vehicle around and started to head back to Tønsberg.

Your cautious driving extended the trip by a good 45 minutes. The thunder had stopped but it was still pouring as you parked the jeep in one of the converted stables. Korg and Miek gave you a wave as they headed back to Thor’s, Korg carrying 3 of the pallets of Aquavit you had brought with you earlier.

You headed towards the town square and saw Brunnhilde leaning against the posts in front of her small brick house, watching the storm that was still raging out at sea before she saw you and broke out in a grin.

“Y/N, I told you not to head out in this! That piece of shit truck of yours give out on you?”

“What do you think, Hilde? I just decided to walk all the back to your house for fun in this?” You shook out your hair as the two of you stepped inside, spraying her with a thin mist of rainwater.

“Ah, you bitch! Get out of those wet clothes, I got a fire started and some dry towels and blankets set out for you. Want a hot toddy?”

You winced at the thought as you started peeling yourself out of your soaked jeans. “I’d like to be able to wake up tomorrow hon. Your hot toddys are literally just a hot mug of Aquavit with a slice of lemon.” You cursed yourself silently for introducing the Asgardians to the spicy Scandinavian liquor that you now had to truck in every week. While it was extremely lucrative, they now put it in everything.

Hilde sauntered back into the main room carrying two steaming mugs as you wrapped yourself in a wool blanket and settled in front of the fire, wearing only your bra and panties.

She rolled her eyes at you and handed you a mug, which you took a wary sniff of and were pleasantly surprised to find it was just peppermint tea.

“You’re just a lightweight.” She said as she curled up in her armchair, wrapping one hand around her mug while the other picked up the worn book that was sitting on the end table.

“How do you like it so far?” You asked her, sipping your tea slowly as you waited for it to cool.

“The writing is lovely, but it’s pretty inaccurate.”

The friendship the two of you had built over the past 3 years was something truly lovely. When she and the rest of the refugees had landed, after the snap, they were all hollow shells of grief. Thor shut himself away almost immediately, and Hilde found herself thrust into a position of leadership she had never wanted. All of them wanted nothing more than to be left alone with their sorrows, doing just enough to keep themselves alive.

The first storm off the Skaggerak had almost devastated their new home though, and when she contacted Banner for help, he called you. You still kept in touch after your years together at university, and he knew you had settled somewhere in Norway and could arrive to lend a hand faster than he could.

Your arrival brought some much needed distraction to their sleepy town. You had managed to round up a group of your Norwegian neighbors, along with some fellow expats, and set about making the necessary changes to assure that New Asgard would be a thriving community. While the rest of your group set to restructuring architecture, and teaching the town’s new inhabitants the necessities of a seaside existence on the windy Fjord, you began the slow process of helping the refugees move on from their sorrow.

Your anthropology doctorate was specialized in Norse culture, after all, and you would often bring small reminders of their lost home with you whenever you came to visit. Whether it was a collection of replicated Talharpas, Skalmejens, and Lurs to give to the children to learn music or a large cache of drinking horns to stock their taverns, every time your truck came lumbering down the hills, Brunnhilde watched the faces of her citizens light up with anticipation for some new pleasant surprise. When you arrived with your first load of Aquavit and spent the night drinking with them and singing the drinking songs they knew well, you were all but confirmed as an honorary Asgardian. Your haunting rendition of Lilja actually brought tears to a few eyes.

Brunnhilde made sure to let you know how grateful she was as much as possible. She would always have some small gift for you when you arrived, but all you asked her for was to sit and talk, discussing the history of Asgard and the nine realms as you scribbled copious notes. She loved watching your face screw up in concentration as you bent over one of your notebooks, one stubborn lock of hair falling into your face.

She laughed to herself softly now as she remembered the visit a few weeks ago when she had first introduced you to her winged steed, Aragorn. Your look of awe had been replaced quickly with uncontrollable laughter when she had told you his name. You refused to tell her what was so funny, but she was determined to get it out of you at some point.

You had brought your original copy of Snorri’s Edda the next week, and she had read it through 3 times already.

She ran her hands softly over the spine of the book before tossing back the rest of her toddy and setting the book and her mug back on the end table before sinking to the floor behind you and nuzzling herself into your hair, sighing as she inhaled the scent of fresh rain.

You leaned back into her slowly, giving a soft hum of contentedness. She slipped the blanket off of your shoulders to pool around your waist as she left a trail of soft kisses down your neck, before softly raising a bruise into your collarbone with her mouth.

The moan you gave her made her grin against your skin, and she slipped one hand into the front of your bra, softly drawing her fingers across your nipple.

“Fuck, Hilde!” you pressed your chest further into her hand as her other moved behind you to unhook your bra and slip it off your shoulders, freeing your breasts. She felt your nipples harden against her fingers as she turned your head and slowly teased your mouth open with her tongue.

“Eyes open, pretty girl.” She whispered as her left hand continued to palm at your breast and roll your nipple between her fingers. You stared at her through your lashes as she brought her right hand up and put her index and middle finger in your mouth. You gave them a soft nip before sucking and swirling your tongue around them slowly.

She grinned at you wickedly as she dragged her soaked fingers down your torso at an agonizing pace, leaving a thin trail of your saliva before she tucked them under the edge of your panties and dragged them over your sopping cunt, separating the soft folds there to tease against your entrance.

“Oh, poor baby, look how much this pussy missed me?” She said as you let out a thin keen, screwing your eyes shut and dropping your head against her neck. She slapped your tit suddenly and tweaked your nipple hard, making you gasp. “You better keep those eyes open if you want me to let you come sweetheart. You want me to stretch this pretty pussy around my fingers and make you feel good?”

“Yes, god” you let out breathlessly, forcing your eyes open as she studied your face.

“Ah, ah, ask nicely.”

“Yes please.” You hissed as her fingers continued to tease at your folds, lightly brushing against your clit.

“Good girl”

She slipped one finger inside of you slowly and you immediately clenched around it as she pressed it against that soft spongy spot.

“Ooh, honey. You’re so fucking tight, I’m gonna stretch you out so good.” She whispered against your lips as she kissed you softly.

Her second finger slipped in easily and she started fucking them into you slowly, pressing her palm against your clit as she did so and your arousal seeped all over her hand. Your breath was hitching in your chest as she increased her pace.

You felt yourself flutter around her and it took all of your willpower to not screw your eyes shut and drop against her shoulder. You ground yourself against her hand as she suddenly slowed down, hungry for more friction.

“You want me to add another finger, sweet girl?” She asked slyly, teasing her promise against your entrance.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak so you nodded at her, your chest heaving as she continued palming your breast and you felt a resounding shiver in your core.

“You’re lucky I’m soft on you sweetie, I should be making you beg for this.” She murmured as she shoved all three of her fingers in suddenly, causing you to let out a small cry as she started fucking them into you at a rough speed. “I’m just finishing you off so I can feel this sweet mouth of yours on my cunt. You want to taste me baby?”

“Shit, Hilde!” The thought of her taste on your tongue sent you over the edge as she drove her palm into your clit one last time and you released around her, fluttering as you soaked her hand. Her strong arms held you still as your orgasm wracked you and every muscle trembled. Once you had ridden it out, she drew her hand out of your ruined panties to suck on her fingers.

“Mmm, you taste so good honey. Don’t you think?” She placed her mouth on yours and pressed her tongue against yours and you moaned as you tasted your own release.

“Help me out of my clothes baby, I need to ride that pretty face.”

She climbed around you and settled into your lap, kissing you deeply and making happy little humming sounds. You drew her sweater up over her head and tossed it aside, and were pleasantly surprised to see she wasn’t wearing a bra. You gave her a wicked grin before lifting her up and pressing her chest to your face, latching your mouth to one of her nipples as your hands cupped her ass through her leggings. She gave a light laugh and tossed her head back as her fingers carded themselves through your hair. You brought one of your hands between the two of you, shoving it down the front of her leggings and drawing your fingers through her slick, making her gasp.

“God, baby, you’re so fucking greedy.” She laughed lightly as you peppered her chest with kisses, occasionally creating some light suction with your tongue to raise a light bruise. “Mmm, you know just what to do, but I want to come all over that beautiful face of yours.”

You smiled against her chest as you gently nuzzled yourself between her breasts before falling back abruptly and making her gasp.

“You are being such a trouble maker, today, Y/N. Fine, I’m going grind your pussy so good before I rub that smirk off your face with my cunt.”

She sat up between your legs a drew your soaked panties off before removing her own leggings. She stretched your right leg off to the side and lightly drew her fingers up the inside of your thigh, removing them right before she reached your quivering pussy and making you whine.

“Don’t be a brat baby. Look at this pretty pussy, just weeping for me.” She stared at your swollen cunt with a grin as she hooked a hand under your left knee and positioned herself so she was straddling you, her soft folds just kissing yours as she hovered there. “You want to feel my pussy on yours, baby? Want me to grind that clit so good? You better fucking beg for it.”

“Oh god, pleasepleaseplease…” you let out in a hiss as she pressed herself down and ground herself into you.

“Mmm, I feel that sweet pussy quivering for me. God, you’re like my own fucking vibrator.” She kept twisting her hips into yours, hitting you at that perfect angle each time and making you mewl and whimper unintelligibly as she edged you closer to your release. She unbent your right leg slowly, running her thumb up your calf before nipping at the pad of your big toe, making you arch into her. “No no, sweetheart, isn’t it so much better when you hold still? You know I’ll take care of you.”

She stretched your right leg out so you were wide open and pinned your thighs down with her hands as she picked up the pace. She bit her lip and gazed down at you through hooded eyes and you felt her core twitch against yours. One more drive of her hips and you came apart at the same time, your releases mixing together to coat the insides of your thighs. You let out a scream while she just gasped, still managing to hold you down as your pleasure wracked through you and you wound your hands into the blanket beside you for some kind of anchor.

“Fuck baby, this pussy is so good to me. I wanna run my tongue over this pretty cunt while I ride your face. You better be good for me.”

She twisted herself around to straddle your face. You softly nipped at her left cheek then gave her ass a slap, making her yelp, and she responded by smacking your pussy twice before grinding into your face.

“Oohh, are you going to be a bad girl?” She scolded you as you wrapped your arms around her thighs and teased her folds with your tongue. “Am I going to have to edge you all nigh… Fuck!!” Your tongue found her entrance and you moaned into her cunt, causing vibrations that made her clench against your face. “God, baby, you’re so good at that. Your miss this pussy so bad, look at the mess you’re making.” She separated your folds and softly blew against your clit before shoving three fingers into you with no preparation. “Mmm, you’re fucking ready for me sweetheart, I’m barely even stretching you now. You want me to add another finger?”

She gave your clit another soft slap and you came suddenly, legs and core trembling as you clenched and released around her fingers. You tried to come up for air, but Hilde just ground her hips into your face.

“Na-ah.” She scolded you. “You wanted to get fresh with me and now you better make me come if you want to breathe. You get to work. I’m going to wring every ounce of pleasure out of this pussy until you give me what I want, I don’t care if you pass out.”

She inserted a fourth finger into your canal and started to fuck them all into you, flicking soft kitten licks against your small bundle of nerves before she latched onto it, sucking hard.

Tears started streaming down your face as another orgasm ripped through you. You were starting to feel light-headed from a mixture of pleasure and oxygen deprivation. She drew her tongue slowly up and down your entrance while her fingers kept moving inside you, doing her best to lap up your release before her tongue went back to massaging your clit.

You barely skimmed your teeth against her clit and she let out a soft cry against you, slapping your pussy in response and making you come again. You shook your head to bury yourself deeper into her folds and fought off the urge to pass out before shoving your tongue into her pussy and bringing your fingers up to rub harsh circles into her tiny apex of pleasure.

She collapsed against you at the sudden change in sensation with a gasp before she rose up to really grind into you.

You started fucking your tongue in and out of her, making sure to press it against her g-spot each time and felt her thighs tense around your face.

“God baby, don’t fucking stop. Fuck, just like that, right there. That tongue of yours is so fucking good. You’re so fucking good. Feels so good.” You knew when she started babbling breathlessly like this she was close. She brought one of her hands up to palm her breast as her other gripped the wrist of the hand you had working her clit, making sure you didn’t move away.

Just as the edges of your vision started to close in, you felt her core vibrate and her cunt clenched around your tongue as her release gushed into your mouth. The only sound she made was a rapid breathless pant and she rolled off of you slowly, finally allowing you to suck in oxygen as stars swam behind your vision. You did your best to catch your breath as you felt her stretch languidly beside you before she sat up to stare at you.

“Fuck, baby. I don’t know why I let you take this pussy away from me. I know you just lay there by yourself every night dreaming of my fingers buried in you.” She slowly drew a hand along your slit and you groaned when she brushed against your overstimulated clit. “Just swollen and crying for me. Whose pussy is this baby?” She asked you, curling her fingers against your mound.

You knew if you didn’t tell her what she wanted to hear, she would wring it out of you, and if you had any more orgasms you were going to pass out. “Yours, baby.” You murmured, staring at her through your eyelashes.

“Good girl.” She patted your cunt twice, making you twitch, before she bent down and kissed you softly.

She stood up and collected your mugs and brought them back into the kitchen, wiggling her ass at you when she felt you watching her, making you laugh.

“Can you throw some more logs on the fire, Y/N? I’ll grab us some clean blankets and pillows and we can sleep out here.”

“Yes ma’am.” You called back to her, breaking the current logs apart with the poker before adding three new ones and stoking it. You gathered your discarded clothes and the soiled blanket in a bundle and headed to the bathroom to put them in the hamper and run a damp towel against your sex to clean up, bringing another out with you as you headed back to the fire, where Hilde had piled a ridiculous amount of blankets and pillows in a massive nest for the two of you.

You sank down next to her and she drew your face to hers for a kiss. You smiled against her lips as you gently drew the soft towel you had brought with you over her cunt and along her thighs to clean her off as she gave a contented sigh.

“Stay.” She said softly, nuzzling softly into your neck as you held her against her chest and slowly sank back against the pile of cushions, giving her hair a soft kiss.

“Hilde, the road is out, I’m not going anywhere until tomorrow.”

“No, Y/N. Stay. Move here with me. I need you.” She looked up at you with genuine pleading in her eyes. You had never seen such open emotion on her face before.

You only had to think about it for a minute. The weeks between your trips were always spent planning your next visit. Thinking over what you wanted to talk to Hilde about. Your bed felt empty without her there.

“I need you too baby. I love you.” You whispered to her, tipping her chin up to look into her eyes as you gave her a gentle smile.

Her face split into a grin. “Is that a yes?”

“Of course, Hilde.”

“Oh god, Y/N, I love you too!” She drew your face down to hers and kissed you deeply, clutching you to her needily before releasing you with a grin. “I miss that pussy almost as much as it misses me.”

You laughed at that and laid back with a sigh. Hilde rested her head between your breasts and brought her hands close around your sides, pulling the thick wool blanket around the two of you tightly.

“Just make sure Miek doesn’t try to fight my sheep again.” You whispered to her, running a hand softly up and down her back.

“That was a misunderstanding.” She smiled against you as her breathing slowed and deepened, and she sunk closer to sleep.

The two of you laid there intertwined for the rest of the night, drifting off as the fire crackled and died. You had never felt so content in your life.

[amyrlin-of-starlight]

Rain was beautiful. Rain was fast. Rain was gone. Rain was never coming back.

If you asked someone- anyone, really, maybe even a random person you caught a glimpse of in Kohl’s with Christmas tree ornaments at half the price or a cable-knit sweater with a V-neck that you could tell was meant to show off the crevice of a cleavage, and grabbed them by the arm, asked them the question you always hoped that they would answer differently- about Rain Wood, a look would wash over their face. The gaze that their eyes emanated would soften, melt with sympathy, and their lips would part without a word for a moment, and then they would say Rain was... Rain was a nice girl. Rain was a pretty girl. Rain was a missing girl. And then maybe they would notice the slope of my nose, the color of my eyes, the shape of my lips, and realize that Rain Wood was not just a missing girl to me, not just a nice girl, not just a pretty girl. That she was a girl who left something-someone-behind with the slope of her nose, the color of her eyes, and the shape of her lips to always remind her of someone who was never coming home. Her Christmas stocking, red and white, was getting dusty and smelled like old wood from so many years trapped in the attic, and there were unopened gifts hidden in the closet underneath the hems of winter coats and tucked behind the worn boots my father wore to trudge through the snow or the mittens tossed aside, flung from frozen fingers, and her favorite cereal was still in the cupboard, having expired three years ago, but my mother would have never let anyone eat it anyway.

That cereal was Rain’s.

Rain was a girl with fiery red hair that she twisted into messily done braids with wisps of her tresses curling around her ears that seemed to be caught on fire underneath the gleam of the sun, and Rain was a girl with bright, green eyes that resembled the leaves of a walnut tree in the summer. I had those bright, green, walnut tree-esque eyes too but they never looked as good on me as they did Rain. Rain had eyes that twinkled, that glimmered, and that sparkled. Maybe my eyes did that too but then Rain was gone and my eyes became dull, unpolished, and murky. Rain was a girl with a boisterous laugh, one that giggled, one that made you laugh too. Rain was a girl who sang country songs in the passenger seat of our mother’s car, her bare feet propped up on the dashboard, her chipped, baby blue nail polish seeming to look beautiful on her delicate toenails, and her voice had a southern drawl to it when she sang that my mother never understood, the origin unknown and a mystery.

Rain was perfect.

And Rain was gone.

Rain was.

The word “is” just never accompanied her name anymore.

Because.

Rain was gone.

.

It was Christmas Eve when she disappeared, when she went from Rain Is to Rain Was, and she was with me, her fingers clad with gloves wrapped around the laces of her ice skates with blades that glinted underneath the rays of the sun and clinked together as she walked, her footsteps crunching in the white, glittering snow, and she was smiling at me, telling me how beautiful everything looked in winter. She was oblivious. I was smiling, agreeing with her. I was oblivious.

I had my own pair of ice skates and I was holding them by the heels, rubbing the leathery material in between my cold fingers, and sticking out my tongue to feel the cool droplet of a snowflake falling on my tongue. I dropped my ice skates onto the snow, flurries emanating from around the blades and the sides of the shoe, and the tip of one of the laces had buried into the snow, as if it were hiding, as if it knew. I was peeling off my boots, tossing them in random directions, and I heard the humph of a man grunting behind me as my boot whacked against his shin. I heard Rain apologizing to him, I heard Rain telling him that I was just excited, I heard Rain wishing him a Merry Christmas.

I heard him ask her if she knew which direction our local Wal-Mart was.

I heard him ask her if she would mind showing him on his map in his car.

I heard her say yes.

I never heard Rain say anything after that.

I waited for her to come back, my ice skates tied tightly around my feet, and the tips of my fingers beginning to develop what felt like frostbite, and I even stepped out onto the ice alone, a small little pond with snowflakes collecting on the glass-like surface, scratched with the treads of past ice skates, and I waited. I waited for her to show him which way the local Wal-Mart was on his map in his car. I waited for her to come running back, smiling and laughing, joking about out-of-towners, and then for her to yank down the zipper of her boots that almost reached her knee and lace her ice skates.

I waited for the blades of her ice skates to graze the ice of the pond with mine. And then, after the sun had begun to dip behind the forest of pine trees behind me, I got off of the solid pond and walked on the blades of my ice skates to the parking lot of the park, wobbling and grabbing onto bird baths and light-posts when I could, and I searched for a car with a man and Rain hunched over a map, her finger tracing the roads and gliding over the rivers, and his furrowed brow, confused. He had to be really confused if he still did not know the way. But there was no car, there was no map, there was no confused, out-of-towner with a furrowed brow.

And there was no Rain.

I nearly tripped on the pavement of the parking lot as I searched for her, stepping in brown slush with the blades of my ice skates, and I called out her name. There was no Rain. I asked a woman with her children who wore matching knit hats if she saw a teenage girl with an older man, and she said no. She asked me if I was lost, and I said no. My sister, Rain, was lost, I told her. I told her about the man who wanted directions to the local Wal-Mart and how my sister was going to help him. She had just gotten her learner’s permit that year. The woman’s faced drained and wrinkled with something that looked a lot like fear as she asked if I knew the man, if he was a friend. She told me to play with her children with the matching knit hats when I told her no. He was a stranger.

And Rain was gone.

Red and blue lights flickered and gleamed off of the dark pavement of the park parking lot after the woman brought her cell phone out of her purse and pressed her thumb down on three numbers. She said that there was a missing minor, and I remembered thinking that I didn’t know what that meant. Rain, not minor, was missing, and she was just lost. She was trying to help an out-of-towner find our local Wal-Mart. I remembered a man dressed in navy blue with badges decorating his chest and a walkie-talkie strapped to his shoulder crouching down in front of me, asking me about Rain, about the man she was trying to help. He held out a pair of ice skates he found in the parking lot. He asked me if they were hers. I said yes. I said that she was going to be upset that she lost her ice skates. He smiled a smile that did not reach his eyes and took out a notepad with a leather cover and a pen, clicking the top, and asked me if I knew my parents’ phone number. I did. I told him. He told him that they would try really hard to find Rain, my sister, and I just nodded.

I was oblivious.

I was in the dark.

I was unaware of the Amber Alert. I was unaware of the search parties composed of neighbors, of church-goers, of people I never met, that combed the forests. I was unaware of the reason for my mother’s hysterical tears. I was unaware of what the term foul play meant. I was unaware when they asked for my sister’s hairbrush, placing it in a plastic bag that zipped. I thought they were going to brush her hair. I was unaware that my sister’s face was on the news. I was unaware that people were already buying candles for the vigil. I was unaware of the missing posters that were being plastered over my hometown.

And I was unaware that somewhere, my sister, Rain was gone.

I always thought she would come back.

Until I heard a man who said he was an FBI agent in a blazer with a stripped red and green tie telling my mom that Rain was presumed dead, and how loudly my mother sobbed in the living room as she tried to take down the Christmas tree ornaments. Foul play, presumed dead, predators, they all felt like they were words too big for our living room to handle. My mother said that Rain was alive. My father said my mother’s name. My mother shouted and I heard something crashing. It was the Christmas tree. And then she ran for her computer and brought the document for Rain’s missing person’s poster and kept clicking the PRINT button over and over again, her breath coming out in gasps and her eyes trickling teardrops onto the keyboard.

I asked the FBI agent as he left if Rain was coming home.

His face softened.

His head tilted.

And his lips said the words, no. Rain probably would not come home.

.

When I was thirteen, just after May and the flowers began to grow in the flower beds that were pushed against the exterior bricks of houses in the Cul-De-Sac neighborhoods, and Rain has been gone for four years and her black and white pictures that store owners let my mother tape to their windows had been torn down and crumpled, tossed thoughtlessly into trashcans because she was gone- totally gone, completely gone, utterly gone, with nothing even to bury because she was totally, completely, and utterly gone- the police called us and told us that they had a man in custody. His name was Jerrod F. Norris and he had mean eyes that were murky blue and perfectly straight teeth and dark stubble adorning his cheeks in his mug shot photograph. He looked normal and terrifying at once. I thought about my sister seeing those mean, murky blue eyes, staring into them before she slipped away, and I thought about her heart fluttering. She said your heart flutters, jumps, when you look at a certain boy. I thought about her heart fluttering and jumping as he took away. I tried to turn off of the television as his face illuminated the pixels and my fingers were fumbling, unable to press the buttons of the remote control, and then I just threw it against the screen. It cracked and went black. My parents weren’t even mad. My mother actually thanked me as she choked on her tears. My father curled his fingers around the edge of the couch cushions.

They say he admitted to taking her, to seeing her that Christmas Eve in front of the frozen pond with the laces of her ice skates pressing into the folds of her fingers, and to lying about the directions of our local Wal-Mart. He lived only five miles away. He had receipt for duct tape and a curling iron from our Wal-Mart an hour before he said he took Rain away from me. I didn’t want to know why he had bought a curling iron but they said he was single and he had short hair. He said he took her away, covered her mouth, and taped her hands and feet together and drove. He took her to the woods, he said.

He molested her, he said. He murdered her, he said. He left her there, he said.

And when they asked for him to draw a map to find her, he said he could not.

Because he did not leave her in just one spot.

I remembered how my mother screamed, wept, when the detectives told her about the interview, about his confession, about what he said he had done to her little girl. She was on the ground, clutching a pillow to her chest, and her face was red and wet. The detective looked uncomfortable, distraught, and a little alarmed. I was too. I thought women only shouted in the movies but my mother was shouting, not even words but sounds, and my father was crying too, and kept saying, “Oh, my little girl. Oh, my little girl.” The detective tried to say that there wasn’t a body, or body parts, yet, but it didn’t matter.

Someone had said that they took our Rain away from us, kept her silent, hurt her, slayed her, and tore her apart, left her in the woods all alone on Christmas Eve, with her little sister waiting for her, teetering on the silver blades of her ice skates in the parking lot as she looked for her, calling out her name.

Rain was gone.

Rain was nowhere.

Rain was everywhere.

.

The day I met Franklin was Christmas Eve, but December 24th stopped feeling like Christmas Eve nine years ago when Rain went from “is” to “was” in that single moment in front of the frozen pond, the blades of her ice skates clinking together and her footsteps coinciding with his crunching on the thick snow. I was there, in front of the pond that was crisscrossed with the scratches and grazes of the blades of ice skates and dusted with a light layer of snowflakes. It looked like that day nine years ago; when I last saw her, Rain, when I last saw her smile. I brought my ice skates but they were too small now, fit for a nine year girl with a sister who was alive- gloriously alive and so in love with life, not an eighteen year old girl without a sister who was dead. I didn’t want to skate until she was found. Eventually, I just thought that I would never skate again.

But now I was back- because a couple of hunters stumbled upon a bone in the woods during the hunting season, and the DNA tests proved that it belonged to Rain, that it was Rain’s bone. It was a leg, they said. It looked broken, they said, maybe before she died or after. They thought she was dead when it happened, when her leg stopped being a part of her, but I was not sure if they were just trying to spare us the awful thoughts we were already thinking.

And now I was going to skate again.

But my skates were too small.

And Rain was gone.

“You will need bigger ice skates than that.” I heard his voice before I saw him and I flinched as I heard his playful, light voice bouncing against the barren trees and the glimmering snow-topped grounds as he walked, his large footsteps crunching and breaking the smooth, pristine assemblage of snowflakes on the ground. My footprints were barely visible- I had been standing there so long. He wore a thick, black parka that swished as he walked and held a black pair of hockey skates underneath his arm and the tips of his ears and nose were red from the cold. His breath came out in clouds as he grinned at me. I thought about Jerrod F. Norris and his grin I am sure he showed my sister before he took her away.

I backed away from him without even realizing as he stepped toward the pond-crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch-and he looked at me for a moment, as if he were puzzled, and titled his head to the side.

He dropped his ice skates onto the snow, the little flurries of white snowflakes drifting through the air as they plopped reminding me of my own ice skates and how I just dropped them that day.

“Sorry,” he said, his voice sounding that kind of breathless that came from the cold, and he still smiled at me. “I was not meaning to insult your foot size or anything. They just look kind of small.”

He shrugged and then lifted a gloved hand to wave at me, friendly, as if I were standing feet away from him. “I am Franklin, by the way. I practice here on Wednesdays. I am going to try out for the hockey team next semester but I doubt it will happen because I suck, horribly. I accidentally did a split a few weeks ago. Only time will tell if I am still able to have children.”

You talk a lot, I thought to myself as I stared at him, almost in bewilderment, as if somewhere during his rushed, awkward words. I wondered if Jerrod F. Norris spoke a lot, if on the way to his car that he chewed her ear about his job, about the imaginary family he pretended he was visiting, about whether or not he thought his hockey abilities were proficient or not.

“I was just leaving,” I told him, gripping the laces of my ice skates tightly.

They were too small.

And Rain was gone.

“You don’t have to. I mean, the pond is pretty big. And I promise I would not intentionally injure you and if I do, I will apologize profusely.”

“That is quite alright.” I wanted to leave. I felt suffocated by his words that felt as if they should have been friendly; but to me, they felt double edged, they felt like a façade.

They felt as if they were concealing twisted and malevolent objectives that took place underneath the shelter of the pine trees in the snowy woods.

He stared at me for a moment. “Um, okay, then. Merry Christmas.”

I felt something strange in that moment as I heard him say that. I felt a twinge of something that pinched the nerves in my chests and in my eyes, and I felt my lips beginning to quiver. It barely felt like Christmas, not the Merry Christmas he was wishing me. He was wishing me something that was wrapped with golden paper and a dark, green bow and curled ribbon and peppermint candy canes hooked around the pine-scented branches of a Christmas tree. He wasn’t wishing me the Christmas I had of remembering the posters plastered on the storefront windows and the news talking about my sister so distantly and the fading image of her smile beaming at me.

“I do not really celebrate Christmas… er, Franklin.”

“Oh, you are Jewish? Sorry. Happy belated Hanukah, then.”

I shook my head. “I am not Jewish.” I felt my finger along the sharp blade of my ice skates, catching a glimpse of my reflection in the rectangular blade. I looked horrible. I looked broken.

“I am just... I really miss someone. She, uh… she is dead. Or at least, that is what they say, but I do not know even though they found her- or a piece of her- in the woods but I just…” I felt a burning tear glide down my frozen cheek. “I just do not really celebrate Christmas anymore.”

He blinked. He looked sad. His grin was gone. “You are Aer Wood.”

I nodded. “I am.” My voice was choked.

“I am really, really sorry.”

“Thanks, but that does not really matter. People think it does matter but it does not. The one person I want to be sorry is the one person who took her away. But he is not sorry. He says he is but he is not because a month after he stole Rain from me, he stole someone else and then he stole someone else. They caught him because he was trying to hide her. A little fragment of her, anyway. A hunter saw him, saw what he had. He actually shot him in the knee.”

“I heard.”

I swallowed, pressing my index finger deeper into the blade of my right ice skate. “He said he wanted to stop him because he has three daughters at home. He said good men do not bury pieces of little girls so he shot him.”

I looked up at the sky. It was gray and bleak, as if it were mourning too. “She was fourteen. Rain was older than that. She was seventeen. People acted as if it was worse that a fourteen year was murdered than a seventeen year old. It is horrible no matter. It does not matter how old you are.” I choked on my words. “She was supposed to rest in peace, not in pieces.”

“I am sorry.”

“You already said that.”

“I feel like I need to say it again.” He cleared his throat, and then unstrapped the Velcro from his gloves and ripped them off, dropped them onto the ground beside his large and bulky hockey skates, and tore off his beanie hat. He ran a hand through his black hair that matched his olive, Hispanic skin tone. “What was she like? Rain, I mean.”

I turned to look at him, away from the gray and bleak sky that felt so ominous, so looming, and so sad that I felt my heartstrings beginning to burst just looking at it. I almost felt glad that it was a bright and sunny day that she was taken. That when she was pressed on the ground that she had a warm, blue sky to look toward. “Rain was beautiful. Rain was fast.”

Rain was.

“Did she like the color blue?”

“No. She thought it was too generic. Everyone’s favorite is blue, she said. She loved purple.”

“The color of royalty.”

“That’s what she said.” I almost felt like smiling. I think Franklin noticed.

“Did she eat apples?”

“She loved apples, especially the green ones.”

“Granny Smiths.”

“They’re so sour, she loved it.” Then I did smile. Then he definitely did notice. “She liked the faces a really, really sour one made her make, how it would purse her lips and wrinkle her nose. But I think she just exaggerated it to make me laugh.”

“Did she read books?”

“She loved reading, sometimes she would read me to sleep.”

“Did she put marshmallows in her hot chocolate?”

“Yeah, but never the ones from those packages with the ones already in them. She hated those. They weren’t real marshmallows she said. Dehydrated memories of a marshmallow, she called them.”

He kept asking me questions like that, about her, about Rain. Which Muppet was her favorite, if she liked spicy food, if she wore socks when she slept, if she was an early bird or a night owl. I never would have admitted it to him as he asked various enquiries about the kind of person Rain was, asking me to imitate her laugh, and if her smile was kind of crooked like mine, but it felt almost okay to talk about her. My mother never could without crying, without swallowing back tears she had cried so many times before, and my father got angry when she was mentioned. I think if he remembered her then he remembered him and his mean, murky blue eyes so he tried never to think about her.

It felt almost okay to talk about Rain and not about the fact that she was gone, not that she was not whole, not that she was alone and afraid on Christmas Eve but that she liked Granny Smith apples, that her favorite Muppet was Beaker, that she slept barefoot. That Rain was not just a name on a list of short lives that were stolen by a man with mean, murky blue eyes. That Rain had more than just her last moments.

“I could come back tomorrow,” Franklin offered as the sun slipped away into the pine trees of the distant woods my sister supposedly was buried in and he picked up the hockey skates he never touched. He dusted the snowflakes from them. “I could ask you if she liked extra butter on her popcorn or diet drinks instead of regular ones.”

“No and no,” I replied.

I thought his face fell for a moment. I was confused. I replayed my last sentence in my mind. And then I felt my eyes instinctively widen and my mouth drop, my head shaking from side to side. “No, that is not what I meant! I meant that she, um, did not like extra butter on her popcorn or diet drinks. Not that you should not come back tomorrow but it is Christmas tomorrow so you will probably be busy and I might be too. My mother does try to pretend that Christmas is a normal holiday. She is not very good at it, but she tries.”

He smiled at me. “I could come here to practice around noon tomorrow. And if you are here then ... well, you will be here. We will probably exchange a word or two or something and ... ”

“I thought you only practiced on Wednesdays.”

“Well, I do suck so maybe adding Thursday practices to my day planner would be a good idea.”

I smiled down at the glimmering snowflakes beneath me. They looked like sparkling, fragile pieces of crystal accumulating on the ground. “Yeah,” I murmured, softly. “Maybe it would be.”

He grinned at me.

I felt the flutter my sister told me I would feel when I looked at a certain boy.

Rain was gone.

Rain was not whole.

Rain was not coming back.

But I think Rain was proud.

I think Rain is proud.

@fluffybunsss @thegreatsaiyaman3 @keenu-loves-to-talk-talkytalky @thelastdream @the-living-typo @quoted-text @nerdyfuntheorist @obsessedwithparkjimin @user-with-a-name @carmen-riddle @tookoool @kritiwritesss

[butterflies-dragons]

Sansa feeling bat wings inside her tummy ? Could that mean kids with some Targ heritage in her belly ? Sansa carrying the child of a Targ ?

Are you talking about my tags on this post Cracking / Breaking a Gigantic Egg?

It’s an old idea that is in my drafts since 2017.  Let me elaborate:

Sansa's Wedding:  

"A bride at her wedding should be more than well." His voice was not unkind. "You seemed close to tears."

"Tears of joy, ser."

"Your eyes give the lie to your tongue." Ser Garlan turned her, drew her close to his side. "My lady, I have seen how you look at my brother. Loras is valiant and handsome, and we all love him dearly . . . but your Imp will make a better husband. He is a bigger man than he seems, I think."

The music spun them apart before Sansa could think of a reply. It was Mace Tyrell opposite her, red-faced and sweaty, and then Lord Merryweather, and then Prince Tommen. "I want to be married too," said the plump little princeling, who was all of nine. "I'm taller than my uncle!"

"I know you are," said Sansa, before the partners changed again. Ser Kevan told her she was beautiful, Jalabhar Xho said something she did not understand in the Summer Tongue, and Lord Redwyne wished her many fat children and long years of joy. And then the dance brought her face-to-face with Joffrey.

Sansa stiffened as his hand touched hers, but the king tightened his grip and drew her closer. "You shouldn't look so sad. My uncle is an ugly little thing, but you'll still have me."

"You're to marry Margaery!"

"A king can have other women. Whores. My father did. One of the Aegons did too. The third one, or the fourth. He had lots of whores and lots of bastards." As they whirled to the music, Joff gave her a moist kiss. "My uncle will bring you to my bed whenever I command it."

Sansa shook her head. "He won't."

"He will, or I'll have his head. That King Aegon, he had any woman he wanted, whether they were married or no."

Thankfully, it was time to change again. Her legs had turned to wood, though, and Lord Rowan, Ser Tallad, and Elinor's squire all must have thought her a very clumsy dancer. And then she was back with Ser Garlan once more, and soon, blessedly, the dance was over.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa III

In summary,

That time when Joffrey said to Sansa: “I will put a bastard on you just like that King Aegon". 

This is yet one more JoJo thing, JoJo is what I call all the things that make Jon and Joffrey foils. The main one being: Jon is a Prince disguised as a Bastard while Joffrey is a Bastard disguised as a Prince.

So, while Jon is all: “Jon trembled. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom”. —A Game of Thrones - Jon I

Here is Joffrey comparing himself with Aegon IV “the Unworthy”, the King that fathered numerous bastards...    

And this is the second time Joffrey is compared with ‘an Aegon’.  The first time was this:

The morning of King Joffrey's name day dawned bright and windy, with the long tail of the great comet visible through the high scuttling clouds. Sansa was watching it from her tower window when Ser Arys Oakheart arrived to escort her down to the tourney grounds. "What do you think it means?" she asked him.

"Glory to your betrothed," Ser Arys answered at once. "See how it flames across the sky today on His Grace's name day, as if the gods themselves had raised a banner in his honor. The smallfolk have named it King Joffrey's Comet."

Doubtless that was what they told Joffrey; Sansa was not so sure. "I've heard servants calling it the Dragon's Tail."

"King Joffrey sits where Aegon the Dragon once sat, in the castle built by his son," Ser Arys said. "He is the dragon's heir—and crimson is the color of House Lannister, another sign. This comet is sent to herald Joffrey's ascent to the throne, I have no doubt. It means that he will triumph over his enemies."

—A Clash of Kings - Sansa I

And who is the real “dragon’s heir”??? In the Show Jon’s Targaryen name was Aegon but I still hope it will be Aemon...

So every time that Joffrey is compared with ‘an Aegon’ in Sansa’s Chapters we can find allusions to Jon Snow??? Uhmmm.......... Curiouser and curiouser!  

Onto the next Sansa's chapter:

Joffrey's Wedding:

Tyrion scarce touched his food, Sansa noticed, though he drank several cups of the wine. For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth. Otherwise she only nibbled at the fruit and fish and honeycakes. Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat.

—A Storm of Swords - Sansa IV

In summary, 

That time when Sansa felt very uncomfortable imagining Joffrey putting a bastard on her and she felt like a bat was inside her tummy.

It’s interesting that Sansa describes the idea of carrying Joffrey's bastard as though she'd swallowed a bat.

Sansa usually says that her tummy flutters when she feels uncomfortable, distressed, scared, etc, but this is the only time that she links that “fluttering” feeling with bat wings. 

One of the meanings of the verb flutter is the “beating of wings.” And George has used the image of bat wings as a symbol of dragon wings several times in the Books.

“Tell me how my child died.”

“He never lived, my princess. The women say …”

(…)

“They say the child was …”

(…)

“Monstrous,” Mirri Maz Duur finished for him. The knight was a powerful man, yet Dany understood in that moment that the maegi was stronger, and crueler, and infinitely more dangerous. “Twisted. I drew him forth myself. He was scaled like a lizard, blind, with the stub of a tail and small leather wings like the wings of a bat. When I touched him, the flesh sloughed off the bone, and inside he was full of graveworms and the stink of corruption. He had been dead for years.

—A Game of Thrones - Daenerys IX

In the center of the Plaza of Pride stood a red brick fountain whose waters smelled of brimstone, and in the center of the fountain a monstrous harpy made of hammered bronze. Twenty feet tall she reared. She had a woman’s face, with gilded hair, ivory eyes, and pointed ivory teeth. Water gushed yellow from her heavy breasts. But in place of arms she had the wings of a bat or a dragon, her legs were the legs of an eagle, and behind she wore a scorpion’s curled and venomous tail.

—A Storm of Swords - Daenerys II

Viserion launched himself from the ceiling, pale leather wings unfolding, spreading wide. The broken chain dangling from his neck swung wildly. His flame lit the pit, pale gold shot through with red and orange, and the stale air exploded in a cloud of hot ash and sulfur as the white wings beat and beat again.

—A Dance with Dragons - The Dragontamer

As you can see, dragon wings are usually described similar to bat wings or leather wings, as it also happens in this passage in reference to Sansa:

“What wife?”

“I forgot, you’ve been hiding under a rock. The northern girl. Winterfell’s daughter. We heard she killed the king with a spell, and afterward changed into a wolf with big leather wings like a bat, and flew out a tower window. But she left the dwarf behind and Cersei means to have his head.”

That’s stupid, Arya thought. Sansa only knows songs, not spells, and she’d never marry the Imp.

—A Storm of Swords - Arya XIII

As I said before, the fascinating image of Sansa as a wolf with big leather wings makes me think of Sansa wearing a Targaryen Cloak/ Marrying a Targaryen in the future.  

And there are even more Targaryen allusions in the Joffrey’s wedding passage: 

FIRE: For herself, she tried a little of the Dornish eggs, but the peppers burned her mouth = Eggs (dragon eggs) + Burned her mouth (dragon fire). 

BLOOD: Every time Joffrey looked at her, her tummy got so fluttery that she felt as though she'd swallowed a bat = Carrying Joffrey’s bastard / carrying Aegon’s IV bastard / carrying a dragon’s heir (the blood of the dragon). 

This two events happened in two consecutive Sansa’s Chapters from the same Book (ASOS), during two weddings, the couples that married didn’t love each other, the marriages were unconsummated, the discussion of bastards was involved, Targaryen allusions were present... there is a pattern: Weddings / Aegons / Bastards / dragon's heirs / Kings / Joffrey / Sansa / Jon / Fire & Blood... 

So maybe in Sansa's future she will wed, for love, to a real Aegon descendant, and due her fertility, during her wedding night she will conceived a baby dragon, a king; just like Cat conceived a king during her wedding night.

And that’s all.......... I never wrote properly about it until this summarized version here.

[soramel]

Curiosity didn’t kill the cat | jjk ff

Part 3

jjkxreader 

Prompt: “You’re early,” said the grim reaper with a hint of amusement.

Fantasy au, grimreaper!jungkook, reader, romance, slow-burn

Words: 3.4k approx. Part 3/5

Check this out on my wattpad account! I post one part ahead there.

--

Hollowing emptiness filled up your chest as a barren land came into view. An empty riverbed covered with ashes. You squinted against the ray of the sun.

You see nothing but the sky's horizon, another glare of light sent you looking down. Your hand served as the only shade against the glaring sun.

Blink.

Everything went dark.

A yearning love.

Your fist was clenched against your heart as it ached from within. You feel butterflies in your stomach. The unsettling yet warm feeling grew and grew until it became too much it made you curl down.

Everything feels soft against your skin. Silk satin draped around your body. You looked up, finding yourself in a bedchamber. Lamps were laid out on the wooden floor and on the tables, lighting up the darkness with dimmed warmth. You saw a man. His back against yours. His shoulder spanned wide as he slipped in a red robe.

Your fingers ached to reach him, to hold.

You lifted your hand.

Then suddenly, you're running on an empty hallway. Things passing in a blur.

Your eyes feel strained, your face drenched wet with sweat and your mouth could taste the salty tears running down your cheeks. Lifting your layered petticoat, the silk of its outer skirt crumpled against your palm.

Despite the confusion, you continued running. You just know you have to.

You have to escape.

They're coming.

Then a sudden realization stopped you in your tracks. As if air was pushed out of your lungs.

A high-pitched cry ripped through the air, like a wounded animal's, but it was from you. You found the helpless sound coming from your throat. You stared down at your arms grasping your body for something you could hold.

You realized you lost everything you fought for.

You're empty, yet you're filled full to the brim. Your cup overflowing with gut-wrenching pain, loss, and grief. Those emotions were deep-rooted from the love you have for him.

It dawned you.

It's all his fault.

The man you thought you love.

It's his fault.

He brought you nothing but suffering. You laid your heart out and sought for the little love he could give.

Yet there's been no one to yearn for but him, the future you could have together, the family you could have built. If things were just different.

A nightmare

That's what it is.

You jolted awake in a cold sweat.

Breathing in and out, you calmed yourself. Everything was just a dream. You're not dead. You're here in...

Whose place is this?

You turned to the creak of a door. Jungkook's all dressed in black. A fedora hat on his hand.

"Y/n," he greeted. "How was your sleep?"

"Jungkook?" you asked. Confused at how you knew his name.

His eyes went wide before nodding. "Yeah, I'm Jungkook, your assigned grim reaper."

You exhaled as you realized last night was not a dream. You died by mistake. In your sweater and pajamas.

"By the way, I have clothes for you. I figured you should come with me. For your safety,"

He then opened his bedroom door wider for you to come in.

--

The black trench coat felt heavy on your shoulder. Your outfit is similar to his, except the sordid hat on his head. He figured you could look like a grim reaper to ward off any wandering souls. Scaring them might help, save for the starving ones like the woman you encountered last night.

It's been five minutes of standing by on a bus stop. He just stood there and stared off in a distance. On an ordinary day, you thought you'd be stared down by the odd combo of your outfits, but at that moment, your presence was not visible to their eyes.

Jungkook pulled out his tablet as you watch the pedestrians crossing the street, envying how they go on with their mundane routine. Jungkook's brows furrowed as he navigated through the gadget, as if re-reading something.

You saw a ball rolled off the street, its owner chasing after the object. The boy sped off at the last few seconds, oblivious to the truck speeding above the limit.

Pointing your finger to the child, you tried to notify the people around you, "The-the..." you stuttered.

There's no time.

You ran to the boy without much thought, failing to notice you went to your desired position in a blink.

The grim reaper whipped his head up at the air's whoosh. His eyes widened as he saw you pitting yourself against the truck to protect the boy. Jungkook yelled after you, anger and worry bubbling from his chest at your stupidity.

Before he could yank you out of the way, a lapse in time occurred. No one felt it, except the grim reaper who's baby-sitting you.

Then the truck swerved to a different direction, screeching tires marked the road as the driver desperately tried to stop. But it was too late.

Shocked gasps rippled through the watching crowd. You turned back at the boy's sudden cry. He was attended to by his mother whose face was etched with burdening worry. You stared back to the man laying on the pavement. His body being crowded by the bystanders as they called for an ambulance.

A strong grip yanked you to the other side. Jungkook was raging. He was lost for words for a second before ending up shouting, "Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

You flinched from the pain of his gripping hold and from fear.

You took a step back.

"I... he's a child. The truck..."

"Why would you interfere?! Is that child's life different from the man's?! Who are you to weigh lives on your hands?! Have you lost your mind?!"

Lips trembling at his outburst, you looked back at the site of the incident. "I didn't know, I didn't mean to..."

I didn't mean to kill him.

You yanked back your arm, covering your ears upon hearing a voice. You stared at Jungkook in horror.

I think I am... I'm going crazy, you thought to yourself.

"He's alive!" Someone from the crowd shouted. The sound of ambulance echoed, approaching in a distance.

Jungkook dragged you to the scene, never letting go of you as he crouched down to hold the man's wrist.

A sigh of relief escaped his lips.

"He'll be fine," he muttered, more like to himself.

"I'm sorry," you told him, guilt laced in your tone.

--

The rest of the day were all spent in silence. Jungkook fetched two more souls and all the while you were just there beside him as he does his work, basically acting like his shadow.

You were walking down the sidewalk of a business district after sending off his last soul for today. He was supposed to send off three if not for your interference. He should've 6 souls left after this day, but you being in his roster and the child's suddenly shifted fate this morning, he's still 8 souls away from finishing his duty.

He tapped off on his tablet with a resigned hum as he found his schedule empty.

Tucking in the device back to his coat, he stared off across the buildings like an old man.

His gaze then fell to yours. Your eyes filled with innocence as you watch him.

He tutted before continuing walking. You sauntered after, head down.

"Ngghhhh..." you looked up at the noise and almost yelped at the gory looking ghost. His clothes were tattered, but he looks way more decent than the one you encountered last night. His eyes were dazed, staring at you.

Jungkook calmly diverted you to the other side, placing himself between you and the ghost, and you both kept on walking. He patiently said, "Don't stop. He wouldn't dare."

You followed his instruction, but your eyes were somehow glued on the man, seeing one of his shoes is missing. Jungkook hissed, "Eyes ahead."

You flinched and diverted your head forward. Only to face a busy lady engrossed on her phone. Jungkook halted pulling you in front of him to get you out of the way.

It's your first time seeing his face up-close in daylight. It was only then when you noticed that he's not wearing his fedora, his hair is clean-cut short, showing his eyes and ears. His hair is still down but gone were the unruly curls you remembered he was sporting.

"Your hair changed," you muttered, gaze grazing the outline of his face.

Jungkook blinked. Once. Twice.

Flick!

"Aw!" you yelped as you rub your forehead. The area he hit felt pulsing.

You glared him down, "What was that for?!"

He leaned back a bit, cocking his head to the side, "Thought of rebooting your brain. Guess my power's limited."

Your jaw went slack at the insult.

He stepped to the side and continued on walking. He then decided to brief you, "As an ordinary ghost, bumping through a human would mess up both of your energy. It's best to avoid them when you can."

Nodding in understanding, you strolled to his side, carefully avoiding any living humans on the sidewalk.

"Where are we heading?" you asked him.

"Nowhere," he replied.

The both of you kept walking for what felt like an hour. When he took a turn at the end of a curb, you couldn't help but complain, "For how long are we walking, can't you just teleport us to that place? I'm tired."

He turned to you, realization dawning on him. He then looked around and found an empty café. Without saying anything, he walked again.

"Aish, that arrogant jerk. @2^;*&! $%#4," you grumbled under your breath.

Jungkook held the door open for you. It's a wonder that he stays chivalrous when he's like the arrogant narcissistic bastards you've met before. One second he's looking after you, the next he acts as if you're a lint he's living with. A dirt he wants to dust off but will continue to live on his life.

He looked at you indifferently as you passed by with a glare.

You took the seat near a window, then the grim reaper followed, taking the seat in front of you.

The café was relatively empty. Its interiors adorned with fake plants and orchids. The walls were painted with wood and brick-like patterns. The table has a centerpiece of tissue holder, plastered with italics, "A true heart remembers".

Your gaze then turned back to Jungkook. You opened your mouth to say something, but his expression cut you off.

There he goes again.

Looking at you as if you're a parasite he's yet to figure out. His condescending stare ticks off your nerves.

You raised a brow, "What?"

He inhaled with a hiss, then tapped his fingers incessantly on the table as he exhaled.

"I haven't met someone as unfortunate as you," he started.

Lifting a hand closed to a fist, he unfolded his pinky finger, "You're below an average college student,"

followed by the next, "You barely have friends,"

and another, "You died on the way to your solitude, by mistake at that,"

Cocking his head to the side, he spoke to himself this time, his gaze averting yours, "Maybe if you're not a sore loser and attended that party, you could have lived, and I wouldn't be in this dire situation."

"I mean..." he trailed off.

"Nothing's so special about you,"

"Why?" he pouted, wondering as he held his hands up. You scowled. "Aside from brave stupidity, there's nothing much."

You shouted at his relentless insults, startling him.

"Will you really keep this up?" you asked, voice laced with sheer annoyance.

With his eyes wide, he reiterated, "I'm helping you here!"

He waggled his hand beside his forehead, saying, "I've been racking up my brain,"

Then he gestured towards you, "While you create trouble one after the other,"

"Maybe you don't have one. Don't try so hard," you retaliated.

Crossing your arms on your chest, you added, "Maybe if you're not a sore loser and did your life differently, you wouldn't be a grim reaper and you wouldn't have to put up with me."

He closed his mouth at that for a moment, before muttering, "I've been at this job ever since. I'm finishing my duty so I could live as a human."

The rush of triumph turned to guilt in a flicker.

"You were not reincarnated?" you curiously asked.

"I..." he trailed off, "I haven't asked. I don't know. Really."

You frowned, "Why would you want to be a human, anyway? You're powerful. You don't get tired, you don't get to work and fit a measly salary in a month, you don't have to study," the list on your mind could actually go on as to why he's better off than you.

"It's lonely to be alone," he simply replied.

"And that's my dream, as a grim reaper. We all want to be human after delivering 700 souls. I haven't questioned that career path ever since."

Your right cheek twitched. He's weird, they're weird. It's weird talking about supernaturals as if it's a corporate world. Jungkook sounded like a corporate slave.

At that, you sighed in realization. Even in the Afterlife, or whatever dimension you're in, it's all the same.

He called your name, reaching for your hands across the table. "That's why we should figure out how to fix your fate line. The spirit guide's helping us, but what if we discover something important to your case? The faster we figure things out together, the better."

Your gaze shifted from his hands to his face.

The surrounding brightened. Birds were chirping and you're hearing the still water's splashing against the bank.

You found Jungkook beaming at you. The first genuine smile you saw from him. The corners of his lips lifted into a curve, a bit of his gums showing, his pearly whites sparkling, his eyes twinkling in joy.

He's wearing a cylindrical hat, its wide brim filtering out the rays of the sun. His hair is in a top-knot as you can see through the partly transparent headpiece.

His dimple accentuated as he spoke, "Marry me,"

When you didn't answer, he mistook the confused look on your face. "The King gave us his blessing. The General, I mean, your father knows. He also agreed," he further explained.

"Jungkook," you breathed out.

Then the brightness faded, bringing you back to the café.

Jungkook was in much astonishment as you. You snatched your hands away, leaving his palms open.

It's of no-use but you truly felt your heart beating fast. You stared back to his eyes and again your heart skipped a beat.

"What was that?" he asked. "Did you see what I saw?"

You nodded. "I, we," you tried to compose a coherent sentence, but failed.

He nodded eagerly, "I need to make a call," he stood up, not waiting for a reply.

Jungkook went outside the café as he dialed on the phone. You met his eyes, and he didn't back down, giving you a steady intent look.

You could only see his mouth moving as he spoke.

Then waited, as he stared at you.

You steered away from his gaze as he snapped out of a trance. After a while, he brought his phone down.

You watch him go back to you, averting your eyes.

He wet his lips before saying, "The spirit guide is on an important matter right now. His secretary insisted on meeting him as planned."

"Have you told her what happened?" you asked.

Jungkook nodded, "I did, but he's with..." he trailed off and pointed his finger up.

Well, you can do nothing for now. You need to wait.

You nodded in acknowledgment.

--

It's nighttime and you were now in his apartment. You were sitting down on the couch as he paced back and forth in his living room, dizzying you in the process.

"Jungkook," you warned for the second time, begging him to stop.

"You asked to marry me, we were husband and wife, in our past life, so grim reapers do have a past," he chanted for the nth time.

"Hah! How dare them lie to us. They just wanted us to do their work without us making a fuss? 700 souls! Do you know how many criminals, psychopaths, nagging wives, and alcoholic husbands I've dealt with? It felt like a thousand! In exchange of what? This apartment and these boring clothes, that's it!"

He ranted.

"I should tell Taehyung and Yoongi about this," he resolved.

You let out an exasperated sigh. "And what? Form a union?" you asked with sarcasm.

He looked at you in horror, "Marriage is only for two people."

"Are you stupid?" he added before fumbling on his phone.

You rolled your eyes. You should've felt offended, but you couldn't even bother to correct him. That's how hopeless you think he is.

And stupid

And narcissistic at that.

"I didn't ask to marry you. You asked to marry me," you nonchalantly repeated for the second time again. However, you didn't even bother if he heard you or not. Jungkook also didn't care. His brows in a furrow as he waited for the other line to be picked up.

It seemed no one answered, but he tried again.

"Taehyung!" he exclaimed.

"Are you done?" he asked, taking a seat beside you.

"Meet me at my place and bring Yoongi hyung. I have big news for you, you wouldn't believe it."

"This is more important! Absolutely! It's a secret and you'll know it first from me."

"Ah, I can't go there. Too many roaming souls. I have..." he paused, looking at you, before continuing, "I have a baggage here."

You gaped at the use of his words.

Jungkook stood up, heading to the window. "No, I can't carry it. Just bring home soju and pears. Ah and if there's some porridge and rice cakes. Okay? Bye!"

He turned around and grinned at you, "I have a treat coming for you!"

Then you thought, he reminded you of Jimin's pet. That white ball of fur who did nothing but eat carrots and cabbage all day long.

"Cats, and dogs, and rabbits are lucky, they have a working pet to buy them food," you mockingly teased Jimin one time who's beaming at his bunny as he watched the cute monster chew.

--

"What?!" Taehyung yelled.

Jungkook smugly nodded. Taehyung stared at you then back to Jungkook. "So, she's your wife?" he asked to confirm.

You winced and cringed and you craved to fold your fingers. Taehyung is worse than Jungkook.

The bunny nodded once and proclaimed to emphasize a point, "She asked me to marry her."

You bit your lower lip in annoyance and threw the rice cake back to the paper plate. The three grim reapers were startled by your action.

Donning a fake smile, you tried your best to be patient and slowly explained, "Jungkook asked to marry me."

"We were in a lake," you started.

Taehyung looked at you attentively as he's sitting across the coffee table, ready to hear the version of your story. You pulled his hands to yours, "Then he held my hands,"

"He smiled at me, like this," you demonstrated. Trying to copy the face you remember with all the twinkling eyes.

"Then said, 'Marry me,'"

Jungkook, who's sat beside you, abruptly slapped your hands away from his friend. "Ouch!" you fussed, glaring at him.

"Why did you have to hold his hands? Saying that! Doing that!" he protested.

In which you argued, "So you'd remember! Your ass is too up high on your head! Why?!"

A giggle escaped Taehyung's lips as he nuzzled near Yoongi. "Look at them, they're so cute together!" he squeaked as he hugged the man. You winced at his remark.

Yoongi hissed in irritation. He pushed Taehyung's head away while the younger tried to brush his head off against him. Yoongi still won.

Out of the three, Yoongi seemed the most normal to you.

"Maybe you have to relive your life together to remember what happened," he muttered.

"But grim reapers are not supposed to remember their past, Jungkook. You have to be prepared."

Then he went on, "I knew grim reapers who crossed the 7 Trials without knowing their past. I also knew some who learned about who they were, but still chose to vanish. I don't know why."

He stared up, looking both of you in the eyes, as he said his final piece, "Remember who you were, but don't get too attached to your past. There's only one way forward."

[littlefreya]

The Way to Hell - Part 6

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

Summary: Post Mi6 - August manages to escape with his face intact and just won himself the title of being the most dangerous man on earth. With every agent in the world on the hunt for him, life became a living hell, but that’s okay because hell is where he reigns.

Too bad for the woman who’ll stand in his way.

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 |

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild) | August Walker x ofc Suzy

Word count: 5K

Warnings: Dark themes, rough oral sex, gagging, hinted anal, mentions of rough sex, and August twisted thoughts.  

A/N: The adventures of August and Ingvild continue 💖 thanks again for reading and giving me your feedback, it keeps me fueled so keep it up :D! Of course thanks @agniavateira​ for editing my work and being my muse.

Title: Stargazer

The love boat sets sail through the icy water of the North Sea. The apostle, Knight_of_Cockn3ss, or whatever that kid’s name is, wasn’t joking when he mentioned a romantic cruise.

The traitorous sun hangs mid-sky as August trails across the deck. A beige fedora covers his dark curls and a matching cream-coloured suit over his sturdy body. In his right hand rests his laptop, he is not daring to leave it out of sight even for a minute. His eyes observe the surroundings; he must be the only single person on this trip, surrounded by timid couples on the verge of divorce and sugar daddies with their sugar babies.

‘At least the young girls are pretty.’ August greets a tall blonde, holding one hand behind his back and giving her a small bow before continuing on his way.

He’ll have to endure this trip for a couple more days, which isn’t ideal by any means, but he can’t risk getting caught or killed. Airports all over the world are swarming with security guards, agents, and assassins on really fucking high alert by now, all of them waiting for him.

The irony of the situation is that a long time ago used to be one of them. A wanted target on a scale of world catastrophe would spin a web of agents worldwide and Agent Walker would always get there first. That’s why they called him “The Hammer” - he nailed each target on the head, among other things.

No one cared about torture and extreme violence. He once brought back a target in such a dire condition that Erica was forced to send him to psych evaluation. He bluntly told the psychiatrist he enjoys the violence for no particular reason why, and then fucked her over the desk.

He scoffs at the memory, breaking into a wolfish grin.

Standing on the rail, his gaze is glued to the blue horizon, following the trail of sea-foam left by the boat as it slices through the water, disturbing the peaceful life beneath the sea. Slowly, his chaotic mind begins to drift, reveries of the CIA reminding him of her.

Golden locks of hair glow like hot sand on a summer day. Sweetly, she jokes about buying a yacht, telling Erica to fuck off so they can leave everything behind, and sail into freedom.

Memories are perfidious. Why has she been on his mind so much as of late? She’s been dead for years, flesh eaten by worms and the insects.

She is no more but a sack of rotting bones.

To condemn her memory is more than she deserves.

August’s nostrils flare. For whatever reason, his mind wanders to the girl who lived. Gently snorting, he shakes his head, remembering the condition of how he left ‘poor little’ Ingvild; half-naked, wrists tied up to the bed, probably crying to whatever father figure she has.

After what he did to her, she’ll probably retire from Icarus.

“I’m coming after you,” he mimics her voice in his head, and laughs while making his way toward the stack of beach lounge chairs. The section is nearly empty as most of the lovebirds are dinning in the main hall and unlike the degenerated visitors of this cruise, he is here solely on business.

Much work is left to be done. “Knight” has promised to meet him in London’s sky tower, suggesting he may or may not have a source of plutonium. Whether he’s a broker, a source, or a possible troll matters very little to a man on the run. Desperate times are ahead; he may be sticking his neck out, might be stepping into an obvious trap, but choice is scarce at the moment.

‘This is not the type of anarchy I dreamed of.’

That little girl, Ingvild, was the first to come. There will be others, endless more until the world will fall apart.  

“I’ll keep coming after you.” Her voice hinges on his troubled mind.

He opens his laptop with a groan, trying to ignore the truth that lies on his mind like a pile of heavy brick.

‘You should have left her pretty face to die in the bottom of the lake.’

“Oh, but to miss out on all the fun that followed in that bedroom?” he speaks to himself quietly, unlocking his laptop with a retinal scan.

Luckily, his old drive is still accessible on the cloud he encrypted. Years of work and dirt collected on the CIA and the government nestles on a single server. The ugly truth, the lies, the corruptness. Thick and black like a pit filled of tar.

Erica Sloane has her own dedicated special folder. Personal vendetta was never on his agenda, it was never about revenge, it was about a cause but sweet Erica deserves whatever damnation he could think of. He hopes that when he detonates his nuclear bombs, that once this world falls apart, she’ll sit on a front-row seat to see her failures raining down like fire from the sky.

A vicious smirk paints his face as his fingertips slide onto the touchpad. August scans through his many folders, seeking a specific one regarding illegal weapon deals. It would be a lovely afternoon at the CIA had one of these recordings or documents would find their way to the public eye.

August slides the cursor around, entering one of the CIA’s subfolders when his smile fades away.

He thought he deleted her folder a long time ago, but it seems like mistakenly, he placed it in another section instead.

And now here it is. A name he thought he’d never see again: Lacey.

Strange, he hardly remembers what she looked like. How long has it been? Six? Seven years ago? In his dreams, she’s nothing but a rotting corpse, but the mind has a tendency to alter one’s memory, doesn’t it?

Was she even sweet at all?

‘Manipulation was her strongest trait anyway.’

Without mustering a mother breath, he deletes the folder, and proceeds to search for the files he means to leak. He muses if they caught up with the notion that it was him who poisoned the well this entire time. Years of stirring chaos while sitting with his laptop of his bed while Sloane and her high-ranking management freaked out and did all that’s in their power to cover shit up.

It was so hard to keep a poker face and pretend he is trying to help. One particular time, he got so ecstatic he had to go and jack off in the men’s room.  

‘That was a good one.’

Something abruptly disturbs his attention, making his heart nearly drop.

‘It can’t be, is that...?’

A petite brunette passes through the lounge, joyfully trodding along the deck. Her hair is tucked back into a ponytail. No, it can’t be her, not in the situation he left her at. By what sort of dark magic would she exactly appear here out of nowhere?

‘I wouldn’t be surprised if the little Valkyrie turns out to be some sort of a witch.’

The brunette feels his gaze upon her figure and turns. He is met with a brown, warm gaze, rather than the sharp icy lustre that is Ingvild’s trademark. Less pretty as well, but looks about the same age, perhaps a year or two younger.

Another sugar baby, weary and discontent.

August realises he must have been staring with a dumbfounded look as she decides to smile back and make her way to him.

“Good afternoon,” she greets in a Midwestern accent. August’s eyes focus on her painted lips and in his mind, he imagines wiping that cotton candy pink lipstick by his thumb.

“Afternoon,” he smiles kindly, tipping his fedora with a welcoming bow.

Always the gentleman.

The young woman moves to sit on the seat in front of him, crossing her legs together as she takes in his sight. She observes and assesses how old he is and how much money he must own.

Probably looking for a new target.

‘Not old enough to be your daddy, but you can still call me that if it floats your boat.’

“Are you a secret agent?” She jokes, peering at his laptop before he smooths his hand on the lid to shuts it. He pretends to be intrigued by her senseless, obvious seduction when his mind once again forced him to go back and compare her to living-dead girl.

It seems like he can’t get away from her. Perhaps her threats were a curse? Even halfway across the sea, this total stranger reignites his curiosity.

‘Does Ingvild has any values? Any empathy toward others?’

She did experience fear in those little moments when his knife penetrated her soft little gut - that look in her eyes; like a virgin, fucked extremely rough for the very first time.

Thinking of those big, terrified eyes light up a snarl on his bewhiskered lip.

There was an inch of vulnerability in that sweet farewell kiss, a sense lost look on her face as if she couldn’t fit that emotion into any drawer inside her brain. It made her look so much more beautiful.

He wonders what she would have looked like if he went ahead with his besser urges and fucked her.

‘Maybe she’d finally break into tears. Fuck, I’d love to see her cry.’

“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?” He interrupts the sassy brunette as she speaks of Lord-knows-what. It seems that she doesn’t even realise he wasn't listening to her for the last 5 minutes she been babbling . The girl smiles sweetly, tucking a brown lock of hair behind her ear. The diamond bracelet that decorated her wrist dangles as she does.

“Suzy.”

“Suzy,” August repeats and smiles charmingly before giving his lips a quick flick of a tongue. “Would you like to join me in my room?”

The brunette pretends to blush beneath the layers of foundation on her face and fakes an argument inside her mind as if she actually considers refusing his bold suggestion.

~*~

Back in his room, he pushes the petite brunette to her knees. He wipes away her makeup, smearing the pink paint with the crudeness of thumb. Suzy giggles, thinking she probably had men do worse than that by now.

‘Oh, darling, we haven’t even started yet.’

August’s large hand traces her rounded face, knuckles brushing against her cheek tenderly while running down to meet her lips again.

“Open up sweetheart,” he commands in a relaxed voice, his index finger demanding entrance to her velvety mouth. She spreads her lips open slowly, allowing him to slip in his long digit to explore the wet cavern while his thumb caresses her chin. Much to his delight, she sucks on his finger obediently, moaning as he slowly pumps in and out of her hot mouth.

“Good girl,” he praises, his free hand reaching to unbuckle his belt urgently and free his aching cock from his trousers. He tugs at himself for a second, staring how she suckles on his finger with fake devotion. She probably do want his cock, but it’s his money that she’d care for more later.

‘Oh, how disappointed you are going to be once I’m off this boat, baby.’

“How about I’ll fuck that pretty little throat, hmm?” August asks and without waiting for an answer, pulls his soaked finger away and clasps his hand around the hollows of her cheeks instead, forcing her to keep her mouth open.

She voices no protest, only her eyes staring at him wide and helpless. He pays no attention, preferring the sight of his cock sliding in between those puffy lips and pushing into the warm depths instead. A prolong groan slips out of his mouth, emphasising the relief of finally getting his dick wet.

Usually, he loves to watch, yet he lets his eyes roll back and shuts them tightly this time while she in the background. It only makes him fuck her throat more vigorously, his hands cradling and saddling her head, forcing her to meet the violent thrust of his hips.

“Don’t touch me,” he rasps breathlessly, as her her dirty paws snake for his waist. Terrified, she pulls away, intimidated by his voice. August’s eyes remain shut yet he can feel the wetness on her cheeks as his thumbs dig into them. Those tears are enough to send him over the edge, and he comes into her throat without any warning, grunting a couple of times and lingering inside her mouth to make sure she’ll swallow him clean.

‘That’s right little Valkyrie angel, you’ll take what I’ll give you.’

The mists of fantasy fade as August blinks his eyes open. Debunked by the plastic-type of woman. Slowly, he pulls his cock out, impressed by the mascara that’s smeared beneath Suzy’s now glassy red eyes. He wipes her lower lip clean and then gives her chin a gentle pinch with a soft grin.

Suzy gives out a weak smile in return, trying to look satisfied while remaining on her knees. He can tell that her little brain is pretty much half-through into realising she made a mistake by following the devil into his room.

Tall and menacing, he looks at her drenched by vile mischief. August moves to sit on the queen sized bed, petting the empty spot next to him. She follows, fighting her instinct to put a hand on his knee as she is used to, afraid that he will bark at her again.

“Tell me, Suzy,” he coaxes, reaching for the wallet in his pocket and drawing out a Trojan condom.

“Have you ever tried anal sex?”

****

“Ingvild,” the old man calls her name once he brings her to her new home. It’s a simple, minimalist apartment with naked walls and generic black IKEA furniture.

Silent, she peers at him, holding her small luggage between sinewy fingers. Everything that she possesses in the world is in that suitcase; a bunch of plaid skirts, white buttoned shirts, and a few books about fairies and monsters.

This man called Liam, is he to be her new father? He never even offered her a smile and hardly bothers looking into her eyes. Instead he grunts and sighs while making his way around the house and gesturing for her to follow.

At least he is kinder than Mother Superior. At least in here, no girl is going to pick any fights with her and get her into trouble.

“This is your room,” Liam gestures. The pubescent girl sneaks closer, peeking inside with curiosity. It’s not what someone would call a girl’s room by any means, very much like the rooms they had at the orphanage. It contains a single bed with a thin mattress and white metal bars and on the bed rest some casual clothes for her to wear.

At least she won’t have to wear skirts anymore.

As little Ingvild continues to scan the room, she picks on a small library housing some books and a learning desk with a computer. Probably for her to gain some knowledge of the world. She never had any of that at the orphanage, just the bible and the “forbidden” books of fairytales she stole from one of the nuns.

“Today you can rest,” Liam speaks, watching the little girl as she moves to place her luggage inside and sits on the bed.

“Tomorrow, you will start your first day of training.”

‘Training?’

Ingvild says nothing, only glares at him back quietly. It’s quite clear no woman is present in the house which makes her wonder; the orphanage doesn’t allow single parents to adopt, especially not men. Was Mother Superior this desperate to get rid of her that she decided to throw her at the first person who asked?

“Just so we’re clear, girl,” Liam grumbles, “I am not your father. You call me Liam and that’s that.”

She nods silently and watches him leave the room, shutting the door behind. Sighing, she falls back to the mattress, her silver eyes fixing at the ceiling in wonders of what sort of new life has she been sold ito.

“Ingvild...”

A low, velvety voice calls for her again, the mattress dipping, shifting with the weight of the one who joins her. As she turns her face aside, she is met with hungry eyes and a smile so cold it makes her heart shrivel.

August.

*~*

A loud thud wakes her with a sharp inhale. Though her face remain stoic, quickly readjusting to the sight of moving ground as the plane’s wheels make their landing. ‘Arrogant August Walker, invading my dreams’, she curses but pays no more thought to why he was there. Analysing dreams was never her thing. They were just memories of random things that happened to her in her childhood and August is no different as he had been on her mind for the last 72 hours.

He was a job.

One that she needed to get over with.

Liam was at her throat with this one specifically, nagging her like an old shrew. He wasn’t used for her taking her time with it, not his special girl.

Massaging her strained neck, she waits for the last person to leave the plane, observing the empty cabin and noticing how used it appears with all the crumpled, empty snack bags lying on the floor.

‘Ungrateful’, she thinks before exiting her seat and tip-toeing to get her luggage.

The arrivals terminal is infested with agents. Having been trained for years, she sees right through their casual attire, so fake they almost look like B-movie actors. It’s those badly selected outfits and their observant gazes - eyes obsessively fixed on every gate. Every airport in the world must be the same right now, desperate to catch this nightmare of a terrorist.

‘As if he would be stupid enough to travel by plane.’

With a high profile target like August on the loose, it almost feels like the world is on the brink of war.

‘Is that what he wants? To be an anarchistic god that plows chaos everywhere?’

Maybe that’s why he gave her back her life, to humiliate her, to show her how easily he can twist everyone’s life and disrupt the world people know.

‘Mephisto, Lucifer, Hades, Hel.’

“Remember that you’re only alive because I have allowed it.”

A sudden shard of pain sears through her torso, the wound reacting to the phantasm of his low timbre which plays in her mind. It makes her slow on her steps and chews on her inner cheek to suppress a moan that has been begging to escape her lips since yesterday afternoon.

“August Walker”, the name rolls on the tip of her tongue.

Her very first failure, the very first man who killed her.

It almost feels like a bond now, intimate and twisted. August went deeper than any other man ever did - he fucked her internal organs.

‘Is that is why you “performed” for him in the shower? Why you thought about him, slipping inside you with his cock rather than his knife?’

Ingvild huffs tenderly and passes in-between a couple reuniting with passion, her shoulder sharply bumping against the woman, who yells at her while she remains indifferent, never bothering to look back.

Putting on her shades, she continues to head for the exit. The wound in her gut throbs even further, all of a sudden and just when she is tempted to give into the pain and acknowledge it, the new mobile device in her jacket’s pocket begins to vibrate.

Liam, who else?

“Papa?” She answers, the big exit sign finally flickering in front of her eyes.

She can see Liam rolling his eyes without having to see his grumpy old face.

“What progress do you hope to make with this lead? Someone says they saw him in Singapore yesterday, you should be following these threads instead.”

Ingvild holds her breath, knowing very well the lead is false. August was with her a night ago, so close she tasted him, so near his fingers dug deep into her flesh, leaving an imprint on her bones and even though there is something quite demonic about him, she doubts he can be at two different places at once.

“I need access to his world, I need to pick up the clues,” she explains, yet the sad truth is that she has no idea what to look for. August is not a rookie idiot, he did a fine job leaving zero clues back at the bed&breakfast room they “shared”. Not even the receptionist who ogled her oddly when she left could tell her where he was heading.  

“Just get it done, Ingvild. You’re acting like a child, this isn’t like you,” Liam mutters before hanging up.

‘He is right, this isn’t like you.’

Ingvild feels hooks clutching her guts, not just the pain August inflicted upon her, but something deeper, something desperate, leaving a void in that same spot. The fact that he slipped between her fingers seems to torments, just as much as the fact that she lied to Liam for the first time. It makes her feel like a rebellious teenager. She never keeps secrets from him and there she is, lying through every word.

Absentmindedly, her fingers press against her lips as she exits the airport.

~*~

The address led her to a small suburban house in southern London. It’s the type of house that has large glass windows where anyone standing outside can ogle freely. Rich people houses, as she likes to call it. She had a few missions in the past with people living in homes like this one - always an easy kill.

A blond woman meanders about inside the house, wearing a grey silk nightgown, preparing for bedtime probably. According to Walker’s file, she’s the most recent ex - Sydney. They broke up a couple of months before he decided to go on what he thought would be his final mission, his deathstrike.

‘If only.’

Glancing from the gravel path that leads to large metal doors, she learns the woman’s delicate manoeuvres, her mind reciting every graceful gestures as she crouches down to place food for a large Maine coon cat.

‘Is that the type of woman he likes?’

August would strikes her as a man who would fuck anything with a heartbeat but he did have more than a few relationships. She can’t help but wonder if he has a type, noticing how Sydney is more of a woman than a girl; solid income, big name lawyer, a woman who can take care of herself, a woman to start a family with.

Not that she imagines Walker starting a family anytime soon.

She is pretty too, with her mid-length straight golden hair, bright eyes and a shapely body. Ingvild looks at her own outfit: jeans, sneakers and a black sleeved shirt, nowhere as classy as beautiful Sydney.

The hour is late, still she walks toward the door and rings the bell.

“Can I help you?”

Ingvild is greeted by green eyes and a subtle Welsh accent. She gives her one of her fake smiles, trying to look as charming and pleasant as a sweet doll.

“Sydney Bedford?” She asks, while briefly scanning her body. She tries to imagine what August liked about her the most; her figure? Her angelic face? Her emerald stare?

“I have some questions about August Walker, he used to…”

Sydney shakes her head vehemently, waving her hands in the air. Something in her eyes drastically changes the moment the name “August” slaps her across the face.

“Are you MI6!? Please, I don’t want to speak about that psychotic loser anymore.”

Ingvild smiles calmly, a soft chuckle leaving her throat.

“Oh you see, he disappeared…”

“Good riddance!” Sydney replies, her eyes filling with anger, her face turning red within seconds. “Listen. I already told them everything I know.”

“Please,” Ingvild begs, batting her long lashes and tilting her head like a cute little kitten. “I’m new in this and my superior will be mad if I don’t at least speak to you. May I please come in? It’s important for my investigation.”

The same childlike charm that works on men might as well work on women, for different reasons in this occasion. Sydney is a single 36-38-year old woman who lives alone with her cat.

She must have wanted a family, perhaps with Walker, no wonder she’s furious.

Leaning against the door frame, Sydney scrutinises the young girl, believing she is younger than she really is with that pale smooth face and big innocent greyish eyes.  

“Come on in, dear.” She opens the door wide, letting Ingvild step inside before closing it behind her.

The main entrance leads into a large living room, furnished with a black leather sofas and a glass coffee table. She owns a TV that is larger than Ingvild's entire living room and the walls are moulded with grey bricks, shiny from some cut stone.

Ingvild imagines how lovely it would feel to crack the shimmering stone with August’s skull.

“Would you like some tea?” Sydney offers while heading toward her luxurious kitchen.

“Please,” Ingvild answers, walking around the house and examining every corner to learn of the woman who invited her in. She nearly stumbles as the large cat rubs against her foot. “Oh,” she exclaims, lowering herself to pick the chubby feline to her arms.

She never owned a pet. Liam said it’s unnecessary.

“So like I said,” Sydney calls from the kitchen, putting the kettle on the stove. “I don’t know anything about August and where he is. All I can tell you is that he was weird.”

“Weird? How?” Ingvild asks, stroking the cat behind his ears and while it purr against her chest.

Sydney places two mugs on the black marble counter in the kitchen and opens a cabinet, looking for some tea bags. “He would disappear and then return after weeks, telling me not to ask any questions. Then, he would go away and come back in crazy hours. He was a gentleman of course but arrogant and demanding, never taking no for an answer.”

Ingvild turns to look at Sydney, arching her eyebrow as if she is surprised to learn this about the man who stabbed and drowned her in an icy lake. “Is that so?”

“Yes!” Sydney shouts back, her chest heaving as she throws the bags into the mugs and turns toward Ingvild.

“Everything had to go his way, and I won’t be surprised if he had a mistress or another family, or god! Maybe an illegal drug practice.”

The cat jumps down from Ingvild’s embrace, and she brushes the grey hairs off her black shirt. “What makes you think this way?”

“Like I said; disappearing in the middle of the night, coming back... I knew something was off so I went and... wait I… I shouldn’t tell you this, you’re an agent!” Sydney looks around her, as if she’s afraid someone might be listening to their conversation.

Ingvild takes a step forward into the kitchen, her grey eyes seeking Sydney’s, giving her a warm, kind smile. “You can tell me anything Sydney, you are not in danger, I promise. We just want to locate Walker, he hasn't reported to HQ in a while.”

Sydney observes her gaze, trying to determine her personality. She thinks the young woman seem gentle with those unique eyes and the hair that’s tucked back to a strict ponytail.

“I had him traced,” she whispers. “I know I wasn’t supposed to because he is CIA, and trust me I was scared but I had to know.”

“How did you do that?” Ingvild asks, tilting her head with curiosity and slight disbelief. It seems odd that a man like Walker was bugged by some dumb lawyer woman.

“I did his laundry, it wasn’t hard to hide something inside the pocket of his jacket. I mean, inside the fabric, where he can’t find it.”

Ingvild can’t help but let out a small snort, amused by the fact that the infamous CIA agent got made so easily. She covers her mouth with her fist, shyly smiling into it, but it’s noticed by Sydney who stands in front of her, staring oddly.

“Where would he go?”

“Some place in South Kensington, almost every day for the last month of our relationship. He would vanish there for hours and then come back. I have the address, hold on.” Sydney leaves the kitchen and walks through a long corridor.

Not bothering with politeness, Ingvild follows her, easy off her feet like the big grey cat, carefully exploring this new territory. She imagines the fights August would have with this woman and then the passionate sex afterwards while her hand runs against the texture of the garnet.

“Oh!” Sydney exclaims, confused to see Ingvild in the doorway of her bedroom. The young woman looks around curiously, trying to find any memorabilia from August; a photo, a clothing article, man cologne. It seems like he was never even been here, though there is a certain coldness in this room that feels strangely familiar.

‘No, not August, his touch is warm.’

“He did trading or something,” Sydney says as she hands her over a small yellow note that was hidden in her purse. It has the address to August’s “secret lover”.

Ingvild takes the notes, memorizing the address before placing it in her jeans pocket. “Trading? Can you elaborate?”

She shrugs. “He asked me to not disturb him while he was doing some dealing, I don’t know what it was… it looked fishy but it might just be CIA stuff.”

Ingvild nods silently, scanning the room again and again and eventually taking in the sight of the empty bed. Her mind fills in the gaps, painting an image of August fucking Sydney into oblivion, his muscular body ramming into hers, one leg held over his shoulder while the blond little bitch screams in ecstasy.

“How was he in bed? Would you say he performed well?” Ingvild asks, her eyes gesturing toward the mattress.

Sydney frowns, giving her a slight repulsed face as she finds her question remarkably rude.

“How is this relevant to the investigation?”

She means to berate her when she witnesses Ingvild’s kind smile growing remarkably cold.

The young woman remains silent, taking a step closer and making Sydney almost stumble back as sudden fear creeps in. Grey frigid eyes, like icy shards, her nostrils slightly flares as she catches up the scent of her expensive perfume.

“How is this relevant to the MI6?!” Sydney asks again, trying to dismiss the tension yet continues to draw distance from the young agent.

“I never said I am MI6.”

Sydney’s back hits the wall with a soft thud, she attempts to flee but Ingvild’s hands lock around her shoulders, forcing her against the wall with a thud. As small as this woman is, she is way stronger than she appears.

“How was he in bed?” she repeats, her voice becoming more demanding while her glare threatening to spear into Sydney’s skull. “Would you say he satisfies you?”

Puny gasps peal from Sydney’s mouth, her green eyes becoming moist with pure fear.

“Please, don’t... He was... Rough.”

“Bondage?”

“He... he..he choked me,” she answers in a trembling voice, her lower lip quivering, much to Ingvild’s delight.

“He was too rough, he was big and he didn’t care, it was as if he enjoyed my pain...”

Ingvild licks her bottom lip, imagining Sydney thrown on the bed with August treating her like a rag doll, wrecking her completely. Bruises left everywhere, tattoos on her skin for the world to see this fine artist’s work. A cold flame licks at her spine, crawling down to the small of her back.

She’s uncertain why.

“Would you say he loved you?”

Sydney’s peers at her quietly, thinking of her answer for a few seconds while Ingvild’s fingers bury into her collarbone, voicelessly demanding a response.

“August Walker is incapable of love. He is dead inside.”

________________________________________________________

Disclaimer: I don’t own August Walker or the Mission Impossible Frenchise

[rueren]

3 𝓪𝓶 ~ 𝓡.𝓣𝓪𝓷𝓪𝓴𝓪

warnings : #none #this shits cute  #swearing #sneaking out(?)

content: prev. established relationship. basically he misses you and you guys go out at 3 am.

word count : 2513

pairings : Tanaka Ryūnosuke x reader

Finally.  Sleep at last.  It took so long to go to bed; the anime you had been waiting for for so long had finally dropped its first season at 6 pm, and you binged your way through the whole thing.  So by the time your head hit the pillow it was …. 1 am?  Not too bad, you thought to yourself as your head finally hit the pillow. 

Tap.  Tap.  Tap.  Your brows furrowed, still groggy from sleep.  That stupid tree branch.  You knew you should've told someone that it's gotten dangerously close to your window.  First thing in the morning, then. 

Tap.  Tap.  Tap tap tap.  It became more insistent.  Your blood rushed to your ears.  It's just the tree branch... Right?  Remnants of sleep leaving your system, your nerves were on end.  Slowly, your head peeked out from under your covers, twisting towards your window, without your body moving an inch.  There seemed to be no shadow of anything, so you stood up slowly, and grabbed the bat you left under your bed.  

You slid across the wall and made your way over to the window.  Still, nothing could be seen from outside.  Your ears filled with the sound of your pulse, you forced your hand to the latch that unlocks the window, and threw it open, and at the same time swung the bat out the opening.  

“What the fuck, babe” a voice cried from the other side of the window followed by scuffling.  Your ears picked up at the sound, and you threw your curtains to the side. 

“Ryu?” You said exasperated, breathing heavy from the adrenaline.  “What the hell are you doing here, you scared the shit out of me.”

“Answer your phone once in your life, and you won't get scared,” He heaved, hand over his chest, “I almost died, you know.  Your damn bat literally grazed my lashes.” 

“My phone…what are you talking about?”, you stomped your way over to your phone, “You never called me, what are you talking about…” 4 missed calls and 12 messages.  

You turned around, sporting a guilty smile, to see your boyfriend staring at you, eyes sharp, and lips curled in a sly smirk.  “Gonna say something?” 

“You gonna come in or you want me to come out?” You avoided the question, rubbing your eye and pulling down your shirt over your pajama pants.  

“Come sit out here with me, it's pretty,” he smiled, pulling his hood off.  You crawled out your window onto the  small sliver of roof, ducking under the branch that pressed up against your window.  He held out his hand for you to stabilize yourself as you sat down beside him, tucked into his side.  

You tilted your head back to look up at his face.  It’s amazing how often it would slip your mind how good looking he actually was. His face had a tinge of pink to it from the crisp fall night air, his nose red from being nipped by the cold.  Sharp eyes with stars dancing in them as he watched the night sky, his jaw just as sharp.  With his chaotic personality, it was almost impossible  to forget just how serene moments like this with him are.  

He noticed you looking up at him, and hummed in response, squeezing his arm around you before running his knuckles along the bare skin of your arm. “Whatchu lookin at, huh,”  his smirk replaced the calmer expression he previously had on, and you rolled your eyes and poked his ribs.

“So why are you here?”  You quirked up a brow, “It’s the middle of the night, shouldn't you be home?”

“Yeah, but Saeko’s got friends over and they're so freakin’ loud I can’t even hear my own thoughts” He grumbled, his head gets thrown back and it thunps against the bricks of your house. 

“Don’t act like you were even sleeping, you liar,” You laughed.  “And aren’t you used to this by now?  She's always got people over.  You sleep like a log, anyway.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “Okay fine.  But do I really need a reason to wanna come over?” 

“At 2 am, yeah.” Your hand cupped his face and his cheeks squished together.  Even under the darkness, you could see his face go red, and not just from the cold.  His eyes wandered everywhere but to yours.  

It was cute, you always thought. How even after dating for so long, he’d still get bashful and turn into a blushing mess over the smallest things.  Things you’ve done multiple times, he would randomly get flustered over.  Hugs, kisses, small intimate moments.  You fell for him more each passing day, if it was even possible to fall for someone that hard.

“Well, too bad.  I don’t have a reason.  I came to see you just because I can,” He puffed out his chest, and your hand slipped.  He smiled,  “I’m just that nice of a boyfriend.”

“You came here with no reason?  Then what are we gonna do, stare at each other?”

“If you let me, yeah.” He said.  Now your own face flushed. It didn’t even make sense how the same boy who would randomly get flustered over a hug coils say things like that with such ease.  He didn’t even realize what they did to you, which made them affect you that much more.

“Oh my god, shut up,” You mumbled, shoving your face into your hands and falling into his chest. His laugh rang through you, shaking in chest, and his arms wrapped around you again, pulling you close out of the cold.  

“You’re freezing, oh my god I’m so stupid,” He panics, and nudges you to move for a minute. “Here, take this.” He pulls off the puffer jacket he’s got on and draped it over you, leaving him in his olive green hoodie.

“You’re not cold?” You ask, pulling the collar closer to your chin.  He shook his head, “I’m good. Got a shirt under this,” he motioned to the hoodie.

“Weirdo, who wears shirts under their sweaters,” you stuck your tongue out at him, and he flicks your forehead. He pulled your legs over his own, and tucked you back into his side.

A stray cat wandered underneath the lamp post across the street, no cars in sight.  The silence was welcomed, both just enjoying each other's presence for a while.  Your schedules had gotten really hectic, with his team going to nationals in a few weeks.  You honestly couldn't have been any more proud of him. 

“Just missed you, you know” He muttered.  His temple rested against the crown of your head, tugging your legs even further across his own, hand on your thigh.  “Missed you so much. Practice is a lot.  I love it, you know that.  The guys are all great, amazing.  They all work so hard, so I can't just .. not work as hard as them, you know.” He kissed your head, and you look back up at him, your hand going to hold his.

“You’re doing so great,” a chaste kiss is pressed to the back of his hand. “You work so hard,” another kiss to his other.  “I know everyone's so proud of you,” a kiss to his forehead. “And you have no idea,” to his cheek, “How proud you make me,” his other cheek.  “Never wanna imagine my life without you,” and finally to his lips. 

His hands seemed frozen in place for a minute, before going to the small of your back, pulling you in further.  Your hands find purchase on the sides of his face, thumbs caressing his cheek bones.

You missed him. It's been over a week since you guys hung out outside of school, and even then it was cut short sometimes by practice.  Not that you would ever hold it against him.  He tries his best, he really does.  His team relies on him. He relies on them.  The way he is on the court - it's like he’s a different person.  It’s all the best qualities of him brought to the surface.  Determined, stubborn, loyal, reliable, uplifting.  Everything you loved about him.  

What felt like hours later you pulled apart, and rested your foreheads against one another.  He smiled before pecking your lips one last time.  

“Okay, I know what we're doing.” He smiled proudly.  Your eyes followed him as he made his way to stand up on the small sliver of your roof on your side of the house.  

“Going to sleep?” you said, as he held out a hand to get you up. 

His head shook, “Nope, corner store.”

“What?” 

“Corner store.  You know, that place that sells buns and drinks and snacks and shit,” once you're on your feet, he hops over onto the tree by your room.  You watch him, mouth still open in confusion as you watch him climb down.  When he’s down on the ground, he looks back up at you, and beckons you down to him.  “C'mon babe, come down.”

“Are you crazy, I can't climb down that thing.”

“Sure you can,”  he says, grinning.  “You do it all the time.”

“Not in this dark!”

“I’ll catch you, don't worry.” 

Mulling it over in your head, you eventually rolled your eyes and gave in.  “Gimme a sec.”

“Hurry up, baby.”

“Shh, not so loud!”

“Woops, sorry.” He smiled, a toothy grin flashing up at you, swinging back and forth on his heels.  He whisper-yelled, “Hurry up!”

You ducked back into your house to check if your parents were still asleep.  When you saw them snoring away in their rooms, you crept back downstairs to grab a random pair of shoes. Back in your room, you picked up the first hoodie you could find - Tanaka’s old one, all black with a red pocket on the front  - and your phone and wallet.  You scoot your way out the window, pulling it down without locking it.

Climbing down the tree was so much harder than he made it look.  He stuck his arms out to you on the last branch, and you half jumped half kicked off the tree trunk.  He caught you with little problem, and the two of you ran down the street light lit road, stumbling over your own two feet.  

***

The fluorescent lights flickered.  You grabbed the bag of chips from the corner and tossed it into the corner of the cart by your foot.  Tanaka grabed another bag you pointed to that was out of your reach and dropped it on your head.  You cover your head too late, and tilt your head all the way back to glare at him.  In one swift motion he's grabbing your chin and leaning down to kiss you, tongue sweeping over your bottom lip once before pulling away. 

Your eyes stay closed for a second longer than his ego should witness.  Once they open, you can literally see his eyes shining and that stupid grin plastered right across his face.  

“Push this damn cart, Ryu.” you laugh and turn around in the cart, so that you're facing him with your back at the opposite end of it.  “I want candy.”

“Of course, what am I a heathen?” He shoves the cart and lets you glide for a while, your eyes widening in a plea for him to not let you knock into anything.  “It’s not a 3 am snack run without candy, duh.”  He catches up to the cart and stopped it before you rolled into a stack of toilet paper.  He avoided the glare you sent him, and turned you guys into the next aisle.  

You pulled out your phone to take a video of him studying the candy aisle, talking to himself.  The second the video starts, you’re instantly reminded of the fact that you had to put your flash on earlier, and bright light shines into his face abruptly, ruining your plan.  He covers his eyes before grabbing the camera and turning it to the two of you and a squeal leaves your lips.  Cupping your chin again, he’s tilting your lips up towards him and right before smashing them to yours, the question leaves his mouth. 

“This okay?” You nod, your stomach doing flips. He stays there smiling down at you, too long for your liking, and you take the initiative, grabbing the drawstrings of his hoodie in your hands and using it to tug him down to meet you.

You don’t see it but his eyes widen from the abruptness of it all.  He may seem smooth, but whenever you one up him he’s flustered all over again. He recovered though, tongue sweeping over your lips, gaining access and then sweeping over your own tongue.  He’s hovering over you, bent so far over due to his height. He’s got a hand holding the railing of the cart, so he doesn't fall over, the other’s got the phone still pointed towards you, and you can feel the light of the flash on the back of your eyelids.  

You don’t pull apart until you hear shuffling from behind you, and you pull back long enough to see some dude trying to get by.  You immediately push Tanaka back, who’s eyes flutter open, and see the dude glaring at you both.  A meek “sorry man” slips his mouth and he turns to grab the cart and move you both out of the aisle.  

Once you've both left the aisle you look at each other and muffle your laughs into your hands.  Tanaka’s got the camera pointed at you, as you laugh in that sleepy state you're both in.  He smiles as you cover your face with your hand stretched outwards to block it from the camera.  He motions for you to come closer, and the metal bars of the cart digging into your knees as you lean over closer to him.  Another kiss presses to your lips, this time less intense.  Softer, loving, more meaning.  He pulls away and looks at your eyes, your own mind still reeling from all of his straight forwardness today.

He pushed you both to the front to pay for your items, the cashier half asleep himself when he’s scanning your items.  The walk back, he’s got his arm around your shoulder and holding your plastic bag with the chips and candy in it.   You’ve got your own arm slung around his waist and you walk together, passing one of the drinks you bought between you two, laughing and talking about anything and nothing.  

You’re talking about something that happened in your class yesterday, and he’s watching you, listening to you.  But somewhere in your story, he doesn't hear you anymore.  All he hears is his heartbeat in his ears.  All he sees is the stars in your eyes, the way the light dances across your skin, the way your head tilts back as you laugh at whatever you were remembering.  

You look up at him and your lips tilt up to the side, “Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, of course.  That dude said something to Noya and he said something back and ... yeah,” He grabbed you down in a headlock, laughing.  When you came back up you rip his beanie off his head and place it on your own.  You stick your tongue out at him, before saying “Ugh now I gotta start over.”

“If it means I get to listen to your voice some more, I should just pretend I don’t hear you every time.” 

“Lover boy,” You scrunch up your face and kiss his cheek, and he makes a mental note to not take back the beanie when he drops you off at home “Anyways, basically what happened was...” 

And its this moment, at 3 am, on a deserted street, with you in his old hoodie and his hat, when he realizes that the only thing that matters any more is you.  That he doesn’t do anything to fuck up what you two have.  He can’t afford to do anything to fuck it up, because he knows this is it for him.  You’re it for him.  Always will be.  

[calumance]

I saw this post on Twitter about this girl who babysits these kids and one of them said to her that his moms name is love because that’s what his dad calls her and omg just imagining that with baby Aiden where he tells someone that and then the parents having to explain it ugh I melt!! 🥺😭

AW!!! 🥺🥺🥺🥺 Aiden would 100% start telling everyone he knew that his mom’s name is ‘love.’

        Summer time always meant hang outs with the guys and their wives, whether it was at their houses or your house, but no matter what you were together every single day and night. The best part about it was the fact that no one grew tired of each other, and everyone always greeted one another with open arms and hugs that felt like you hadn’t seen each other is days, even if it had only been twelve hours since the last time you saw each other. Aiden enjoyed it too because it meant he could hang out with the kids he had grown to love over the years, and even considered them cousins, especially since Calum considered the guys his brothers.

        Today’s hang out was at your house, and it seemed as if everyone showed up all at once. Everyone brought food, making sure there was enough for everyone to eat enough food that after dinner everyone complained about how much they ate. Calum was sitting next to you on the lounge chair, his hand resting on your knee, the other hand wrapped around the base of a beer bottle. Having found out a couple weeks ago that you were pregnant again, you generously sipped on a glass of water. Everyone knew about the second baby, which made it completely normal to see you with water instead of some sort of mixed drink you usually sipped on at these kind of hang outs.

        Calum looked over your head as a louder than normal screech came from the group of kids playing in the grass. After seeing the laughter from the kids, Calum sat back and continued to talk to Luke. “Have you felt any movement yet?” Sierra asked you with a smile on her lips.

        You shook your head and smiled softly “No, not yet. I’m sure it’ll be coming soon, though.” Remembering that it took a little while to feel anything with Aiden, you looked down at your belly and shrugged, “Hopefully, they say you feel it sooner than your first one because you know what it feels like. At least, that’s what I’m hoping for.” You chuckled and Sierra smiled and agreed with you.

        The conversation shifted and you reached down for Calum’s hand and laced your fingers with his. He turned his head towards you and kissed the side of your head and he squeezed your hand. You leaned your head down so that your lips were pressed to his shoulder. All you could think about was how in love with him you were, and continued to fall more in love with him as every day passed. Suddenly, you felt a soft tug on your skirt. You turned your head to be met with the gaze of Michael’s youngest who was a year younger than Aiden. “Hi, Alice,” you said to her with a smile.

        “Aiden said your name was ‘love’ and I told him that I didn’t believe him and then he told me to come ask you so you could prove it to me.” Alice played with her dress as she rocked back and forth. You pulled your eyebrows together wondering where the heck Aiden would’ve gotten that from.

        “I’m going to go grab another beer, do you want more water, love?” Calum asked you as he squeezed your hand before standing up and offering to take your glass from you.

        You nodded and handed him the glass, almost missing the nickname he called you, since it sounded so natural to you. It suddenly fell on you like a ton of bricks. “Oh!” You exclaimed as you looked back over at Alice who obviously hadn’t heard Calum because she was still looking at you waiting for you to say something. You sat up and reached around the chair to grab the little girl and place her on your lap. She nervously played with her hands as you pulled down her dress, adjusting it so he wasn’t so bunched. “Aiden’s daddy calls me ‘love’ because he loves me. It’s just a nickname, not my real name.” You said with a smile and gently poked her nose.

        “You mean how daddy calls me Allycat?” She asked, her green eyes gazing at you as if she just had a revelation. You nodded at her and she smiled. “Aiden!” She called out while jumping off your lap, “I told you your mom’s name isn’t love!” She yelled as she ran back to the grass.

        Calum returned handing you a full glass of water, you took it with a soft ‘thank you.’ He smiled at you and sat down just as Aiden came running up to you. “Mommy, your name is love! Daddy calls you that all the time!” Calum froze and looked at his son utterly confused on what he had missed while he was inside the house.

        “Baby, daddy calls me ‘love’ as a nickname. He calls me that because he loves me, it’s just like how I sometimes call you ‘denny.’” You reach your hand out and ran your hand through his messy curls and down his cheek.

        Aiden thought about it for a second but then he understood and made an ‘o’ shape with him mouth. After he nodded furiously, he turned on his toes and ran back to the other kids. “What was that all about?” Calum asked as he took a drink from the glass bottle in his hand.

        You laced your fingers with Calum’s again and let out a soft laugh. “Apparently, since you call me ‘love’ all the time, Aiden was convinced that was my name. Alice didn’t believe him, so she asked me, then Aiden came running up exclaiming that my name is, indeed, ‘love.’” You took a drink of your water and raised your eyebrows at Calum.

        Calum hummed and pulled his eyebrows together. “Well, this is news to me. I always called you ‘love’ because I was certain that was your name.” He winked at you and you playfully nudged him as he took another drink then focused his attention back to the conversation he was having with the guys.

[samsexualdeancurious]

Long Fingers (NSFW)

Pairing: Sam x Reader

Words: 1,306

Summary: Sam and the reader spend some quality time together.

Warnings: Breathplay, BDSM, age difference, sex toys.

A/N: Apologies for the late post! Mana wanted to spend a little extra time on this and I'm glad she did. This was written for Belinda for her May 2020 prompt. The toy described in this fic is this one. If you're looking for a good vibrator, I highly recommend it.

Betaed by @manawhaat

---

Ex-boyfriends, bad one night stands, and monsters nearly killed your passion, but Sam Winchester brought it back to life by wrapping his lethal hands around your throat.

The first time Sam choked you was in the heat of the moment. His hand found your neck as his mouth claimed your throbbing pussy. But the promising squeeze of such lethal fingers had jarred you after so many bad experiences. You’d panicked, kicked him off of you, and nearly ended it all with him right then and there. But Sam’s hands were inherently different than all those other hands that’d wrapped around your neck.

Sam knew you, knew what you needed, and was patient and gentle enough to pour life back into your dormant desire, taking your breath away time after time. Now, one of your favorite parts of Sam are his hands.

They’re huge in comparison to yours but perfectly proportioned for his size. His palms are broad, his fingers are long - every inch of Sam is big and you love it. Especially right now when one long-fingered hand is between your thighs, expertly working you open for his cock, and the other is curled around your throat.

It’s been a long time since you got to play like this, between back-to-back hunts and saving the world, and Sam is taking his time. He’s an expert with your body and knows exactly how to make you writhe beneath him.

“So pretty for me, baby girl,” he murmurs. His voice is low and dangerous, sending shivers down your spine. “You’re desperate for it, aren’t you?”

You manage a small nod and then his hand tightens, pressing just so on either side of your throat. A small spike of panic wells in your chest but by the time the emotion is carried down to your core, it’s shifted from panic to pleasure. Your mouth falls open and your hips buck against his hand. Sam chuckles darkly as your vision goes fuzzy on the edges. He doesn’t push it, letting up long before your vision goes completely, and the rush of oxygen verges on euphoric.

“Good girl. So beautiful,” Sam says, tracing the line of your jaw with his nose before pressing a kiss below your ear. “I have something new for you.”

He gets up, crossing the room to fetch something from the top desk drawer. You watch him without turning your head, breath picking up when he turns to show you what he’s holding.

It’s a simple enough toy, kind of hammer-shaped with a handle and head. The handle widens and then tapers to a gentle point, while the head is pointed on one side and flat on the other with a white cover. As he returns to the bed, you see that the flat side with the cover has a round opening and there are three small buttons on the handle.

“What is it?” you ask.

Sam holds down the center button and a small pink-ish light appears. Then he pushes the bottom button and you hear a soft buzzing.

Oh. That’s what it is.

“Don’t cum,” he orders as he climbs up onto the bed again and settles between your spread thighs.

You bite your lip and gaze down at him as he begins tracing your folds with the tip of the vibrating handle, just barely touching. A soft whine escapes before you can stop it and Sam smirks. He presses firmer, the tip of the handle vibrating on your clit, and he chuckles at the way your hips twitch helplessly. It’s not enough to make you cum but it’s enough to drive you crazy and you can’t help squirming on the bed.

“Someone likes that.” Sam is grinning, hungry eyes feasting on the sight of you. “What if…”

He slides the toy down and presses the tip to your entrance. You gasp and dig your fingers into the sheets.

“... I put this in you?” he finishes.

“Please.”

That’s all the permission he needs to press the toy inside. It’s not too thick, maybe about two inches at its widest point, so it’s easy enough to take. The vibrations hit your insides like a ton of bricks, lighting up all the sensitive places that don’t always get as much attention. It’s still on the lowest setting but you can feel the vibrations through your whole core.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, staring at the ceiling as you try to process what you’re feeling.

Sam shifts to hover over you, the hand that’s not gently fucking you with the toy returning to that spot around your throat.

“Ready for me, baby?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.”

“Look at me.”

You shift your eyes to his and your breath catches in your throat. You haven’t been with too many men in your young years and Sam is certainly the oldest man you’ve ever been with, but none of them have ever looked at or made you feel the way he does.

“Good girl,” he praises, words sparking warmth in your chest, and his hand tightens.

Sam is an expert at this part. It took him a long time to gain your trust so fully, but by now he knows where to press on your neck, how long he can safely do so, and where your limits lie within that safe zone. He loves the little sounds you make, the way your body twists and bucks underneath his, and the way your eyes roll when he finally loosens his hold. Breathplay, in general, can be enough to push you towards the edge on a good day. When combined with the new toy, you find yourself hurtling towards orgasm much faster than expected.

“Sam,” you manage when you find your voice again. “Sam, I’m close - Sam, I -”

“Not yet.” His tone is firm, leaving no room for argument. “I want you to cum on my cock.”

You squeeze your eyes shut, hips rocking to meet the thrusts of the toy in his hand. “I’m not gonna last. I’m too close.”

He kisses you softly and does something with the vibrator that makes it stop buzzing inside you - it feels kind of like the buzzing is outside of you now? Whatever he did, you quickly fall back from the edge you were on. “Good girl. Thank you for telling me.”

The toy is pulled from your body, leaving you clenching around empty air and phantom vibrations. You’re not left empty for long, though. Sam’s cock is bigger than the toy in every way, stretching you open as his fingers press into your throat once more. Your hands fly to his shoulders, clinging to him a strange vibrating suction latches onto your clit and pleasure sings through every fiber of your being. Some tiny part of your mind realizes that Sam is pressing the other end of the toy - the flat part with the opening - to your clit but the rest of you is caught in a loop of pleasure with no way out. Then, Sam’s voice is in your ear, low and commanding.

“Cum.”

Your orgasm hits you like a freight train right as Sam releases the pressure on your throat. Your whole body shakes uncontrollably as waves of pleasure roll through you. Sam loops one arm under your lower back and just holds you, working you through each aftershock with the gentle rocking of his hips and the vibrator pressed just so. When pleasure starts to push too far and you go limp on the bed, he turns the vibrator off and sets it aside.

“So good for me,” he whispers against your jaw. “Such a good girl.”

Your limbs feel like dead weight as Sam sits up and picks up the pace of his hips. A helpless little whine escapes you and he smirks.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

---

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—

Team Forever: @mrswhozeewhatsis @laughing-at-the-darkness​​ @tumbler-tidbits​​ @imsuperawkward​​​​ @emoryhemsworth

[penguinwithitsarseonfire]

Gave Me the Blues and then Purple-Pink Skies

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (welcome!) | Part 4

Pairing: 13th Doctor x Reader

Word Count: 1,959

Warnings: None

Summary: When reaching a dead end in the cave, you and the Doctor have no choice but to go through a tunnel in the wall. You end up in front of her, however, which means you’ve now got to take the risks, which the Doctor isn’t all too happy about.

A/N: I’m so super sorry this is so late! Tumblr ate my original post whilst I was out, so I’ve posted it as soon as I could. Thank you all for all your commetns and support, it’s been really encouraging!!

The plan was easier said than done.

The tunnel had narrowed significantly as you made your way through it, until it stopped abruptly. On the wall that made the dead end was a hole just big enough that you could both easily crawl through it, but was too high for either of you to reach.

You jumped a couple of times, reaching your arms to the hole and falling short by inches, just to prove the point.

“So,” The Doctor said. “We’re trapped.”

“Excellent observation skills,” you said dryly, but the smile you gave The Doctor was nothing but kind.

“It’s just a slight setback, not a big deal,” she wandered up to where you stood by the wall, under the hole, and shot up on the tips of her toes. “If I gave you a boost,” she said, eyeing the hole with a curious gaze. “Do you think you could pull yourself into the hole and help me up?”

You gaped at her. “Give me a boost, Doctor look at me,” you gestured to yourself. “Can you hold me?”

The Doctor gawped. “Can I hold you?” she recovered quickly. “Timelord strength, it’s disproportional to humans, a bit like ants actually, except Timelords are bigger than ants,” she then tapped the crystal wall. “It’ll be easier to get you up first, and then I can follow, because I can use these to support myself too, and I don’t want to risk you lifting me and getting hurt.”

You softened at her concern, then squared yourself against the wall. You pat the pocket of your pants, making sure your phone was secure. You were grateful that it hadn’t been damaged earlier, and you didn’t want to risk it again. “Alright then, boost me up.”

The first step was quite seamless, considering what happened after. The Doctor crouched into what you could only call a ‘sumo’ squat, and held your hands above her as you stepped onto her legs. You winced as your heavy boots dug into her thighs, hoping that you weren’t hurting her.

“Swing your other leg onto my shoulder,” she told you, and you did so, squeezing her hands to balance. She was surprisingly firm, not wavering at all was you fumbled into position.

You moved your other leg onto her shoulder, and The Doctor accommodated you by moving her arm under your leg so it supported you faster.

From above her, you watched in unabashed awe as she stood up, barely taking a breath. “There we go, that was simple. Easy as.”

You nodded dumbly, trying to ignore the fact that you were literally sitting on The Doctors shoulders, and that you could feel the way her muscles flexed under you as she gripped your hands. This was not the time, this was not the place. You were trapped in a cave for crying out loud!

“Yeah,” you said, a little bit breathless. “Easy.”

The pair of you had gained considerable height with you on The Doctor’s shoulders, and you could easily reach the opening in the wall. You hooked your arms into it, finding some grooves in the bottom of the hole to grip to, and pulled yourself up.

The Doctor knocked your foot with her free hand. “Here,” she said. “If you crouch on my shoulders it should be easier.”

“Right,” you grunted slightly, the exertion hitting you like a brick. With a burn in your arms, you let yourself hang so you could awkwardly coordinate yourself so you were crouching on The Doctor’s shoulders, and she used her hands as a base for your feet as you did so.

With a final pull, you dragged yourself into the opening in the wall. You lay yourself flat on the floor, huffing out a heaving breath as the muscles in your arms and legs burned, just giving yourself a moment where you could temporarily die.

Not that you’d ever voice that particular thought out loud, The Doctor would have a fit.

Below you The Doctor called out your name. “Whenever you’re ready, I could use a hand.”

“Yeah, just a minute,” you replied, and frowned as you pushed yourself back up.

The tunnel was thin, and you had to roll so you could face the other way. You wiggled your way through, until you were facing the entrance, and paused for a moment. The crystals really were quite bright, especially from this angle.

You poked your head out, your eyes locking on onto The Doctor’s. “Hi there,” you grinned.

“Hello,” The Doctor said, and jumped up. You clasped your hands around hers, and were surprised by how light she was.

After a bit of scuffling that involved her using the force of the crystals to get herself up further, and you pulling her into the tunnel, you both managed to tumble inside.

You huffed, letting out a heavy, winded breath. “Well, that was something.”

“Yeah,” The Doctor said next to you, plastered on the floor. “Worked though.”

You snorted. “I might put this on my resumé and become a full time cheerleader.”

“It’d be something,” she said, sitting up as best as she could inside the small tunnel. “Throwing yourself into a vent for your audition,” she paused, staring past you with a frown. “Ah, right. Didn’t think this through.”

You turned to look behind you, seeing nothing but the tunnel, and turned back to face her. “What do you mean?”

“You’re in front of me,” The Doctor gestured to you and the tunnel behind you. “And there’s not enough space for me to move in front of you.”

“Why is that an issue?” Because, really, you didn’t understand. “Is it bad that I’m in front, will that be problematic or something later?”

“Um, it’s not, or – well,” The Doctor groaned. “Okay,” she said, her voice dropping down to the level she used when she was about to say something very serious. “Just, be very careful, crawl slowly, and I’ll be right behind you.”

“Alright,” you said drawing out the word. You wondered briefly if The Doctor could sense something you couldn’t, which, perhaps she could, she was apparently telepathic and all that. “Is something wrong?”

“Ah no, no,” she didn’t sound convincing at all. “Nothing’s the matter.”

“Doctor…”

“I-” she groaned again. “I just can’t protect you as well, if I’m behind you, and I should have thought about that earlier and I didn’t. I’m sorry.”

Oh.

Your heart fluttered a little and you forced yourself not to pay attention. She was The Doctor, of course she wanted you to be safe, she wanted everyone she ever met to be safe.

But still though.

It was nice that she was worried about you.

Not that it was nice that The Doctor was worried, not at all. It was just that it was nice that The Doctor cared enough about you to be worried.

You shut off that particular thought tangent in your mind, it was been a bit of a mess.

“I get where you’re coming from,” you said, because you didn’t want to undermine any of her feeling. Especially because she shared them, and you knew The Doctor found it particularly difficult sometimes to share anything personal. “I am capable though, and it’s like you said, you’re right behind me.”

The Doctor nodded. “Yeah, yep,” and it was almost like she was trying to reassure herself. “Of course.”

You squeezed her forearm lightly to reassure her. “Right, let’s make like a baby and crawl.”

The Doctor snorted, and it brought a lightness to your chest. “Yeah, let’s.”

Small crystals lined the tunnels floor, and it dug into your hand and knees. It hurt, it felt like they were trying to pierce your skin but didn’t actually have the courage to go through with it, and before long your arms and legs were numb.

Your elbows wobbled as you crawled, and most of your energy was focused on just trying to remain level. The Doctor was right behind you, her soft breaths and the way her coat dragged against the crystals the only thing from her that you could hear.

You focused on the music, calling you and drawing you forward. You hoped it wasn’t something nefarious or evil on the other end, like a man eating siren or something (which would be a bummer), because the music just felt so innately part of you, like it clung to your bones and was replicating your soul.

Then the crystals gave way underneath you. With a yelp you tumbled forward, your numb hands flying forward to catch yourself on a crystal that was jutting out in front of where the rest of the floor had collapsed.

The Doctor called out your name, and clamped her hand around your calf.

You huffed out a heavy breath, blowing away some of the dust that the debris had created away from your eyes. “I’m fine,” you reassured her, peering into the cavern below.

“Alright,” The Doctor said, her voice level and serious. “Give me a moment, I’ll think of a way to get you out safely.”

The music played around you, and you cocked your head to the side, considering the cavern below. If you curled up, you could probably roll down safely.

The crystals that had been part of the dirt had fallen away, leaving a smooth, red surface. It’d be like rolling down a grassy hill – almost. But it could work. “It’s alright, I think we’re supposed to go down.”

“No, I can’t let you do that,” The Doctor said, the she groaned. “You shouldn’t have even been the one in front in the first place,” you heard a rustling, like she was shaking herself out of whatever self-admonishment spiral she’d fallen into. “We’ll get you out of this.”

“No wait,” below you, something began to sparkle, a soft, warm, yellow that reminded you of shining a torch through yellow cellophane. It reflected on some of the few blue crystals you could see, making them appear to glow green. “Doctor there’s a light,” you said. “I can see a light.”

The Doctor gripped you tighter and spoke fiercely. “Don’t go towards the light.”

It took you an embarrassing moment to realise that The Doctor thought you meant a different sort of light. You rolled your eyes. “It’s not that sort of light.”

“I don’t want you going towards any sort of light,” she said, matter-of-factly.

The music danced around you and you sighed. “Doc, please. I need you to trust me on this.”

You heard her shuffle behind you, and her grip on your calf tightened ever so slightly. “Of course I trust you – I just really don’t like this plan.”

You couldn’t help it, you snorted. “When have we ever had a plan that was good?”

The Doctor squawked. “Oi, I’ve had loads of good plans, good plans are practically my middle name, my M.O, my defining character trait – well, that and my lego architecture skills, which no one ever seems to talk about. I don’t have a clue what you’re going on about.”

You tried not to grin at her little outburst. “Bucharest, Doc.”

The Doctor huffed. “I’ve apologised about the carnivorous butterflies. Loads of times.”

“Yeah,” you drew out the word. “It proves my point though.”

“I’m sure if we crawl backwards, we can find-“

“Doc,” you interrupted. “The path caved in and there’s no other path for us to use. There’s no other way.”

You could feel the disappointed energy radiating from The Doctor. “Well there’s no need to bring the vibe down like that.”

“Doctor.”

The Doctor let out a long groan, and gently took her hand off your calf. “Alright, fine. But be very careful, and I’ll be right behind you.”

[betweensceneswriter]

Island Hopper-Chapter 17b: Sugar Sickness

Brand new chapter, but out of sequence.  Posted 10-16-2020

Previously Chapter 17: Bitter Jamie and Claire have different ideas about what being back together should look like.

ISLAND HOPPER Table of Contents

Back to work, we meet someone important, and an illness leads to an early parting.

    “Thirsty.  Lukkuun thirsty.  Alap awa.”

    Perkaj’s mother wiped her son’s forehead with a cool washcloth, looking at me with concern.

    “Lukuun kilep.  Now, bery skinny.”

    A group of children—siblings, cousins, and interested neighborhood kids—crowded around the mat where the little boy lay, feverish and unresponsive.  It had taken me several tries to say his name correctly.  Finally a patient cousin had grabbed my hand to get my attention.  “Him name Purr Gus” the little boy had said clearly, smiling as I repeated it.

    My heart had sunk at her first words.  Perkaj was thirsty all the time?  Just that one word had given me a preliminary diagnosis.  I was almost positive it was type I diabetes.  And how was a person to manage type one diabetes out on an outer island?  Spare insulin needed to be kept at a moderate room temperature. Since it didn’t often get above 85°F in the islands, it wouldn’t have to be refrigerated, but it would last longer if kept cool.  And if he ever ran out of it, he could quickly slip into a diabetic coma from high blood sugar.

    That was what appeared to be happening right now.

    I spread open my black bag—an iconic black leather satchel like the doctor’s bags of olden days.  I located the supplies I needed and pulled out the blood sugar monitor from its protective plastic bag, unwrapping a stiff testing strip and slipping it in the slot in the tester, then twisting off the plastic tip of the lancet.

    I heard the intake of breath as the children saw the gleam of the sharp lancet tip and sensed them all bending closer as I picked up Perkaj’s small hand and firmly pricked his fingertip.

    Watching his face for a response, I was grateful to see a shadow pass over his features at the pain.  At least there was a little consciousness still.

    Turning back to my task, I squeezed his finger and watched as the burgundy swell of blood appeared on his skin.  I gestured with my head toward the tester on the mat, and several pairs of small hands reached for it, one child passing it to me so I could meet the testing tip to the droplet of blood.

    A chorus of “ohhhs” was the response as the absorbent testing strip slurped the droplet of blood off Perkaj’s fingertip.

    “I need to be able to see,” I said, hoping my voice wasn’t too sharp.  I didn’t want to hurt their feelings, but all the little heads were blocking the light from outside.

    “Move,” ordered one of the mamas.  “Etal,” she added in Marshallese.   My little audience backed away reluctantly and I breathed a sigh of relief as a gentle breeze of cooler air from outside swept through the small house.

    My fears were confirmed when the tester flashed Perkaj’s current blood sugar level.  615.  Six hundred and fifteen?  Healthy was under 120.  Elevated was anything over 200.  Four hundred was seriously high.  Six hundred?  No wonder the boy, his features slack in unconsciousness, was so feverish.  Perkaj had indeed slipped into a diabetic coma.

    Although my medical bag held a multitude of items, insulin was not one of them.  The small stock of insulin I had was kept in the clinic in a brick enclosure. There may have been no means of refrigeration, but whoever had built the clinic had realized that caves tended to be cooler than the surrounding area and had created—in essence—a small root cellar for storing medicines that were sensitive to temperature.

    “I have to go get medicine,” I said, my Marshallese failing me in the moment of stress.   “Kottar jiddik—wait a little bit—and I’ll be back.”

    Perkaj’s house was in the town of Ine, just a half mile or so from the clinic.  I broke into a jog, trying to ignore the sensation of sharp rocks under the thin rubber of my flip-flops.  The sooner I got some insulin into him, the sooner Perkaj would recover and the fewer side effects he would suffer.

    “I’m not enough,” I panicked as I jogged.  “I don’t know enough.  I recognize diabetes, but I’m not an endocrinologist.  I need a doctor.  Perkaj needs the hospital.”

    The plans for the coming days swirled in my head.  Jamie and John were working on the solar still.  John would be leaving on the Jolok boat tomorrow—he needed to be back to Majuro on Thursday. Jamie and I had planned to ride the fishing boat with Kona on Thursday evening, knowing that our flight didn’t leave until Friday.  We had scheduled a little time for shopping on Majuro Friday morning.  We wouldn’t need a hotel;  Jamie had mentioned our need of a place to stay Thursday night to Mr. MacKenzie before he left on the final leg of the field ship voyage, at which Dougal had grinned and said Revka would be happy to sleep at a friend’s house so we could have her room.

    I was trotting past the Iroij’s palace when I realized I should call the hospital, remembering that the Iroij had one of the two satellite phones on the island.

    I smiled shyly at the man sitting on a chair by the gate into the Iroij’s property.   “Is the Iroij here?” I asked.  My brain scrambled for the words in Marshallese. “Iroij ijin?”

    He nodded toward the house with a low “Ayet, ijo,” and I walked up the white gravel pathway to the Iroij’s door.

    I’m not sure why I was surprised when the Iroij himself opened his door, but I smiled at the stocky man with salt-and-pepper hair cropped short, wearing a sarong and an embroidered island shirt, his outfit completed with bare feet.

    “Miss Beauchamp!” he exclaimed.  “I mean, Mrs. Fraser.”  His smile was warm, and he urged me into the large open room lit by electric lights.  It was a simple building, but in comparison to most of the dwellings on Arno it was lavish.

    “Thank you, Iroi… Sir… Your honor?”

    “Call me Mayor Timisen,” he urged at my apparent discomfort.  He had gestured for me to sit in one of the chairs in the main room, and he leaned forward once we were both seated, urging me to speak.

    I was grateful he spoke such fluent English as I explained to him what seemed to be ailing Perkaj. Although it wasn’t going to cause an instant death, high blood sugar meant that glucose wasn’t getting into the body’s cells, and organ failure was a possible consequence of elevated blood sugar left too long without treatment.

    “Perkaj needs to go to the hospital,” I said.  “Can we use the satellite phone to contact them and ask what we should do?”

    He nodded slowly, then got up and went to his desk, coming back with the chunky black satellite phone. I eyed it with mixed emotions as I watched him dial a number and then hold the phone to his ear.  Just seeing the phone brought back a flurry of remembered events that had led to my first satellite call out here—

    That dark night after my trip to Matolen with Sharbella, I had ridden with Jamie on his bike back to the clinic… later, lying next to him under our makeshift mosquito-net tent—after he'd said it would be inappropriate to hang out in my apartment after dark —we had been looking up at the stars and talking when I’d accidentally called him Frank…

    I remembered the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach when Jamie pulled away from me, and the deepening discomfort a few days later when Angus confronted me about my behavior towards Jamie, when he told me the engagement ring on my finger was about the only part of me that was engaged…

    My heart sank at the memory of the night I took care of baby Maxson when he  was sicker than I could deal with in my primitive clinic, waking the next morning to find that the infant was dead.

    I remembered the pain of Jamie discovering me on the beach and trying to comfort me, only having to force him away.  I could picture him seated on a mat with Rupert and Angus across the gravel-strewn yard at Maxson’s funeral, and I remembered trying to convince Anni and myself that I truly didn’t want him.

    I chuckled as I recalled Anni and that crazy midnight run to the fishing dock on the ocean side to see the miracle of the full moon.  But that joy was followed by Frank’s letter—familiar handwriting crushing my soul as he told me he didn’t want to wait for me, that he was breaking up with me.

    That pain had been followed by the comfort of Jamie’s arms, by tender murmured reassurances and his touch when I went to him in the darkness, desperately needing to not be alone.  And later, I had slept in his bed with him, curling in the hollow of his form, reassured by his even breathing, his warmth, and the solid substance of his body behind me.

    The comfort of Jamie's kindness was replaced by Angus’s disappointed, bitter voice the next morning, accusing me of sleeping with—not just ‘sleeping with’—Jamie, telling me that since I wouldn’t stay away from the young man on my own, he was going to have to take more drastic measures.

    And then I could vividly picture the Iroij standing outside my door, handing me a black phone and telling me the person on the other end was Mr. MacKenzie— that I was being summoned to UniServe headquarters.

    Now I looked at the white gold circle on my right hand for a moment and then back at that boxy black phone held by the Iroij and found myself shaking my head, gratefully astonished at how that story had ended; hoping that this sequence of events would have a similarly positive end.

    Mr. Timisen held the phone out to me then, lifting me out of my deep deja vu.  After taking a breath, I quickly explained the situation to the emergency room physician on the other end of the line.

    “We could try to catch the Jolok boat tomorrow,” I said.  “I have some insulin.  I could administer it and try to monitor his blood sugar, but I’m concerned that if I gave him too much, he could die.  And he has a high temperature and is almost unresponsive—he can’t stay at this blood sugar level without doing drastic damage to his organs.”

    There was static on the line and I wondered if the connection had been severed, but then the doctor’s calming voice came back on.

    “We can’t do much until you get the patient here, unfortunately,” the physician said. “Administer insulin and monitor his blood sugar. Perhaps the Iroij could charter a private flight so you could get here sooner.”

    The conversation was loud enough that the Iroij heard the request.  He nodded to me reassuringly, reaching for the phone and bidding the physician farewell, then dialing another number and having a brief conversation in Majel.  I assumed he was calling the Majuro airport.

    “The plane could meet you at the landing strip beyond Jabo.  Are you able to transport the patient there by truck?”

    I nodded, then told the physician that we could get him to the landing strip within an hour and a half.  Mayor Timisen smiled reassuringly at me, going into the hallway and calling out into one of the other rooms.  In a few moments, a young man entered.  At Mr. Timisen’s terse command, he quickly trotted away, I assumed to go locate the island truck.

    “Can you travel with him?” the physician asked me over the phone.  “The plane has room for the patient and a parent, but a doctor or nurse should go along as well.”

    “Don’t you send a nurse or EMT out on the plane?” I asked.

    “Not unless it’s a heart attack or severe injury.  We’re understaffed as it is,” he responded.

    With a few last directions, the doctor and I hung up, and Mr. Timisen assured me that they would bring the truck to the clinic to pick me up and then take my patient to the air strip on the way towards Arno Arno.

    As anxious as I was feeling, I was actually grateful to run the rest of the way home. I felt calmer knowing that I would soon be getting Perkaj to a hospital where he would have the round-the-clock monitoring I was incapable of providing on my own.  

    After unlocking the clinic, with shaking hands I removed the vials of insulin from the medication locker.  Making sure I had syringes and a few glucose packets to counteract the effects of accidentally giving Perkaj too much insulin, I locked up the clinic and entered the apartment.

    What was I supposed to take with me?  I hadn’t yet packed my big suitcase for Guam, so I threw a few dresses, bras, and pairs of panties in a backpack, along with my conditioner and skincare bag. Then I pulled my larger suitcase from under the bed and loaded it as quickly as I could, though I couldn’t tell if I had what I needed for our trip.  I’d been planning on a leisurely evening of packing once I had been done for the day at the clinic. An evening of packing, followed by some more quality time with my husband…

    My heart sunk at that thought.  My memories of those days of sadness without Jamie had made me long to be close to him again.  As I remembered that night when Frank broke up with me, I could almost sense Jamie’s warm comfort next to me in his bed.  And today, helplessly looking at Perkaj lying limp and unresponsive on the mat on the floor had brought back those feelings of powerlessness I had felt with baby Maxson.  I could feel my need for Jamie in the pit of my stomach, but I steeled myself. This was a time I was going to be strong without him.

    But I couldn’t just leave without telling Jamie where I was going.  I went out to the side yard where I discovered him and John working, the two men standing in remarkably similar positions with arms crossed, heads cocked to one side, looking in puzzlement at the structure in front of them.  It looked a little like a terrarium or sunroom, with a slanting glass roof on top of an enclosed wooden box. As I watched, they each moved a few steps to the right, resuming the same quizzical posture when they stopped. I chuckled at their incidental resemblance, the tall, broad-shouldered, auburn-haired Scot and his slighter, dark-haired Marshallese friend.

    “Claire, come see,” Jamie said, ushering me over and pulling me under his arm.  “We put an inch or so of well water into the reservoir there,” he explained, drawing me toward the structure and pointing at the shallow pan that stretched the entire length and width of the base of the still.  “The water soaks up into the black cloth draped over those blocks, which heat in the sun and then the water evaporates from the fabric, traveling upward as the heat rises.”

    “But the sloping glass ceiling traps the moisture inside the still,” John continued as he came close on my other side, “and as the air outside is cooler, it condenses on the inside of the glass.”

    “We’re trying to figure out the right angle for the glass,” Jamie said, “so that the water doesn’t drip back into the pan but instead dribbles down the glass and finally into this channel,”—here he pointed at a sloping half-pipe near the lowest part of the glass, cupped upward underneath a line of something that looked like clear caulk, where the droplets of water that had snaked their way down the glass-collecting surface were stopped from sliding further, growing into larger and larger reservoirs until their weight overpowered the surface tension and gravity forced them to fall.  I could see a thin stream of water in the bottom of the pipe, slowly flowing toward the place where the pipe exited the still and entered flexible tubing threaded into the top of a large water jug on the ground.

    “It looks great babe,” I said, finally grabbing Jamie’s arm to stop him.  “But I don’t have time right now.  I have to take a plane to the Majuro hospital,” I said quickly, before he could speak.

    “What?” he exclaimed with an involuntary squeeze closer to him, looking me up and down as if I were the one injured.  “Have ye been hurt?”

    “No, it’s Perkaj,” I said.  “You’ve mentioned how Rupert said he’s been losing weight the last few months and hasn’t had much energy at school.  Well, there’s a reason for it.  I’m almost positive he’s diabetic!”

    From the look on his face, I could see it hadn’t completely sunk in yet, but when the truck pulled up in front of the house at that very moment, Jamie questioned me again.  “Truly?  You are leaving now?  You are going to Majuro? Today?”

    I nodded quickly, slinging the strap of my backpack over one shoulder. “I started packing my suitcase for Christmas, but I’m sure I’ve forgotten something.  Can you finish packing for me?

    Jamie had his hand around my upper arm, a grip that expressed what he couldn’t seem to be able to say.  His forehead was wrinkled, his face clearly communicating that he objected to my departure.

    “I’ve gotta go, babe,” I said, beginning to move toward the truck. “I’ll see you tomorrow evening when you get to Majuro on the fish boat?”

    Jamie still looked bewildered, but a sudden certainty flooded over his face and he took two quick steps to me and crushed me in his arms.

    “Be safe,” he murmured into my hair. “I canna believe I’m losing ye again so soon.”

    Gently pushing me out to arm’s length, he met my eyes.  “I love ye, hen,” he said, stooping to firmly kiss me on the lips once more before urging me toward the waiting vehicle.  John and Jamie followed me as I went to the truck, and Jamie offered a hand as I climbed up into the bed of the pickup.

    “I love you too,” I mouthed, blowing him a kiss as the truck drove off nearly before I’d settled myself on the truck bed.  He watched, waving until I couldn’t see him anymore.

    Once at Perkaj’s house, I waded through the crowd of concerned well-wishers, thankful for Mayor Timisen’s ability to translate and explain to Perkaj’s family what we were doing.  The biggest challenge was determining which family member should travel along with the boy.  Perkaj’s mother was eliminated as a good option because the boy had several younger siblings, one of which was a nursing infant.  I couldn’t follow the entire conversation, but Mr. Timisen also explained to me that Perkaj’s father was out fishing and wouldn’t be back until dark.  After some rapid fire conversations in Marshallese, it was determined that his auntie Maria—a lovely girl of around twenty—would come along with Perkaj so he had family to watch over him.

    As the family had debated who would travel with Perkaj, I had re-tested his blood sugar.  Finding it still over six hundred, I gave him eight units of fast-acting insulin, hoping that each unit would drop his blood sugar by about 50.  I knew the ride to the air strip would take a half hour or so, and expected the helicopter ride to Majuro to be about the same.  I would continue to monitor Perkaj’s blood sugar level as we traveled, but I could feel my agitation easing at the promise of a more updated facility and an ICU where my young patient’s progress could be closely monitored.

    The process of transferring Perkaj to the truck was accomplished by a group of four young men who gripped the corners of the woven pandanus mat on which Perkaj had been sleeping, and using it like a stretcher, carried him out to the truck and unceremoniously slid the mat into the bed of the truck. I had grabbed a blanket from my house so we could cover him and then his auntie and I sat on either side of him to keep him from rolling as the truck drove down the bumpy island road.

    When we reached the air strip, I got out of my cramped sitting position.  I tested Perkaj’s blood sugar again and was pleased to see that it had dropped, but not with such rapidity that I would have to worry about his sugar level getting dangerously low..  

    I’d traveled over the air strip several times since my arrival on the island.  Each time we’d gone on the Jolok boat, the time I’d heading out on the Field Ship trip, and then returning back home again all necessitated driving through that narrow stretch of the island.  But this time it wasn’t as green as I remembered from my first arrival on the island.  The grass on either side of the wide-open swath of land was yellowed, a sign of the continuing drought.

    Maria smiled at me as I stretched and bent over to touch my toes, preparing for another half hour or more of sitting in a cramped position before arriving in Majuro.  She was patting Perkaj’s hand gently, her forehead wrinkling as she looked at his expressionless face.

    “He will be okay?” she asked.   “Ejjab mej?”

    “Ejab malele,” I said sadly, shaking my head.  “I really don’t know if he will die.  But I hope not.”  I tried to smile for her.

    By the time we had been loaded onto the plane with Perkaj strapped onto a gurney that was then locked into place, he was moaning.  Though it sounded worse, and though his face wrinkled more furiously when I again pricked another finger to test his blood sugar, I was relieved to see the gradual signs of a return to consciousness.  

    Before we landed at the Majuro airport, Perkaj’s blood sugar had dropped to 420, which although still horrible, was a significant improvement.

    There was an ambulance waiting for us on the runway. As we rode the twenty minutes to the hospital, I briefed the EMT on Perkaj’s symptoms.  He tested Perkaj’s blood sugar again and I was glad to see it had dropped yet a few more points.

    By midnight I was beyond tired.  I had sat, holding Perkaj and Maria’s hands, trying to understand the Marshallese explanations given by the medical professionals, trying to reassure the young Marshallese girl that her nephew was going to recover.  I was weary but grateful that Perkaj’s blood sugar was at a reasonable level.

    “Lass, why dinna you come to our house for the night,” said a familiar voice.

    “Mr. MacKenzie?” I asked.  This time Dougal seemed completely unsurprised when I stood and hugged him.  In fact, he even patted my back gently before releasing me and picking up my backpack. Speaking briefly to Maria, he took me by the hand and led me from the hospital.

    I was so exhausted I refused the offers of food made by Moneo.  I simply slipped off my sandals, lay down on the couch in the living room, pulled a light blanket over myself and fell asleep.

    Something about being on Dougal’s couch brought back such intense memories that all night I dreamed of cuddling next to Jamie the night after we got engaged.  One dream-memory was so vivid that it startled me awake.

    In the middle of that night after our sudden decision to get married I had found myself tossing and turning on the mat on the floor in Revka’s room. You’re an impulsive idiot, my brain told me. This is a rebound.  You don’t really want to marry Jamie—you just didn't want to lose him as a friend.

    I had gotten up as quietly as possible and slipped through Revka’s door, standing in the darkened living room trying to let my eyes get used to the darkness.

    “What’re ye doin’?” a deep voice murmured from the couch.

    “You’re awake?” I asked, moving a few steps forward.

    “Canna sleep,” he responded.  I could see a faint movement as he scooted over on the couch, and I tiptoed to him, finding his hand reaching out to me to guide me around the coffee table.

    “Here,” he said, drawing me down to lie on the edge of the couch in front of him and covering me with the blanket. “Though I dinna ken whether having ye next to me is going to make sleep come any more readily.”

    “I’m not out here to make out with you,” I said bluntly. “I’m just… having second thoughts.”

    “Ye dinna have to marry me,” he said without hesitation, though his muscles had tensed at my words. “Dinna feel guilty if you’ve thought better of it and have changed your mind.”

    “Are you having second thoughts as well?” I asked him.

    He hesitated.  “No,” he said calmly.  I could feel him shaking his head behind me.

    I scoffed in disbelief.  “Why not?” I asked.

    He sighed, and I could feel his chest expand against my back. “Do you believe in providence?” Jamie asked slowly.

    “Providence—like a good coincidence?” I asked.

    “Not exactly… Providence—as in, an act of God.  Something that canna be explained away with logic.”

    “Maybe,” I responded.  “I’m not sure.”

    “In the month before you came to Arno,” he said, his voice a husky rumble in my ear, “I found a letter from my ma.  She had tucked it inside the Holy Bible she gave me on my first confirmation.”

    “What did it say?” I asked, curious.  I knew his mother had passed away when he was a teenager, so I knew her words would matter to him.

    “She told me that while I should have in mind the things I wanted in a wife, that I might be surprised at what God provided. But she also told me that she had prayed for the partner of my future, and that I should do the same.”

    “And did you?” I asked in surprise, turning my face to look at him over my shoulder.

    “I did,” he said simply.

    “You started praying for your wife a month before I came to Arno,” I repeated, stunned.

    “Aye,” he said. “Every day.” I could see the smile on his face despite it being dark in the living room.

    “So I appeared, and you saw an answer to your prayers?” I asked, amusement edging into my voice.

    “No, actually.  I thought he would choose a local girl for me,” Jamie explained.  “When you arrived, I mostly saw a kind nurse who was clueless about island mores and desperately needed a friend.” At that, he leaned in and kissed me on the tip of my nose.

    I pushed him away in mock disgust. “You pitied me?"

    “Ye didna need to be pitied?” he asked, pulling me closer.

    “Well, I was clueless,” I agreed, settling into his arms again, only slightly perturbed at him.

    “And engaged,” Jamie added.

    “That too,” I said. I felt a sudden ache in the pit of my stomach. “Unavailable, as far as you were concerned.”

    “Well…” Jamie continued, “As for that, I wasna exactly convinced.”

    I remembered the way he had asked me about Frank on the ocean side dock the day we did laundry together… And how I couldn't answer him, how I couldn't bring myself to say that I loved my fiance.

    Jamie caressed my arm, running his fingers lightly from elbow to shoulder to neck.  When he brushed my hair aside and leaned forward to press his lips beneath my ear, I shivered.

    “Dinna fash,” he said.

    “What does that mean?” I had asked, turning to him again.

    “Don’t worry yourself,” he answered.  “Trust.”

    “Trust?” I had asked.

    “Providence doesna always make sense, but I believe this has all worked out as it should. And it will continue to work out because He is in it.”    

    With that reassurance again running through my mind, a ghost of his kiss on my neck, I wrapped myself in my blanket and slept the rest of the night.

Next chapter is officially  Chapter 18: Hopping to Guam Jamie loves plane trips about as much as he loves boat trips.