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furioussheepluminary · 3 months ago

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𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐨𝐜𝐨𝐥

Pairing: ex!FBIagent!Chan x FBIagent!afab!reader, slow burn, strangers to reluctant allies, nonidol au

Synopsis: he died. Everyone believed he did. But you found out. And whether you like it or not, keeping you alive is now his job.

Warnings: violence, onomatopoeia, switching btwn chris and chan (but its the same person), russian (there will be translations), mullet chan...

a/n: I liked this piece a lot actually, and I hope you do. dw, there will be more parts (relax...), uhh my longest so far? 5k words? yeahh..if you have extra eyes for errors, no you don't.

next...

Christopher Bang is dead.

The world had been convinced that Christopher Bang was dead.

His funeral was quiet, attended only by select FBI agents and a few grieving colleagues. A closed casket. No family to claim him. A legend reduced to whispers in the hallways of Quantico. They said he died in an operation gone wrong, a noble sacrifice to protect the country. Christopher Bang had never been an ordinary FBI agent. He was a prodigy—recruited young, trained hard, and shaped into one of the Bureau’s finest operatives. His reputation was legendary, whispered in briefing rooms and hushed conversations. He was the kind of agent you sent when failure wasn’t an option. His career had been built on precision, unwavering loyalty, and an unshakable sense of justice. He wasn’t just good at his job; he was the job. His instincts were lethal, his mind sharper than the blade he always carried strapped to his thigh. From high-profile kidnappings to dismantling international crime syndicates, Chan had seen it all. And for a while, he believed in the mission. Believed in the Bureau.

Until he didn’t.

The cracks had always been there, but Chris only started noticing them after Operation Nightfall. Nightfall was supposed to be routine—an undercover mission to infiltrate an arms smuggling ring with direct ties to high-ranking officials. The Bureau had been tracking them for years, their operations spanning across borders, feeding civil wars, and keeping global conflict at a steady boil. This was supposed to be the mission that brought them down. Chan had spent months buried deep in the criminal underworld, assuming the alias of a ruthless gunrunner. He had earned their trust, gathered intelligence, and secured evidence that could take down some of the most powerful players in the game including politicians and government officials who were supposed to be on his side.

That was his mistake.

Because when the time came for the bust, nothing went as planned. The moment his team stormed the compound; they were met with bullets. Not from the criminals, but from their own men. The FBI’s tactical unit, the very people meant to back him up, had turned their guns on him and his informant. It was a hit. Chan barely made it out alive. His informant, his only lead to the bigger players and his best friend, was executed in front of him, and he had been left for dead in the chaos. A staged accident. A casualty of war. But Chan had survived. Wounded, disoriented, and betrayed, he disappeared into the underground before the Bureau could finish the job.

It took weeks for him to recover, to put the pieces together. The truth was uglier than he could have imagined. The people he had trusted had sold him out to protect their interests. He had two choices: fight back and risk everything, or disappear.

Chan chose to disappear.

Faking his death wasn’t easy, it never was but it was the only way to move undetected. He had to erase Christopher Bang from existence. Burn his past. Cut ties. He left behind no body, no trace, nothing for the Bureau to track. The world mourned him, but he watched from the shadows. And from those shadows, he did what he did best.

The glow of your desk lamp cast long shadows across the scattered case flies, illuminating worn folders that had become your life for the past three weeks. The first time you saw Christopher Bang; he was nothing more than a file on your desk. You didn’t mean to stumble onto his case. It had been a late night at the office, one of those quiet, lonely shifts where the air smelled like stale coffee and ink-stained fingertips. Fewer voices, more room to think. Most agents had gone home, the bullpen dimly lit by the glow of monitors. You had been assigned to a different case—routine arms trafficking, nothing out of the ordinary. But in the midst of your research, his name popped up not once and that didn’t sit right with you. At first, it was a footnote. A long-forgotten alias linked to an offshore account. It should have been nothing just another dead man’s forgotten assets. But then, the details started to unravel, one thread at a time. The account had been accessed recently. Money had moved. And whoever had moved it knew exactly what they were doing.

Your fingers tapped rhythmically against the keyboard of your system as you scrolled through classified financial records, piecing together a puzzle that didn’t quite fit. The deeper you dug, the more the numbers twisted into a dead end. As you combed through the financial web, his name resurfaced again. Your breath hitched.

“Ok, what the actual fuck?”

The world buried that name two years ago but here it was, tied to a forgotten alias buried in offshore transactions. “Thats impossible.” You turned in your chair toward the stack of classified files and papers piled on your other desk. Quickly, your flipped through the pages and pushed aside other papers. The alias wasn’t obvious, Chan had been careful but when you spotted it, you knew. The name was one you had come across years ago during a different case, linked to a false identity the Bureau once used for deep-cover work. An alias that had supposedly died along with him. Yet here it was alive and well, funnelling money through ghost accounts. The neatly organised system you prided yourself on was gone, replaced by a frantic need to confirm what you already feared.

“Come on, come on...” you muttered, flipping again past cases that had long since gone cold. The scent of ink and the faint musk of time filled your senses as you pulled open another manila folder, the edges frayed from years of handling. And when you saw it, your pulse spiked.

FBI CLASSIFIED: CONFIDENTIAL – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY

BANG, CHRISTOPHER CHAN

Stamped in bold red ink across the top was a single word that now could’ve been a lie.

DECEASED

Swallowing hard, you spread the contents across your desk. A black and white photo of Chan stared back at you, his badge clipped neatly to his suit, a small smirk playing at the edge of his lips.

Name: Bang, Christopher

Alias(es): Phantom, K-Strike, Shadow OP

Date Of Birth: October 3, 1997

Place of Birth: Sydney, Australia

Nationality: Australian/Korean

Last Known Rank: Senior Special Agent – FBI covert Operations Unit

Specialization: Deep cover infiltration, counterterrorism, tactical reconnaissance, financial crimes, high-risk asset extraction

Status: Deceased (as per Bureau records, declared KIA during Operation Nightfall, 2023)

You glanced through the pages of his physical and psychological evaluation, very impressed by his results. On his classified operations list, Nightfall was disclosed as a failed mission declaring his KIA, which should have solidified his name as a martyr in the agency’s war against organised crime. People who die in the field don’t get forgotten so quickly. When you reached the last page however, a small text at the bottom was handwritten which stood out to you;

FILE STATUS: ARCHIVED

NOTICE: Any activity involving this alias or financial transactions linked to Agent Bang should be considered a breach of classified intelligence. Further investigation requires authorization from the Director’s Office.

Signed, M. Reynolds.

You grabbed his mission report, flipping through the pages searching for what you might have missed. Nightfall had always seemed too clean on paper. A mission that ended in disaster, yet conveniently wrapped itself up without loose ends. No body recovered. No autopsy. No real proof of death, only ‘witness reports’; a term that had been conveniently vague. You stomach twisted as you skimmed the list of operatives present during his last assignment. A few familiar names, including higher-ups who were still active in the Bureau today. And one name in particular...

Deputy Director M. Reynolds.

You stiffened. Reynolds had been the one to officially close Chan’s case. If Chan had supposedly faked his death, Reynolds either knew about it or it was one of the reasons he disappeared in the first place.

The weight of the situation dwelled heavily on your chest. You weren’t just looking at a missing agents financial trail. You had reopened a case the Bureau had long since buried. And if you weren’t careful, you’d be buried alongside it.

Deputy Marcus Reynolds was once one of the most respected figures in the Bureau a man who built his career from bringing down high-profile syndicates. But Chan had seen what others hadn’t: the cracks in his so-called justice. Their relationship had always been tense. Reynolds saw Chan as an asset useful but too unpredictable. Chan, on the other hand, never trusted Reynolds, especially after noticing discrepancies in classified reports. The deeper Chan dug, the cleared it became Reynolds wasn’t just complicit in the corruption; he was orchestrating it. His last mission, Nightfall, had been an evident setup. The intel had been too clean and easy. As if someone wanted him in the field open and vulnerable. But when it went sideways, Chan realized too late, that he was the target. And he had to disappear.

Reynolds closed the case within 72 hours, an unusually fast decision for a high-ranking agent’s death. Because if Christopher Bang was dead, he couldn’t expose what he knew.

The next few weeks were a blur of late nights and hushed conversations. You moved quietly, off the books, following leads that didn’t exist. It was dangerous work digging where you weren’t supposed to. But you had always trusted your instincts, and your instincts told you something was very wrong. You kept this new discovery to yourself of course, exposing it may open multiple Pandora’s boxes that couldn’t be closed. You didn’t know why you chased him. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was something darker, the need to understand why a man like that would fake his own death. Or maybe, deep down, you knew that whatever he had been running from was still out there. The breakout came unexpectedly. Against the dim glow of your laptop casting shadows across your apartment walls. While cross-referencing transaction time stamps with recent disappearances, you noticed a pattern- each financial movement coincided with a known safehouse burning to the ground. It was subtle, almost untraceable, but not for you. When you saw it you knew. Christopher was surviving. Amongst all the locations you had scouted one hadn’t been touched yet. An old decommissioned safehouse outside the city; a place you remembered from your early years at the Bureau. Officially, it had been abandoned after an op went sideways and unofficially could be Chan’s hideout. If he was still alive.

You grabbed your gear- a discreet sidearm, burner phone, flashlight, and the flash drive with all the evidence. The drive that proved the Bureaus corruption against Chan and why he had to disappear. The drive that could get you both killed.

The night air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth as you navigated the overgrown path toward the building. It stood hidden between skeletal trees, its exterior worn by time, but the security measures were still intact. A rusted fence. Motion-triggered floodlights ones that shouldn’t work but flickered on as soon as you stepped closer. He was here you were so sure of it. Your breath came shallow as you approached the side entrance, pressing against the damp wall. The door had been reinforced new locks, fresh welding along the hinges. Not abandoned at all. He’s careful.

You reached into your pocket, pulling out a small USB device. It wasn’t the evidence neither was it just a tool; it was bait. Plugging it into the old security panel, you let it do its job—overloading the system for a brief five-second window. It was all the time you needed.

Click. The lock disengaged. Heart pounding, you stepped inside. The interior smelled of dust and aged wood, but there were signs of recent use—a makeshift bed, scattered papers, a half-empty glass of water on the counter. A map was pinned to the wall, red markings circling names you recognized. People who had gone missing. People the Bureau wouldn’t miss. People Chan had eliminated. Then, movement.

A whisper of sound behind you. Before you could react, an arm wrapped around your throat, pressing just hard enough to warn, not to harm. A gun was at your temple, the cold steel sending a shiver down your spine.

"Who sent you?" The voice was deep, familiar. You swallowed hard. "You did." A pause. His grip didn’t loosen, but he didn’t pull the trigger either.

"You should have stayed away," he murmured.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. Dark. Calculating. But underneath it all—a flicker of something else. Something human. "I couldn’t," you whispered. "Because you didn’t."

A sharp exhale—barely a whisper—was the only warning you had before you were tackled to the ground. The impact knocked the breath from your lungs as your wrists were wrenched behind your back, pinned in an unbreakable grip. The cold press of a gun barrel met the back of your skull, and the weight of a solid, muscular frame held you immobile against the dusty floor.

"One last time," a deep voice murmured above you, low and lethal. "Who sent you?"

You gritted your teeth, twisting slightly beneath him. "No one." A pause. The weight above you shifted slightly, but the gun didn’t move.

"Third times a charm, princess. Try again."

His voice was cold, but something about it struck you—not just familiarity, but certainty. You had found him.

"Bang Chan," you rasped. "I found you." That was the wrong thing to say. The grip on your wrists tightened, his knee pressing into your lower back with just enough force to make your ribs groan. You clenched your jaw to keep from gasping. "Yeah?" he mused, almost mocking. "And how exactly did you manage that?"

You sucked in a breath, your pulse thrumming against the barrel of his gun. "Your offshore accounts," you admitted. "One of your old aliases popped up in my case files. I traced the transactions—saw the pattern. You're covering your tracks, but you missed one."

A slow exhale. He was processing. Then, suddenly, he yanked you up. Your legs scrambled for footing as he hauled you to your feet with an ease that sent a shiver down your spine. He spun you around, and for the first time, you got a good look at him. His hair was longer now—jet black, damp at the ends, curling slightly at the nape of his neck. It fell into his sharp eyes, barely concealing the raw intensity burning behind them. The years had refined him, hardened him—his jawline sharper, his muscles defined beneath the tight black shirt clinging to his frame. He adjusted his grip on his gun, holding it lazily by his side but never out of reach.

But what struck you the most was the way he was looking at you. Like he was deciding whether to kill you or let you live. "Prove it," he ordered, his voice softer but no less dangerous. Your breath hitched. "I have proof of the Bureau’s corruption. On a flash drive. I brought it with me." His gaze flickered—just for a moment—before hardening again. He exhaled sharply through his nose, then abruptly released you, shoving you back slightly. "Don’t follow me next time," he muttered before turning away.

Your heart still pounded as you watched him move, muscles flexing beneath his shirt as he returned to whatever he had been doing before your arrival.

You took a step forward. "You're just going to pretend this didn’t happen?"

"Yes."

"Are you serious right now?"

"Yes."

Your frustration flared. "So, what, you’re just gonna keep hiding in the shadows? Killing off whoever you think deserves it?" Chan finally looked at you again, his expression unreadable. "That’s what ghosts do." A beat of silence stretched between you before he turned away again. "You should go back to where you came from," he said, voice quieter this time.

But you didn’t move. Because now that you had found him, there was no way in hell you were letting him disappear again.

Chan had stripped off his tight black shirt, revealing the sharp, battle-worn lines of his torso—faint scars cutting across his chest and shoulders like remnants of a past he didn’t care to remember. He pulled a clean, loose shirt over his head before dropping into his chair, exhaling as he propped his combat-booted feet onto the wooden desk. A plastic bag of heated ramen sat beside him, the faint steam curling up as he ripped open the top. The scent of instant broth filled the air, and with a slow, almost lazy motion, he dug his chopsticks in, slurping up a mouthful without a care in the world.

But when he turned his head, there you were. Still standing. Arms crossed. Stubborn as ever.

His chewing slowed. "Why the hell are you still here?"

"I'm not leaving without an explanation." Your voice was firm, unwavering. Chan let out an amused scoff, flicking his eyes away as he continued eating. "Not my problem."

"It is," you shot back. "You disappeared. You faked your own death. People thought you were murdered, Chan."

His expression didn’t change. He didn’t even pause, still chewing. "And?"

"You don't get to just vanish without an answer," she pressed, stepping forward. "You were one of the best agents we had. Then one day, you’re gone? What was I supposed to think?" Chan finally lowered his chopsticks, resting them on the rim of the ramen cup. His fingers drummed against his thigh as he exhaled slowly through his nose. Then, with a lazy, almost bored movement, he reached for the gun beside him. The soft click of the chamber sent a chill down your spine.

Without lifting his feet from the desk, he cocked the gun and aimed it directly at you. "You should go," he murmured, voice laced with quiet threat.

Your breath hitched, but you didn’t back down. "You’re not going to shoot me." Chan tilted his head slightly, something dark flickering in his eyes. And then—

BANG.

The sound shattered through the room. A sharp sting cut across her cheek as the bullet tore through the window behind her, the glass shattering into a thousand shards. A thin line of warmth traced down her skin—a graze. He had aimed for the perfect near miss. Your breath hitched, heart hammering as she stared at him in disbelief.

Chan twirled the gun in his fingers before leveling it back at you, still slouched in his chair.

"I don’t bluff, darling," he murmured, lips curling into a smirk.

The weight of his gaze pinned you to the spot, daring you to make your next move. But you wernt going anywhere. And by the way Chan’s lips curled into a smirk, he knew too. The silence stretched between both of you, thick and suffocating only broken by the soft plink of glass shards hitting the floor behind you.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t take a single step back. Instead, you exhaled sharply, leveling your gaze with his, voice steady. "Fine then," she said, brushing a thumb over the fresh graze on her cheek. "I guess I’ll just go back and tell Reynolds where you are. Let him know his little ghost isn’t as dead as everyone thinks—"

The reaction was immediate. Chan’s boots hit the floor with a solid thud as he swung his feet off the desk. His once lazy posture vanished as he stood, slow and deliberate, the air around him shifting into something darker. His expression didn’t change—no anger, no frustration—just a cold calculation in his eyes as he started toward her.

"You see, that’s where you make your first mistake." His voice was smooth, deceptively calm, as he took another step forward. "You think Reynolds is the one pulling the strings."

Your jaw tightened, but you didn’t respond. Chan smirked. "Your second mistake? Threatening me. You don’t have the leverage you think you do, sweetheart." Another step. He was close now, towering over her. She could see the sharp lines of his face, the way the dim light cast shadows beneath his jawline.

"And your third mistake?" He tilted his head slightly, gaze flicking down as he scoffed. "Letting me get this close."

She stiffened, but he didn’t move—just watched her, eyes scanning every inch of her like he was reading her next move before she even made it. Then, his voice dropped lower.

"How long have you been in the agency?"

She swallowed, keeping her stance firm. "Five years."

"Hm." He studied her, gaze lingering on hers a moment too long. "And in those five years, did you ever stop to wonder why you care so much about this?" She narrowed her eyes. "Because you disappeared. Because none of this makes sense, and every time I get close to an answer, another door shuts in my face."

Chan hummed, considering her words. His gaze flickered between her eyes like he was searching for something.

"And?" he pressed, voice barely above a whisper now.

She exhaled. "And because you were one of us. One of the best. If they turned on you, who’s to say they won’t turn on me next?"

That made him pause. For the first time since she walked in, something flickered across his expression—something almost unreadable. He was quiet for a moment, the distant sound of the city outside the only thing between them.

Then, in a tone laced with something far heavier than before, he murmured, "They already have."

Chan’s gaze flickered back to her, something sharp settling behind his dark eyes. "What’s your name?"

You hesitated for only a second before responding. “Y/N.” He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head as he walked back toward his desk. Chan exhaled, running a hand through his hair before turning his attention back to her. "Tell me something. Did you tell anyone about this little research project of yours?"

You straightened. "No."

He let out another humourless chuckle. "You should’ve left it alone. Left me alone. Whatever you found, whatever little breadcrumbs you were following, you should’ve buried them. I was doing just fine in the dark." Your jaw clenched. "I'd rather work under the right leaders than serve corruption."

He stopped, tilting his head slightly. He was about to respond when—

A voice. Muffled, hushed yells from outside. His entire posture snapped into something rigid, head whipping toward the sound before his gaze cut back to you, something deadly brewing beneath his calm exterior. "You cleared your tracks, didn’t you?" His tone was laced with sarcasm, but his eyes told a different story, survival mode kicking in.

"I did," you shot back, but even as you said it, her stomach twisted. Had you been wrong? Had you been followed? Chan scoffed, already moving. "Of course you did."

Then, instinct kicked in. He grabbed a duffel bag from beneath the desk, moving swiftly, shoving in stacks of cash, fake passports, and a few flash drives you barely caught a glimpse of. He zipped the bag, yanking open a drawer and pulling out two guns, checking the clips before tucking them into his waistband. The voices outside grew closer. Chan turned to her, jaw tightening. "See what you’ve caused?" Before she could respond,

CRACK!

A bullet shattered through the window. Her body froze for half a second, but Chan was faster. He yanked you down, his grip firm as another round of shots rang out, tearing through the walls. "You just had to come looking for ghosts, didn’t you?" His breath was hot against her ear, voice low and edged with frustration.

You didn’t have time to argue. Not when the next shot nearly clipped the spot where she was just standing. The sound of heavy boots against concrete echoed through the abandoned building, growing closer with each passing second. Mixed in with the rapid orders were voices speaking in clipped Russian. Chan’s body went rigid.

"Чистите здание!" Sweep the building!

His jaw locked. His fingers twitched around the grip of his gun, the muscle in his temple ticking as he processed. Russians. He cursed under his breath. His gaze flicked to her. "Stay close, don’t do anything stupid." You opened your mouth to respond, but he didn’t give you the chance.

With practiced ease, he slung the duffel over his shoulder, grabbed your wrist, and yanked your toward the back of the room where the garage was. Another voice cut through the air. "Если увидите его—убить сразу." If you see him—kill him immediately.

Chan’s grip on you tightened. "Move.”

The gunfire had stopped, for a while but Chan knew better than to think they were safe. The silence was worse—it meant they were moving, repositioning. The Russians didn’t shoot blindly; they cornered their targets like hunters. He pulled her through the darkened hallways of the safe house. The air was thick with dust, the only light coming from the flickering emergency bulbs that barely held power. His pace was quick, calculated, and she had no choice but to keep up.

They burst into the garage, Chan’s boots crunching against the concrete floor as he beelined for the nearest car. He didn’t care which one just one with gas and working tires. He threw the duffel bag into the backseat, yanked the driver’s door open, and turned to you.

“Get in.”

You hesitated. Only for a second. But he wasn’t in the mood for second-guessing.

“Now.”

There was something about the sharpness in his voice, the raw edge of urgency, that made you obey. You slid into the passenger seat, barely buckling up before the roar of the engine cut through the silence. Chan reversed so fast that the tires screeched, burning rubber as he whipped the car around and sped toward the exit. The second they burst onto the empty road, the garage door behind them rattled. A second too late—the Russians had reached the safe house, but they were already gone.

His hands tightened around the wheel, jaw clenching as he forced his breathing to steady. But Y/N wasn’t stupid you saw the shift in his composure. The rigid tension in his shoulders, the flicker of something dangerous behind his eyes.

“Who were they?” you asked, your voice steady despite the lingering adrenaline.

Chan didn’t answer immediately. He exhaled sharply through his nose, gripping the wheel until his knuckles turned white. “Since I became a ghost and not dead, someone put a bounty on my head.”

“A bounty?” She blinked, processing. “By who?” He hesitated, just for a beat. Then, his lips curled into something bitter. “A former Russian cartel.”

Silence.

“Wait? A Russian mafia?!”

Chan rolled his eyes, his grip flexing on the steering wheel. “Oh, don’t sound so shocked, sweetheart.” You turned in your seat, still trying to wrap her head around it. “You mean to tell me you pissed off the Russians? The same ones who wipe out entire families without blinking? And you thought, what? That they’d just let you go?”

He shot her a look, unimpressed. “I did die, remember?” He tapped his fingers against the wheel. “They weren’t supposed to know I was still breathing.”

“But they do know,” she pressed. “No shit.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I should’ve expected it.”

She stared at him for a moment, piecing it together. “What did you do to them?”

Chan didn’t answer immediately. His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking there. The headlights illuminated the stretch of road ahead, but he wasn’t seeing it—his mind was elsewhere.

“Something they don’t forgive,” he murmured. And somehow, that was more unsettling than anything else.

The road stretched endlessly before them, a dark ribbon of asphalt cutting through the night. The drive was silent. The only sounds were the occasional creak of the car’s frame and the distant wail of sirens in the city. Chan’s hands remained steady on the wheel, his foot pressing just enough on the gas to keep them moving fast but unnoticed. The hum of the engine filled the silence, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of headlights from distant cars.

Then, without looking at you, he asked, “So, are you willing to become a ghost, just like me?” His voice was low, unreadable.

You turned to him, your brows furrowing slightly. “What?” Chan exhaled through his nose, still keeping his eyes ahead. “You found me. Which means others can, too.” His fingers tapped against the wheel, slow, deliberate. “Now that you know I’m alive, you’re at risk.”

You let the weight of his words sink in.

“If you want answers,” he continued, “there’s no going back. You either disappear, like I did, or you keep living with the lie that I’m dead.” Silence settled between them. The reality of the situation pressed against you, suffocating in its finality.

You didn’t know what to say.

All you wanted was the truth—why he disappeared, why his name kept surfacing in places it shouldn’t. But now, you were tangled in something far more dangerous.

“I don’t know,” you admitted, voice quieter than before. “I just… I just want to know the truth behind everything.”

Chan scoffed under his breath. “Truth comes at a price.”

You turned back to him, watching the way his jaw tightened, the flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

And for the first time, you wondered if you were ready to pay it.

Chan's grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the dashboard. His mind was running a mile a minute—running through every possible reason why they had found him so easily, why she had been so careless.

Or maybe… she hadn't been careless.

Maybe they were watching her before she even found him.

He pulled into the parking lot of an old roadside motel, one of those places where no one asked questions as long as you paid in cash. The neon sign flickered above them, casting an eerie red glow over the cracked pavement. He killed the engine, but neither of you moved for a moment.

Finally, he turned to you, his expression unreadable. "Here’s the deal, Y/N," he said, voice low. "You have two choices. You stay here tonight, in this room with me, and by morning, you’re gone. You forget you ever found me, forget what you saw, and go back to playing by the agency’s rules." He let the words settle before continuing.

"Or…" he leaned in slightly, eyes sharp, "if you're actually ready for this life, if you’re ready to stop working under men like Reynolds and start chasing the real truth—you stay until morning."

A pause.

"But if you stay, there’s no going back."

You stared at him, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a loaded. Your pulse pounded in your ears, but you refused to show any hesitation. You had risked too much and come too far. He was giving you a way out, to turn back and pretend none of this ever happened. Btu you couldn’t do that.

“You think came al this way just to walk away now?” you finally said, arms crossed as you met his gaze head-on.

Amusement flickered in Chan’s eyes. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” he muttered.

“No,” you shot back. “I don’t.”

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lalacliffthorne · 2 years ago

Text

🪽 if you go down 🪽

Azriel x Reader

part I part II

summary: when a mission goes awry in the cold mountains, things take a turn, and suddenly, there's a lot more at stake than planned.

notes: look who's back!! yours truly got knocked out by a flu sent straight from hell, which meant being buried in bed and no writing for what felt likes ages. and of course when I did write again, I did not focus on other WIPs - noooo, I started this! whoops *winces*. to be fair tho, parts of this had been sitting in my ideas-folder for quite some time and when I had a sudden epiphany on how to use them, I couldn't just ignore that. especially since that epiphany was so... steamy. *grins* I'm back on my bullshit, and it's a spicy one! strap yourselves in, babes. we've got incoming drama and smut. also, even after splitting the whole thing, this is still long.

______________________________________________________________

The whole thing had been a shit show even before Azriel was shot out of the sky.

Rhys had sent the Spymaster and me into the mountains, to track down a group of soldiers gone rogue that had somehow swerved into the icy wilderness of the Night Court, raiding the small villages and leaving a trail of chaos and bodies.

It was a simple track and eliminate situation; find the group, assess the situation, move in if possible and track and wait if not.

Of course that meant nothing about it was simple.

“Damn it,”, I hissed, feeling my body tremble as a gush of ice cold wind grasped me.

I squinted, trying to make out anything in the chaos of swirling thick snowflakes that stuck to my lashes and hair. My cheeks were stinging under my heavy hood, my fingers freezing even in my thickly lined gloves, my skin icy under my winter leathers that weren't enough even with a second layer beneath.

The snowed in wilderness of the Night Court was an icy climate to begin with, hard to navigate even in good weather.

Nearly impossible in a snowstorm.

We'd lost track of the soldiers about two or three hours ago, the quick falling fresh snow covering every track within minutes, the wind destroying every trace of footsteps and scent. Even Azriel's shadows seemed to be confused by the snowed covered woods, like the soldiers had buried themselves deep to avoid detection.

I huffed, my breath a white cloud.

It wouldn't have surprised me. They were trained to stay undetected.

This was bullshit.

Raising my head, my squinted eyes darted over the grey sky, clouds of thick snow whirling over the pines almost conceiling the dark figure high in the sky.

Even though it was dangerous, Azriel had decided that trudging through the forest without quite knowing which way to go wouldn't do. He had also ignored my protest that he'd be visible like a fucking beacon up there, no cover anywhere.

I had seen the hard glare he'd sent me before launching into the air - he knew perfectly well that it was a dangerous move. But just like me, he was irritated.

Pairing us together probably hadn't been the best idea.

The shadowsinger and I clashed whenever our paths crossed. Where Azriel was cool and quiet, I was fiery and quick to charge. Where he scowled, I grinned in challenge, where his eyes pierced, mine twinkled. He was rational and controlled to no avail while I followed my heart. His quiet watchfulness annoyed the crap out of me, and my smirks and cheeky taunts made his eyes flare.

I egged him on, challenged him where I could, and he usually rose to the occasion, shooting right back with sharp, well placed jabs.

It didn't help that he was breathtakingly beautiful. That his low, deep voice sent tingling shivers down my spine. It was infuriating, really; how it could make the hairs at the back of my neck rise, how him towering over me made something dip over in my chest.

It was a constant back and forth between us, which had made pairing us together for a mission a risky move even before the storm had hit. Now, we'd lost the soliders, I was freezing, Azriel's shadows were frenzied and uncoordinated, like they were responding to their master's agitation –

It was a mess.

Shivering, I slowly started to trudge through the snow again. I needed to move, or I would turn into a fucking icycle.

Screw Azriel and his stern “Stay here.”; if I did, he could take me home as an ice statue.

The snow swallowed every noise, the howling wind made listening for treacherous footsteps even harder. I moved slowly and carefully, my brown leathers blending in with the tree trunks, but still far too visible in the white forest as I squinted against the onslaught of falling snow that covered my tracks within minutes.

Gods, in this weather, those bastards could be miles away by now and we wouldn't kno-

Something shivered down my spine.

My eyes darted up. Something dipped over in my stomach, and a wave of dread washed over me - premonition, instinct; precise and never amiss.

The strange tingle of sudden knowledge that something was about to go terribly, awfully wrong.

My instincts were something that even Azriel couldn´t scoff away.

In over 300 years, they had never once been wrong.

I swung around, drawing my swords as my gaze darted over the snowed in forest, searching for anything amiss; a trembling branch, a moving figure –

My gaze rose, and my eyes found the dark silhouette high in the sky.

Everything seemed to slow, my breath coming out in heaving clouds as something swelled under my ribs.

Then an arrow whizzed through the sky and hit the dark shape square in the chest.

My heart stopped. Simply ceased beating as I felt my eyes widen and my lips part.

In complete silence, the winged figure wavered. Then more black shapes whizzed through the air like lightning, catching and ripping through his wings, and like caught in time, Azriel tipped to the side and began to drop through the sky, freefalling towards the earth.

My limbs unfroze. A jolt went through my body as a wave of all-consuming dread crashed over me, and breathing a panicked “No.”, I rushed forward.

Plunging my swords back into their sheets, I dodged a low hanging branch, then I started running.

My feet flew over the snow-covered ground, clouds of white whirling up behind me as I dashed through the trees. My heart was pounding against my ribs as something seized my chest, something like a clawed fist, squeezing tighter and tighter.

Stumbling over roots and slipping on the icy ground, I dodged branches, freezing deadly cold washing through my veines as I stormed through the woods.

No.

I stumbled out from between the trees onto a stony beach, almost tripping as I skidded to a halt.

In front of me, a lake stretched, dark and deep and silent.

Right in it's middle, the water was sloshing, silently throwing small waves, like something big had crashed into it.

For a moment, I felt frozen, a name filling my throat, threatening to spill out. But I couldn't, couldn't scream without drawing attention, couldn't yell out the panicked cry building in my chest –

Azriel.

Panic crushed my ribs, and without a thought, without a second of consideration or planning, I darted towards the shore.

The water soaked my boots within seconds as I splashed into the lake. Icy cold water hit my feet, spattering up my legs and almost causing my muscles to lock in place.

But I fought forward, holding onto the pulsing fear in my chest as I pushed my legs to move. Then I dove into the waves.

For a moment, the water seemed to freeze the blood in my veines. My lungs closed up, cold gripping my body. Then my head broke through the surface, drawing in a deep breath and starting to swim.

Something gripped my chest like an iron fist as I fought my way through the cold water. It was so deep, so dark, I couldn't see the ground, could only focus on that spot in the middle of the lake where the water was slowly beginning to calm.

Azriel had still not come up for air.

Panic rose in my chest, gripped my throat, and I pushed, my skin burning with cold as I tried to swim faster, my arms and legs cleaving through the icy waves in powerful strokes. Then I sucked in a deep breath and dove under.

The water was so dark, I could barely see a few feet. Pushing myself deeper, feeling my wet clothes pull at me, my eyes darted through the depths until I spotted a distorted shape floating below me. Shadows were slowly swirling around it, almost serenly, reaching out towards me like soft, gentle hands.

Something tightened violently in my chest, and I pushed myself up.

My head broke through the surface, and I gasped for air as the ice cold wind stung my wet cheeks. Breathing in deeply, I filled my lungs. Then I dove again.

The icy water enveloped me like ghostly fingers numbing my skin as I started to swim into the deep. My body was burning as I fought my way through the stinging cold towards the far away bottom of the lake where Azriel was being gently swayed by the water, his wings stretched out and body limp, eyes closed.

My heart pulsed painfully.

Shit.

My lungs were beginning to protest as I reached out, feeling the pressure on my body pushing me as I grasped at nothingness. Then my fingers closed around Azriel's shoulders, and something dipped in my chest.

I slipped an arm around his collarbones, feeling coolness sweep around me as my feet found the ground and pushed and Azriel's shadows pressed me upwards towards the light.

My chest slowly started to grow tighter as I fought myself upwards. A burn spread through my lungs, black spots beginning to dance at the edge of my vision, and I tried to fight the panic, push forward -

My face broke through the surface, and I gasped for air. My fingers dug deeper into Azriel's shoulders, and I hauled him up and into my chest, his face coming out of the water.

The ice cold air stung my lungs and skin, but it was nothing compared to the feeling of Azriel's tall, solid body completely motionless.

“Shit.” Gripping him tighter, I turned, frantically trying to catch sight of the beach.

For a second, I couldn't find it, feeling panic slosh through me. Then I caught a glimpse of black stone strip in the distance.

“No, no, come on.” Shaking, I began to fight my way through the sloshing waves. Azriel's wings dragged through the water, making him even heavier, pulling him down. Water sloshed over his face, and I tried to tug him up, my eyes beginning to burn and a desperate sound breaking from my throat as my muscles protested.

Come on.

It felt like hours until I reached the shore. I was shivering uncontrollably as I pushed myself to my feet, my knees shaking as I dragged Azriel out of the water, his wings scraping over the stony ground. His shadows whispered as I dropped him, falling to my knees next to him.

“Az?!” My voice was hoarse and panicked as I pressed my fingers against his neck and dropped my head towards his face.

For a second, I listened, panting softly, my heart pounding against my ribs.

Something plummeted in my stomach.

He wasn't breathing.

“No, no, no, come on!” An ache spread through my chest, and with widening eyes, I slid forward, beginning to press my hands down on his chest in a quick, steady rhythm, my whole body shaking as my heart pounded in my throat.

“Come on,”, I whispered frantically, “come on –“

Water sloshed out of Azriel's mouth, his body rearing up as he coughed out lake water.

Sucking in a sharp breath, I hastily pushed against his body, turning him onto his side and patting firmly onto his back.

Azriel inhaled harshly, his breath rattling. His body was shaking under my fingers, and something tightened violently in my chest when I felt him slump against me.

With shaking hands, I turned him onto his back again, leaning forward to slap his cheek. “Azriel. Azriel, fucking look at me!”

Whispering curses under my breath, I stared at the ash arrow in his chest, feeling cold spread through my limbs.

I couldn't take it out. Not here, not without anything to stop the bloodflow, not without risking him loosing too much blood. His wings needed healing as well, the rips in the thin membrane too big, too broad.

“Shit, shit, shit,”, I whispered hoarsely, throwing my head up to look around wildly. We couldn't stay here, or we'd freeze, and with our luck, the soldiers were heading this way, just to check on whether they had actually hit their target.

We needed shelter.

“Alright, come on.” Scrambling to get to my feet, I grabbed Azriel's wrist, his body dead weight as I slid his arm over my shoulder and dragged him to his feet. His wings slumped towards the ground, and I clenched my teeth, wrapping my arm tightly around his waist and firmly nudging my shoulder into his side.

“You're not giving up, you hear me?” My body was trembling from cold and adrenaline as I started to stumble towards the treeline, half carrying, half dragging Azriel with me. “You're going to hold on until I find a safe place; you're not going to leave me!” My voice quivered.

“I need you to glare at me and call me stupid for putting myself in danger, and I need you to be a stuck up idiot so I can kick your stupid beautiful ass for it!” My voice broke, and I cursed myself, raising my head and blinking against the stubborn burning sensation in my eyes as I breathed shakily. “You're not going to die on me; you're not going to die!”

The snow made getting forward difficult. Soon, my knees were shaking under Azriel's weight, and I could feel his rattling breath against my soaking wet hair, becoming flatter with every minute. His body was shivering, like it was fighting against the icy winds ripping at us, howling as the snowfall became heavier.

At least it would cover our tracks and mask our scents.

I nearly stumbled over a root hidden in the snow, and something in my chest clenched.

If we didn't find shelter soon, Azriel would be dead by morning.

Something hot and flaming rose in my chest, and I clenched my teeth, adrenaline surging through my body.

No fucking way.

“Come – on,”, I pressed, gripping him tighter and fighting against the wind stinging against my body, numbing my skin as I dragged the shadowsinger with me. “You're not getting away that easily, you hear me?”

For once, I wish I would get back a cutting, precise remark. But Azriel just rasped a flat breath, his body sinking heavier on mine.

Panic washed over me, tightening its grip around my chest.

Shit.

The wind howled around us. Every crack of a branch when the weight of the snow got too heavy made my head whip around, my eyes darting frantically through the trees.

But I couldn't see a soul, could only hear the sound of crunching snow under our feet, our heavy breathing and my heart pounding in my ears. My mind started racing as I dragged Azriel through the snow.

The arrows had come from the opposite side of the lake, probably from quite a bit inside the forest. If the soldiers wanted to check whether they had hit their target, they would have reached the lake by now, but the quick falling snow had masked all our tracks.

Hopefully.

They would hardly check the lake for a body, so even if they didn't find one washed onto the shore, maybe we had a chance. Maybe if we found a spot to hide to wait out the storm and I got Azriel at least half back on his feet, he'd be able to transport us back to Velaris, and we could send reinforcements to find the soldiers.

For some reason, the thought wasn't nearly as satisfying as the heat twisting and raging in my chest, urging me to hunt them down myself - and sink my knives into the bastard who had dared firing those arrows.

The image kept me going, fed my numbing, chattering body with a grim, burning fire that wasn't warming but gave me something to cling to, hold onto as I staggered through the snow.

That and the male I half carried, half dragged with me, his body becoming heavier with the second. It caused a desperate tremble in my limbs.

There was no way I was going to lose him. No way I wasn't going to push until my legs gave out, and even then, I would curl over him if I had to, protect his far too tall body with mine, give him the last bit of warmth that was burning in my chest.

It was either the both of us leaving this stupid forest, or neither of us, because there was no way I was going to leave him. Even if his beautiful, dumb, rational ass would tell me to –

My eyes got caught on a dark structure ahead, flashing between the dark trees, almost obscured by clouds of whirling snow.

My heart tumbled, and I exhaled shakily, feeling my eyes widen as I tightened my grip around Azriel's waist and started lugging him forward.

The thrum in my chest began to quicken when I caught a glimpse at what looked like a simple wooden cabin. It was probably nothing more than one big room inside, with small windows under closed shutters, a porch covered in a thick layer of snow that the wind had blown past the protruding roof – but it made my heart rise in a wild flutter and my limbs melt from their frozen state.

The cabin looked empty, no light peaking out from the shutters, the snow high and unmarked around it. I dragged Azriel around to the front and felt my heart dip.

The door had been opened by force. It looked like someone had kicked it in, and when I leaned forward, breathing heavily, I caught a glimpse at an empty, slightly trashed inside. Judging by the thick layer of snow that had covered the entrance, the raid had happened more than a few hours ago, maybe even already last night.

My heart fluttered and jumped into my throat.

This meant the soldiers had already been this way, had probably reached the lake from this side before moving to the other to disappear deeper into the mountains.

If we were lucky, that meant they wouldn't come past here again, clearly already done searching for valuables in this place.

Unless they had a reason to, they wouldn't just backtrack and risk running into the people hunting them.

If we were lucky, we'd be safe.

I nearly stumbled, lugging Azriel up the steps to the porch. We almost got stuck in the door, and I had to slide my arms around him to pull him through sideways to not hurt his wings. Then I looked over my shoulder, breathing heavily as I quickly scanned over the inside of the cabin.

It was one big room, with a fireplace and a bed covered in furs on the left, and a big table and shelves on the right. The air smelled ice cold but stale, like no one had been here for quite some time. The cabinets had been thrown open, but nothing but cups and bowls were scattered over the floors, the bottles and jars in the shelves untouched. The sight made my heart skip high.

Maybe I had a chance of mixing something for Azriel's wounds together from that.

“Alright, come on.” Dragging Azriel towards the table, I heaved him onto the top, my limbs shaking from his weight. Minding his wings, I carefully turned him onto his back, hastily checking his pulse before turning around and darting towards the door. Kicking most of the snow out onto the porch, I threw it shut, bolting it and using one of the chairs to block the handle just to be sure.

Now, the cabin lay in almost complete darkness. Outside, it seemed to already get darker, the thick clouds and the snowstorm that only seemed to get heavier darkening the woods even quicker.

My teeth were chattering as I darted towards the shelves, my trembling fingers skimming over the bottles and tinctures, dried herbs and berries in jars. I found some candles in a drawer and matches in another, and setting them up in holders around the cabin, I lit them, my breath shaking as warm, golden light filled the room. Now that I wasn't moving, I felt the cold clinging to me even more, numbing my limbs.

We needed to warm up, quick.

But first, I had to take care of that arrow.

I had never been more thankful for Madja.

My fingers flew over the pestle and mortar I had found in the shelves, grinding up berries, mixing them with herbs, slightly too hard honey and fresh snow. I heard the old healer's voice in my head as I worked, explaining how to best treat wounds caused by ash arrows, how to make the paste that would help the naturally quicker healing of an Illyrian.

Provided the arrow had not injured any vital organs.

The thought made something dip over in my chest, and I threw a quick look over my shoulder to where Azriel was laying still on the big wooden table, his breathing far too flat, the white of his eyes visible under his fluttering eyes. His tanned skin was pale.

Snatching some bandages I had found in the back of a cabinet, I turned around, dropping the mortar on an empty chair next to the bandages and some clean fabrics I had found in the chest next to the bed. My fingers were trembling as I undid the buckles of Azriel's chest armor, the heavy leathers pierced by the arrow. His clothes were soaked and clammy like mine, and his skin was icy to the touch, so much so that I flinched.

Shit.

Breathing out, I closed my hand around the arrow, my breath shaking as I pressed my free arm down onto Azriel's chest.

“I'm so sorry,”, I whispered.

Azriel gave a deep, pained sound when I pulled the arrow from his chest, twisting in the spot. I tried to hold him down, squeezing my eyes shut as the arrow clattered to the floor and I hastily pressed some of the cloth onto the wound that gushed blood, though it looked a lot less than it probably should be.

Godsdamned cold.

Hastily, I dragged Azriel's leathers off his torso, dropping the soaking material to the ground as I caught the blood with the cloth, pressing it down. My body was trembling as I waited, then I peaked at the wound - the bleeding was already slowing down.

I prayed it was Azriel's healing that caused it, not the cold shutting down his blood flow.

Spreading the thick paste over the wound, I picked up the needle and thread I had found in a drawer and held the sharp tip into the flame of a candle before pulling the thread through it. My fingers trembled, and I needed three tries until it was looped through the needle.

Azriel twitched when I started stitching the wound together. My needlework was a lot less clean than Madja's, but I was shaking too hard. My eyes darted towards Azriel's face constantly, my heart dropping deeper every time I caught a glimpse at the white of his eyes peaking out from under his lids.

It felt like he was wandering somewhere between waking and dreaming; twitching and groaning softly at the pain, but too far away to open his eyes or gather anything about his surroundings.

Tying off the string, I slathered on another layer of paste, then I grabbed the bandages. It took all my strength to pull Azriel up, his wings dragging him down as I wrapped the gauze around his ribs tightly, my arms shaking.

I was sweating when I finally carefully put him down again, my cold, wet clothes sticking to my skin and making my teeth chatter.

I needed to get out of these leathers or I would catch something worse than death.

But Azriel's wings were first.

The thin membranes had been shredded by the sharp tips of the arrows, blood crusting the gaping cuts. I cleaned them, whispering trembling apologies whenever Azriel shifted and gave slurred, pained sounds that sunk their own sharp claws into my chest. Carefully stitching them together in the way Madja had showed me once, I spread more paste on the wounds, thick enough to cover them from both sides.

Hopefully, it would speed up the healing process.

Pressing my hand onto Azriel's cheek, I cursed under my breath. He was icy cold, his skin clammy.

I had to get him warmed up. Now.

My eyes darted over to the fireplace, then to the windows, and a knot formed in my throat.

Even though it was getting darker by the minute, the smoke of a fire could still give away our location, even with the storm.

I turned back towards the shadowsinger, who's hair was curling with dampness and melted snow, his torso bare, his wet pants clinging to his legs.

I needed to get him out of those; he didn't have a chance of warming up when he was still wearing the damp, clammy clothes.

Which meant stripping him.

Even though I was chattering with cold, I felt heat bleed into my cheeks.

“Gods, get yourself together,”, I mumbled to myself, moving forward and beginning to unbuckle the sheaths wrapped around Azriel's thighs. I tried to avoid looking at him; his lean, chiselled torso, the smooth curve and width of his shoulders, the ink swirling over the planes of his chest, tried to not think about the rising feeling in my chest that came to life whenever his amber eyes settled on me for too long.

Letting the daggers slip to the floor, I unlaced Azriel's boots, cursing softly at how stiff my fingers were. I could barely feel them as I tugged the black leather off before turning around, blaming the cold for my trembling limbs and for my inability to unbuckle his belt on the first try. Then, stubbornly not staring at his bare skin, I tugged his pants down his legs. They were soaked like the rest of his clothes, making it difficult to tug the thick winter leathers off his skin.

Dropping the pants, I felt the heat in my cheeks deepen and quickly averted my eyes, sliding my arm around Azriel's waist and grunting softly when I maneuvered him off the table.

“Alright, come on.” Staggering slightly, I tried to ignore the weight of his muscled body as it leaned heavily onto mine, the feeling of his harsh breath, his lips brushing over my temple and his skin smooth and cool against my fingers.

It proved impossible.

Somehow, I managed to get Azriel under the covers. Turning him onto his side so his wings weren't in the way, I tucked him under the blanket and threw the furs over him, shivering as I turned around and spread out his dripping wet, icy cold clothes over the chairs. My own were beginning to feel like they'd been frozen by the snow and wind, and when I caught a look at myself in one of the windows, I felt my heart drop at the sight of my slightly blue lips.

Crap.

Quickly throwing a quick look over to where Azriel was laying on the bed, buried under the furs, still breathing too harsh, too uneven, I turned around again, feeling something thump harshly against my ribs. Then I swallowed and quickly started peeling off my own clothes.

My leathers stuck to my skin, wet and clammy, and I hissed in frustration as I kicked off my thick pants. Suddenly, I realised how cold the air in the cabin really was, making my limbs shake even more as I rubbed my stiff fingers over my thighs before quickly spreading my clothes over the rest of the furniture. Then I hesitated, looking down at the thin shirt I was wearing over my underwear, both sticking to my skin, making goosebumps rise on my body.

I needed to get it off, but if I did – I was practically completely bare.

For a second, I was still, just breathing quickly and feeling myself shiver. Then I cursed softly and quickly shed the undershirt, throwing itover the backrest of a chair. Crossing my arms quickly over my chest to cover myself, I turned around, my eyes getting caught on Azriel's frame. He had started to shiver violently.

I felt the overwhelming urge to grab one or two of the furs and curl up on the armchair by the unlit fireplace. But I could feel the icy cold seep through me, now settling in my bones, could feel myself growing number.

Staring at Azriel's trembling form for another second, I whispered a curse under my breath. Then I darted towards the bed and slid under the blankets.

Immediately, my body started shivering more. It felt like now that I wasn't moving anymore, I finally felt the cold invading every inch of me, causing my teeth to chatter loudly as I curled up on my side under the heavy furs, my damp hair sticking to my bare skin as I stared at Azriel's face in the warm flicker of the candles. He looked too pale, his breath too labored.

Swallowing, I scooted closer under the blankets until I could feel his body, just shy of touching my curled up form. Then I forced myself to relax, to stop the shivering, focusing on Azriel´s face, the crunch of his brows, like even unconcious, he was scowling, fighting, angry.

The thought made my lips twitch softly.

Curling up tighter, I buried myself in the sheets and breathed out. Suddenly, the exhaustion crashed through me like a wave, my limbs burning not only from the cold but from dragging Azriel through the water and the snow. My eyes drooped, and I had to fight to keep them open, clenching my jaw.

I couldn't fall asleep. I had to stay awake enough to listen for anything. To, for once, keep watch over Azriel, in case anything, anyone found us after all.

But the woods outside were quiet except for the howling wind.

I dozed off a few times. I didn't fall into a deep slumber, my body too cold, my heart beating too quickly, my ears too sensitive to any sound coming from beyond the windows, where the world became darker and darker. But the exhaustion soon overwhelmed me, and my body took what minutes of shut-eye it could pry from the grip of my will.

The rest of the time, I stared at Azriel's face in the light of the candles, something thrumming heavily against my ribs.

Please be alright.

I was slowly slipping away into a deeper sleep when the mattress jerked. My eyes flew open, and my heart skipped into my throat when I found another pair staring right at me.

Azriel's eyes were blown as his gaze slowly tracked over the sliver of my bare shoulders and collarbones peaking out from under the blanket. Then his throat worked, and I caught the moment he tore himself out of it, could see the confused but soft, slightly feverish expression bleeding from his eyes as his iris narrowed in and darkness settled over his face.

A muscle in his jaw shifted, and Azriel tore his gaze up, eyes flaring as they pierced into mine.

He didn't need to open his mouth for me to know exactly what was going on in his head.

Explain. Now.

I breathed out and dropped my head onto the pillow, mumbling: “Calm down.” Curling tighter into the furs wrapped around me and trying to keep my teeth from chattering, I grumbled: “This was not how I imagined this going either.” Trying to ignore the heat bleeding into my cheeks, I watched him, my voice becoming softer when I mumbled: “You fell into a lake when they shot you down.”

Azriel blinked, and his eyes found my hair that was still damp and cold, sticking to my neck. His pupils constricted, and something flared in his eyes.

“You pulled me out.”

His voice sent a tingle down my spine, low and deep, so deep, hoarse with exhaustion but cutting, his eyes blazing with something I didn't recognize.

I shrugged softly, pulling the blankets tighter around me as I sent him a smile that wasn't half as mischievous as usual.

“Yes, well, I thought about how much you would hate me doing that and just couldn't resist.”

Azriel's jaw twitched, and something burning grew in his eyes as they pierced mine.

I felt my lips twitch in a weak attempt at a cheeky smirk. “This would be the moment to thank me for saving your life.”

Azriel's eyes narrowed, and I could see the muscles in his cheeks shift. “You exposed yourself, left yourself defenseless. That was reckless and stupid.”

His voice was cutting, icy, but I just stared at him, feeling something hot bloom in my chest as my heart skipped high against my ribs.

I blinked and felt my lips curve softly.

“You're welcome.” I turned to slide of the mattress, shivering as my bare feet hit the cold floors. Wrapping the furs around me, I dropped onto my knees next to the fireplace, reaching out to close my fingers around my pants. The leather was icy cold and wet.

“Damn it,”, I whispered under my breath.

I looked over my shoulder and found Azriel's eyes on my face, something raging in his iris, something I didn't recognize.

“What?” My gaze flickered over his face, something skipping softly against my ribs. Then I blinked and looked him over, feeling my lips curve into a cheeky smirk. “Don't worry. I didn't look anywhere important.”

From the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel's eyes dip towards his bare chest, and if I hadn't known any better, I thought I saw a faint blush spread over his cheekbones. Then he tore his eyes away and clenched his jaw.

“You left yourself completely defenseless.”

I turned back around, staring at the fireplace as I felt the smile bleed off my face.

“Yes, well, I wasn't exactly thinking,”, I mumbled, something tightening harshly in my chest.

Even from the corner of my eye, I saw Azriel's gaze flare incredulously, his deep voice slicing through me.

“Not thinking gets you killed.”

I swallowed. My heart thrummed against my ribs as the moment I had watched Azriel fall flashed before my eyes.

“What if the soldiers had been at the lake, what if they'd gotten there by the time you came out of the water?” Azriel's jaw clenched, his voice tight, unrelenting. “You didn't think, and it could have cost you your life –“

“Why do you care; if I hadn't made it, you wouldn't have either, but we did; so what is your problem?!” I turned to stare at him, my breath hitching as an ache spread through my chest, and shadows whipped up the walls as Azriel growled.

“How can you be so reckless when it comes to your own fucking life –“

Something under my ribs shattered.

“I thought I'd lost you!!”

My desperate scream caused Azriel to fall silent like I had slapped him across the face.

I stared at him, breathing heavily, my body trembling as I barely fought the burning feeling of tears behind my eyes.

“You asshole!” My voice was shaking even though I was willing it not to, a bright aching feeling burning in my chest, flaring like that flicker in Azriel's eyes.

“I saw you fall, and then the lake and I thought –“ My voice broke as I stared at him, an all-consuming pain growing under my ribs.

“You were drowning.” My hands trembled, my throat closing up tight as I blinked against the tears threatening to spill over my cheeks. “I wasn't thinking about anything but that, and that there was no fucking way I was going to let it happen! And you are a fucking bastard for berating me for it, just because what I did doesn't fit with your strategic expectations, or because you think it was reckless, when I thought I had lost you!” My next breath shuddered as I stared at him, my limbs trembling.

Azriel's throat worked as his eyes pierced mine, but for once, he was completely silent.

“You think that it was stupid? That it was reckless and emotional?” I felt heat grow in my chest; familiar, angry heat, and I scrambled to push myself to my feet, glaring at him as I trembled.

“Well, I don't give a shit about what you think! I would have dragged you through that gods damned snowstorm until my legs gave out, even if it meant freezing in the end!” I balled my hands into fists. “There's no fucking way I would have ever left you!” Blinking against the tears gathering in my eyes, I swallowed, staring at him.

“Because that's the next thing you would have said, right?” I breathed a bitter smile, something tightening harshly in my chest. “That the rational thing would have been for me to leave you behind? That there was no way I could have carried you until I found a village, let alone all the way back to Velaris? That pulling you out of that lake and taking you with me meant leaving myself defenseless, to those bastards and that fucking cold out there, and that I should have never done that?” I fought the way my breath hitched and tears pricked my eyes as I glared at him. “I don't give a shit about all of that. Because I don't give up. I don't give people up, and I sure as hell never leave anyone behind, especially –“ I cut myself off, biting the inside of my cheek.

Especially not you.

I swallowed and curled my fingers into the fur wrapped around me as I returned Azriel's blazing stare, even as something closed around my throat, causing my voice to sound hoarse as I mumbled: “I would have rather frozen to death with you than leave you behind.”

Azriel blinked again. His jaw worked as his eyes flickered over my face, and something flashed through them. But I turned away before I could find out what it was, my chest tightening as I angrily wiped away the tear that rolled over my cheek, treacherous and letting on that maybe, I gave quite a shit after all.

“Our clothes are still too wet.” My voice was thick and a little shaky, but I refused to look at Azriel as I stared at my pants before turning my eyes towards the windows, behind which, the woods were completely dark.

“Without warmth, it's going to take too long for them to dry. And your body's too focused on keeping you from freezing to properly heal you, so you need to warm up.” I started pulling logs from the stack of firewood next to the fireplace, mumbling hoarsely: “Let's hope it's dark and windy enough that no one can trace the smoke.”

I could feel Azriel's eyes on me as I built and stoked the fire, my fingers trembling not from the cold. My chest felt tight, rage towards this stubborn male swirling under my ribs, mixed with something aching and fluttering that made my heart quiver.

I stoked the fire until I could feel the warmth of the flames on my face. Shivering, I wrapped the furs tighter around me.

Just the thought of being close to Azriel caused something to squeeze harshly in my chest. But I could feel the cold crawl up from the floorboards, and the desire not to freeze was stronger than the one that told me stay away from the male on the bed.

Pushing myself back onto my feet, I turned around and, without looking at Azriel, slid back under the covers. Turning my back towards the shadowsinger, I curled up, my limbs trembling with cold and something else that had closed tightly around my chest.

I could feel Azriel shift behind me, slowly moving back under the blankets. I tucked myself in tighter, my teeth chattering softly.

The flames in the fireplace started to crackle slowly. I stared at their light dancing over the floorboards, tried to ignore the presence right behind me. But I couldn't ignore his scent, night chilled cedar mixed with the metallic scent of blood, and how it made something twinge in my chest. My mind kept looping back towards the fact that if I shifted back just a few inches, my body would press into hi-

“You're shaking.”

The low vibration of Azriel's voice trickled over my spine. It was deep and clipped, and I pressed my lips together.

“Yes, well, I'm cold.” I tried to scowl, but my voice sounded weak, not at all angry or sharp like I had hoped it would be.

Swallowing, I stared at the light of the fire dancing over the walls. I could feel Azriel's stare piercing the back of my head, could sense the tension in his jaw and body –

The mattress shifted, then I felt something brush against my back.

I froze.

Scarred, calloused skin gently grazed over my side, and my breath caught in my throat.

Azriel's fingers curled against my skin, like he was hesitating, thinking about pulling back, or not quite in control of his own body – then his hand splayed over my skin, slowly sliding down onto my stomach, and carefully, Azriel pulled me backwards into his chest.

My heart dipped. Then it stilled.

I could feel Azriel shift behind me, could feel the tension rippling through every part of his muscles. His hand slid over my stomach, skin cold against mine as he slowly wrapped his arm around my waist and pressed me into his chest.

My breath hitched, and my body froze.

Azriel's grip tightened. I could feel every curve of muscle, every inch of smooth, icy cold skin pressing against mine. His legs came up to thread through mine, and his tall, solid body slowly curled around me until there was no place we weren't touching.

Suddenly, something twinged between my legs and in my heart.

Swallowing harshly, I stared at the light of the fire dancing over the walls, my heart pounding against my ribs. I could feel every shift of muscle in Azriel's body, could feel the tension in his chest as he tightened his grip around me. Then he carefully dropped his forehead against the back of my head and gently tapped his fingers against my ribs six times.

My breath caught, and my heart stilled.

The tapping was something between Mor and I, to communicate when were in the same room but not able to talk to each other. I hadn't even realised Azriel knew about it, but - of course he did.

He always knew.

One tap meant danger, two taps get ready, three taps for need help?, four taps for they're lying, and five taps -

Something rose in my chest in a wild flutter.

I´m here.

I swallowed and stared at the wall.

Azriel's hand was still for a second, and I could feel the tension ripple through him. Then his fingers gently tapped against my skin again.

One, two, three. Four, five, six.

Behind you.

My heart swelled in a weak, trapped giggle.

For a moment, I hesitated. Then I slowly twisted around under the blankets, and my breath hitched in my throat when my eyes found Azriel's only a few inches away.

My head settled on the pillow. The fire crackled as I swallowed softly and stared, and Azriel's iris shifted as he stared back. His eyes looked less stormy, glinting like molten caramel in the warm flickering lights as they pierced mine.

Slowly, his fingers brushed over my bare spine.

I barely suppressed a shudder, my lips parting, and Azriel's eyes dropped. His pupils expanded, and something flared in his eyes.

A muscle in his jaw shifted. Then he mumbled, his voice quiet and rough: “After pulling me out of the lake, did you call me a stuck up idiot?”

My breath hitched in my throat, and my eyes darted up to meet his as they widened a little. But Azriel just stared at me, and behind that strange blazing fire in his eyes, it almost looked like they was a little twinkle.

“No,”, I whispered and blinked, and just for a second, the corner of Azriel's lips twitched. His gaze pierced mine.

“You also called me beautiful.”

I stared at him, something fluttering wildly against my ribs when I mumbled back hoarsely: “No, I called you stupid.”

Azriel's eyes flared, the gold in his iris melting together as his gaze dragged over my face.

Swallowing, I tore my eyes away before the fluttering thing in my chest could break free. Dropping my head a little, I reached out before I could stop myself and carefully brushed my fingers over the bandage wrapped around Azriel's ribs.

A deep sound broke from his throat, and my breath got caught in my throat as my eyes darted up again, just in time to see a muscle in Azriel's jaw twitch, his pupils blown as he stared at me.

“You're freezing.” Something dipped over in my chest at the rasp in his tight voice, and I swallowed and stared up at him.

“I could think of some ways to warm up.”

It was supposed to be a cheeky taunt. But it came out breathless when I felt Azriel's scarred hand brush slowly over my bare skin.

Azriel's fingers stilled. There was something in his eyes as he stared at me, that strange blazing flicker I had seen before, something raging and all-consuming that seeped through his carefully crafted walls.

A muscle in Azriel's jaw shifted as his gaze dragged over my face. Then his hand brushed up over my ribs, rising from under the blanket.

His rough skin against my neck made me shiver, a tremble running down my spine that suddenly had nothing to do with being cold anymore when his fingers slipped into my hair. They threaded through the strands, and I felt my next breath shudder when his thumb slowly traced over the side of my throat.

Azriel's eyes moved slowly over mine, and that look in his eyes flashed, grew stronger. Then he lightly tugged me forward, and when I followed, my breathing growing shorter, he dipped his head.

His nose brushed against mine, and I reached up like reflex, my fingers trembling a little when I wrapped them around Azriel's wrist as his hot breath hit my lips.

Azriel stilled, fingers threaded through my hair, lips nothing but a breath away from mine. I could feel his lashes on my cheeks, the heat of his pulse under my fingers. Something was thrumming under my ribs, growing stronger with every second.

I sucked in a soft, trembling breath when I realised he was waiting.

The thrum in my chest grew unbearable, and I moved, dipping my head and pressing my lips slowly against Azriel's jaw.

His fingers curled into my hair, muscles shifting under my hand wrapped around his wrist, and I thought I felt something rumble in his chest.

I slid lower. My lips traced over the shape of his throat, feeling it work under the featherlight press of a kiss against the side of it. My teeth grazed over his skin, and Azriel's fingers scraped lightly over my scalp when a grunt escaped his chest that sounded a little strangled.

Dipping my head, I carefully pressed my lips onto the curve where his neck met his shoulder, and my heart rose, flaring. I hadn't known the taste of someone's skin could do this – make you feel drunk off of it, cause a rush to fill your body, make your skin tingle and heart race.

Tracing the shape of Azriel's collarbone with my lips, I left a slow, careful kiss on his cool, inked skin before following the shape of his chest. My hand slid lower, and I felt the thrum of his heart under my palm, quick and erratic. It made my own swerve sharply, and Azriel's breath shuddered when I dragged my lips over his smooth skin.

Looking up at him through my lashes, I felt something jolt in my lower stomach, my breath hitching and something hot rushing through my chest when my eyes met Azriel's, fixed onto my face, the amber flickering in the light of the fire, pupils blown. His jaw worked, and my spine tingled.

Slowly sliding down his body, I traced my lips over his chest. Leaving slow, lingering kisses on the swirls of his tattoo, I traced the silver lines of faded scars, his muscles shifting and flexing under my featherlight touches. My fingers brushed over the bandage wrapped around his ribs, and a sound left Azriel that caused my heart to tilt over when I carefully pressed a kiss onto the spot where the arrow had pierced him.

Somewhere buried deep in my head, the thought stirred that this did not feel like it was just about warming each other up.

Not with the way Azriel was staring down at me, something flaring in his darkened eyes, his breath out of rhythm, his body reacting to the smallest brush of my fingers with a shudder like it was the answer to a long lost prayer.

My lips traced over the hard ridges of Azriel's stomach. Following the lines, I felt his muscles shift and clench beneath his smooth skin when I pressed my lips slowly against his side, my tongue tracing lightly over his skin, and Azriel's hand fell out of my hair to grab onto the sheets. His knuckles turned white as I slid down, and something curled and tightened in my lower stomach when I traced my lips over the sharp line next to his hip.

Azriel's hips bucked upward, and a low, pressed grunt left him that caused tingling warmth to wash over me, my stomach twisting.

I gently nudged my nose against his skin. Then I raised my head, and something rose in my chest in a wild flutter when my eyes met Azriel's, his jaw locked as his gaze burned into mine until something closed around my throat and I barely kept myself from swallowing.

Slowly, I shifted. Then I slung my leg over his waist.

Azriel's pupils seemed to grow darker, and without looking away, feeling that steady thrum in my throat, I slid down his body.

The sheets and furs went with me, but Azriel didn't seem to notice. His eyes were transfixed on my face. Then my hand slipped lower, and his expression slipped, jaw going lax and eyes fluttering when I wrapped my fingers around his cock.

My breath caught.

Something dipped and plunged in my lower stomach at how hard he already was. Swallowing, I carefully ran my thumb over his tip, coaxing a low curse from him. Then I looked up through my lashes and sent Azriel a small, cheeky smile.

“Tell me if I'm doing something you don't like.”

The shadowsinger's eyes flashed as a choked sound left him, and I dipped my head and wrapped my lips around him.

“Fuck.”

A breathy grunt broke from Azriel's chest, his head fell back as his hands fisted the sheets, and I gently ran my tongue over the underside of his cock before sucking him into my mouth.

Incoherent sounds spilled from Azriel's lips, deep grunts and rough muttered curses that made my stomach twinge as I started to stroke him slowly. His blazing eyes were dragging over my face, the muscles in his stomach twitching as my hand worked what my lips couldn't reach, my tongue running over the underside of his cock as I took him deep, sucking slowly.

“That's it.” Azriel's hands fisting the sheets trembled as he grunted breathlessly, his throat working and eyes squeezing shut for a second like he was trying to reign himself in, but the words stumbled past his lips, deep and gravelly.

“Fuck, just like that.”

My heart swerved sharply as I drank him in, his cheeks flushed, hair dishevelled and body heaving the longer I worked him. I twisted my hand a little, and he grunted, head falling back and hips bucking. I could feel him pulse, could tell he was getting closer, closer to that edge, his breath shuddering.

Azriel groaned. His fingers slid into my hair, threading through the strands and beginning to guide me, like he couldn't help himself anymore, had to touch me, his grip tight as his flashing eyes followed my movements. My teeth grazed the underside of his head, and Azriel grunted, his voice strangled.

“If you don't stop I'll -“

I looked up at him through my lashes and sent him a crooked, cheeky smile that made him break off with a grunt. Then I swirled my tongue around his tip and sucked him deep into my mouth, and Azriel unravelled with a sound so low, it vibrated through my very bones.

His head fell back, his back arched and his hips bucked. His load hit the back of my throat, and I swallowed it all, the salty taste causing my eyes to flutter.

Sucking gently for a few more seconds, I slowly let him go, gently brushing my thumb over his base, and my eyes met Azriel's, flickering amber in the firelight, his skin glowing with a thin layer of sweat as his burning eyes dragged over my face. His grip tightened in my hair, and he tugged, pulling me up his body.

My breath hitched when our noses brushed. Azriel's eyes looked like molten gold in the light, the flecks all swimming together in his hazel iris as it flickered over my face, and I felt my heart rise, trembling –

“Get on your back.”

I needed a second to realize the meaning behind the words mumbled against my skin, so deep and low and like a tremble running down my spine.

A wave of heat washed through me, my stomach twisted tight, and I blinked and pulled back my head, feeling my brows crunch incredulously.

“You're still hurt. No way; you're staying like this.”

Azriel's eyes darkened.

“Now.”

“No.” I glared back, which really, was ridiculous, because just the thought of him between my legs caused the pulsing feeling in my stomach to intensify tenfold, and I knew he could sense it, saw it in the way his nostrils flared and eyes flashed, but –

Azriel's hands closed around my sides, sliding my underwear down my legs; he groaned deep in his chest, then rough scarred fingers dug into my skin, right where my thighs and hips met, and my heart dipped and fell when Azriel dragged me up, up his torso, up over his shoulders.

“Wha-“ My breath got caught in my throat, and I hastily grabbed onto the headboard to not loose my balance, my eyes widening when I realised what he was doing.

My gaze whipped down; I tried to lift my hips, and Azriel wrapped his arms over my thighs and dragged me down, his piercing eyes meeting mine.

“No; I'm too –“

Azriel's tongue sliced through my folds, and I jolted and whimpered a string of trembling curses, my hips bucking down onto his face as my stomach twisted and my spine melted into burning, glowing matter.

Azriel groaned. The vibration travelled through me, and I dug my fingers into the headboard, feeling my heart tip over and insides clench.

“Shit – I –“ I tried to twist away in a weak attempt of trying to keep my weight off of him, but Azriel dragged me down further, not seeming to give a fuck about suffocating as he licked a broad stripe through my folds. His eyes flutterered, and he gave another grunt.

“Perfect.”

The low mumble rose up my spine, so deep and gravelly, my insides tightened around nothing. My breath shuddered, my brows crunched as my lips parted, and Azriel buried his face between my legs.

Whimpered curses spilled from my throat, senseless, blending into each other as my limbs trembled and Azriel's tongue traced the shape of me, mapping it like he was trying to commit me to memory. Then he lazily circled my clit, and my lips parted, brows crunching as my hips bucked down in reflex and a whimper built in my throat.

My eyes flew down, and I could feel myself clench when my eyes met Azriel's, burning and flaring as he dipped his chin.

My breath hitched in a whine, and my hips spasmed when Azriel licked over my clit and sucked. His grip tightened, and the shadowsinger hummed, his nose nudging against my skin as his hazy, hooded eyes tracked over my face, molten like gold. My left hand flew down to bury in his dark hair as he ground my hips down onto his face, and I whimpered.

My body shook, the reason now far from freezing as my spine shuddered and hips bucked and waves of heat washed over me as I felt the world tip. Then Azriel's tongue slid into me, and my insides shuddered.

A breathless sound left me, I clenched, and Azriel groaned, tugging me down, and my head fell back as his tongue started to lazily dip in and out of me, circling, lapping until my body melted into a puddle. My fingers dug into his hair, nails scraping over his scalp as my hips rolled down without me being able to control it, but Azriel just gave a deep sound that travelled through me, his heavily hooded eyes fixed hungrily onto my face.

A knot formed in my lower stomach. Slowly, it built, twisting and churning as Azriel carried me towards something that would probably make me lose every last bit of control over my body, sucking and lapping on my clit, his eyes trained onto my face, coaxing every little reaction out of me, from my trembling fingers to my eyes rolling and head falling back, my thighs shaking next to his head –

Azriel's hand shifted, sliding down over my stomach. His tongue slid into me, and his thumb found my clit, circling tightly.

The world exploded, shattering as heat washed over me and the knot inside me bursted into a thousand stars. My hips spasmed, my back arching as my body tightened and loud, trembling noises left me that caused my fingers to curl and chest to tighten, my spine bleeding into nothingness, waves of blinding pleasure racking through me and causing my body to shudder and tremble.

My hips jerked, and something bloomed in my stomach when Azriel groaned against me.

It took what felt like a lifetime until the sensations slowly dispersed and my spine stopped shuddering, and yet, Azriel was still lapping lazily at me, causing my hips twitch and a soft sound to break from my throat.

Slowly sliding my fingers out of his hair, my joints weak from clutching onto the silky strands, I weakly held onto the headboard and lifted my hips. My thighs trembled lightly, and Azriel's hands slid up to close around my hips, steading me, his head tipping back to stare up at me as I slowly started crawling down his body.

When I was hovering above his chest, I dropped my gaze. My heart rose into my throat, something dipped under my ribs, and I stilled.

Azriel's face was only an inch away. His iris was nothing but a ring of golden flecks around his blown pupils, his skin no longer pale but slightly flushed, the crease between his brows almost gone even as his jaw flexed, his gaze dragging over my face, and his lips -

My chest tightened as my breath hitched and I stared at his swollen, glistening lips. My hips bucked back as my spine shuddered, and Azriel's lids fluttered heavily, eyes blazing as his hand slipped onto my back, pushing me down, down until –

My nose grazed his, and something turned over in my chest when my own scent hit my lungs.

A deep sound rumbled through the shadowsinger's chest; his hand slid up to cup the side of my neck, and he dragged me down.

His breath ghosted over my lips, and my own hitched.

Azriel's nose softly nudged against mine, his thumb slowly tracing the curve of my throat. I could feel him, the warmth radiating from his skin, could feel his scent invading my senses and causing my heart to shudder, could feel something building in my chest as my fingers trembled.

Azriel's lips brushed over mine. His grip tightened, a strangled sound built in his chest, and he tugged me forward and crashed his lips onto mine.

My heart faltered. Then the whole world stilled.

Azriel kissed me like he'd been starving.

A breathless whimper tore from my throat, my fingers dug into the pillows, and Azriel groaned softly. His fingers slid further into my hair, then his lips parted mine and his tongue slid into my mouth.

My breath faltered as the ground seemed to sway. I clutched onto the sheets, a desperate sound building in my chest, and Azriel's hand curled into my hair as he kissed me harder, more feverish.

He was kissing me like he'd been wondering what it would be like for centuries and now that he'd had a taste - nothing else would ever be enough.

The thought made something pang painfully in my chest, and I whimpered, my body curving into his as I settled on his hips, my hands sliding to the sides of his neck, tipping his head, and Azriel's breath shuddered in a deep moan as his thumb brushed over the side of my throat. His tongue swirled lazily around mine, then his teeth caught my bottom lip, and a soft whimper broke from my throat as something clenched in my stomach.

Azriel's grip tightened, dragging me down towards him, his nose brushing past mine. I could feel something travel through his hands that felt like a tremble. Then he pulled me in with a hoarse noise and kissed me again, deep and hard and feverish as his fingers curled into my hair, and something in my chest rose in a wild flutter.

part II

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @secret-ly-here @icey--stars @azriels-mate2 @ailyr92

#azriel #az #azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x female!reader #azriel/reader #azriel smut #az imagine #az x reader #az/reader #acotar x reader #acowar #acomaf #acotar #lalacliffthorne

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skvrpion · 1 year ago

Text

Windows🔞

a co-opted fanfiction I previously wrote, now starring Trevante Rhodes

TW: drug paraphernalia, vouyerism, unprotected sex & general filthiness

Frozen rain and snow beat down on Shawna's roof as she struggled work Photoshop. Every picture she was tweaking ended up turning into a confusing mess, one exposure line would go too high, and she couldn't turn back. Winter storms kept her boredom high and thoughts on hold as she wouldn't dare leave the house for anything else.

With a defeated sigh, Shawna slid her MacBook under her bed and went for her phone that'd been charging for when seemed to be hours. Not one notification was to be found from any of her apps, not even the games she had shoved off into a folder. The only thing left was to go through her contacts and FaceTime every single person until someone picked up. Usually, it was her sister or old housemate that would end up persuading her back into editing or asking her to show them her pieces. She could always be thankful for the two when she needed them.

As Shawna began her mind-numbing quest, a faint light caught her eye from her bedroom window. It was rare she saw life coming from the outside her home, almost everyone in her neighborhood was old, dying, or extremely weird to the point that she didn't even bother staying outside after dark.

To her surprise, it wasn't a peeping tom or aliens trying to harvest her body for experimentation, but her neighbor that lived right beside her.

Trevante's blinds were always closed, no matter what time of week it was they didn't move a peep and tonight, they were wide open. From what she knew, he was a night owl with with a hulking stature. In the mornings she'd be leaving for work, his Jeep would roll in and he'd quickly depart into his home bundled in a ski jacket (it sadly never reached above 40 in their town). Shawna always wanted to stick around to see what he truly looked like, to even hear his voice and compare it to the image she'd formed in the back of her head over the months he'd been there.

For a moment, Shawna couldn't tell what she was looking at due to the bright wash of red that painted his room. As her eyes settled, the black SD card she had in her hand quickly left her grip and scattered across the floor.

She was captivated.

Trevante looked nothing like what she thought he did. He was way more mesmerizing than that.

Smooth brown skin flexed with the sharp, defined muscles that ran up his tall frame; almost like the marble statues she studied from the Renaissance. To her delight profile was chiseled flawlessly, cheek bones high and lips full. She watched quietly as he discarded everything but his pajama bottoms and stretched, taking note of each carefully built muscle could see.

‘Had he always been that jacked?’

Trevante threw himself back onto what looked like a bean bag and fiddled with something on the nightstand beside him. Shawna felt creepy for watching him, but just couldn't rip her eyes away. As he sat back once again, he drew blunt his mouth and lit the end, quickly tossing his head back into his inhale. A billow of white clouds escaped into the air above him as he let the hit go without even an ounce of hesitation. He lit it again as Shawna watched smoke pour from his mouth, then into his nose.

She had no idea her neighbor was a smoker; let alone how he kept the smell undetectable from her sensitive nose. Curiosity got the best of her as she inched closer to her window, giving her a better picture of what was unfolding right beside her. Smoke coiled around Trevante's room and slipped through his hands as he quickly finished off what was left of the blunt and laid deeper back into the chair. Weed wasn't something Shawna was interested in or used to. With Cogic parents, anything illegal she thought about doing would quickly be crushed and out the window. Even at the age of 27 they'd still come tearing her doors down if they suspected she was smoking pot.

‘Only if they knew what door it was in.’

A lightbulb went off in Shawna's head. She had the perfect idea to: A. get out of her boring house for a while, B. cross something off her bucket list and C. stare at Trevante in a more reasonable setting. Pulling her blinds shut, she ended the show and went back to her phone that'd been abandoned on her dresser.

It was time to make a game plan.

Flipping through countless unopened snapchats she landed on one story in particular that she quickly swiped left on.

Me | Can u show me how to roll up?

DeeStroyer | are pigs flying?? Wyd 👀👀👀

Me | I'm not being funny 💀 it's my neighbor

Me | I kinda spied on him

Me | he fine as hell & he was smoking with his blinds open

DeeStroyer | so you asking me to get you high so you can go over there and get some neighbor dick? sounds like a plan 😼

Me | yes and no! it's brick as fuck outside I know you not about to come to my place, I just need a way over there. If that doesn't sound too creepy.

DeeStroyer | there's only like 6 people that chief on this side of town, he probably comes into the smoke shop a lot. I'll catch him for ya freaky girl 😉

Me | jfc, thanks DD

Me | his name is Trevante!!

DeeStroyer | marked & 📝

Shawna slung herself into her bed and screamed into her pillow like a big ass kid. She may have found the cure for her boredom-fueled artist block.

Now to play the waiting game.

...

Three dreary days had passed and not once had Shawna's neighbor cracked his blinds. It wasn't going to kill her, but it was still bothering her that she hadn't seen or heard a peep of Trevante since that one night. Tonight was the same as every other night, her music was playing, a candle was burning, and she couldn't bring herself to render the perfect picture.

As she got lost in her head, her phone began to jingle and the name "De'aria😈" flashed across the screen. DD was calling her which meant the plan worked for failed miserably.

"Wassup' homieeee."

Her raspy voice struggled to keep up with her sluggish words as she laid on her futon with her hoodie covering her face. She was baked out of her mind and ready to spill the tea.

"You want news on your dream boy?"

"Yes please." Shawna said while turning her Pandora station completely off.

"Okay so one, he's fine as fuck. But like not even that he's like...super handsome. If you put him next to the sexiest man alive, boom, blown out the water.”

She paused to take a puff off the blunt she'd rolled and blew the smoke into the camera in typical high DD fashion.

"So, I was chillin' behind the counter, and he rolls in all smooth and and asks to get some wraps - oh his teeth are gorgeous. Anyway, I bullshit and act like the the case is broke so Mark could come fix it while I chatted him up for you. I asked him where he was from, and he said some shit about Louisiana - I was a little high so I really wasn't tryna pay attention. He’s thirty something and works logistics at the Med.”

Shawna clutched her imaginary pearls. That position was the most sought after in their town, with only one hospital they’d triple the average salary for the lucky fuck who landed the gig; the only catch was that they were located in the middle of nowhere.

"You gotta be some type of straight shot to move here and not go insane. So anyway, I asked where he lived since there's only three feet of town here and I told him he was right by you."

"You what?"

"Chill out peeping tom, I ain't blow your cover. I just said my really good friend had been wanting to smoke but I couldn't go see her so he could always show you if he wanted to, blah blah blah. He has your number by the way."

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

DD cackled over the phone as Shawna flushed with anxiety, it was always fun to make her friend uncomfortable.

"Calm downnn, he's gonna text you in like 5 minutes. I promise he's super chill, I just got off the phone with him and I think you'll be over there in like a day. I gotta finish this damn backwood before I burn my apartment down though. Later girl."

The FaceTime ended and Shawna was a complete mess internally. How was she going to talk to him? Spying on him was one thing but actually making contact with this man she'd fell even deeper in lust in was going to kill her. Before she could comprehend the situation, a random number popped onto her screen with a text.

hey, is this Shawna?

She held her breath, swiped right, and began to click her her keyboard, making sure she'd saved his contact as "Tre".

It was so happening. …

Shawna couldn't feel her feet.

She was walking only a few steps out to his house, but the combination of her nerves and the freezing weather had her body iced up. Her heart was racing out of her chest the closer she inched to his door, the light from inside his home pulling her in. After they ended their texts, Shawna immediately called De'aria and screamed a thank you. She raided her closet in search of something decent to wear, settling on a track suit that'd been re-gifted to her for Christmas. She bundled up and headed to her front door, getting more and more anxious the further she paced. Now she was standing at his front door with her camera bag in her left hand and her right hovering over the doorbell.

‘Just ring it you wimp.’

Her nerves got the best of her, and she pressed the glowing button twice, hoping he'd hurry up before her fingers fell off in the cold. Footsteps paced; locks jingled then the door quickly flew back to reveal a very damp Trevante.

"I was in the shower, sorry."

His voice was so deep Shawna could feel it vibrating in the back of her head, she would've screamed if De'aria was there. Without looking she shuffled into his place and was greeted by the strong smell of flowers; the smart man knew how to keep the smell of weed away from any surprise visitors.

Shawna studied his place, full of plants and odd nicknacks that'd been donated by various family members upon his sudden move. Trailing him, she realized how similar their houses were and began her picture taking. She loved scenery, it was just other people she couldn't photograph to save her life. They stopped at his room that Shawna had already seen in her creeping to collect what all they needed for the night. As her eyes darted in curiosity, a long, black cabinet with what looked like rocks and branches in it caught her eye. It was right beside his bed, and she couldn't figure out exactly what it was for. Maybe he liked nature?

"I wouldn't get too close to that." His voiced boomed from behind her. Shawna hid her startled reaction and turned her head back to catch a glance of Trevante. He was holding mason jar and an assortment of wraps, both brand new from De'aria's salesmanship earlier that day.

"Huh?

"Most people that come over don't like animals...well specifically them."

Shawna whipped her head back to the cabinet and realized it was in fact a terrarium she was staring at. Immediately she noticed a large, bright yellow snake that'd been hiding in the corner of the enclosure and another, fat, brown one that was coiled up tightly in the bottom.

"Carpet pythons. I forget they're in there sometimes."

She snapped three pictures of the serpents and left them alone, not wanting to bother whatever world they had going on in there.

"C'mon, we can match in the back,” Trevante said while eyeing his pets, "I'm really not supposed to smoke around them."

Shawna quietly made her way out of his warm abode and cut a left into what felt like the complete opposite. It was damn near pitch black besides the blue, fluorescent lights that casted a cold shadow across the room. It reminded Shawna of all those clubs she was drug to by her friends, just a little more inviting and way less crowded. Fiddling with the exposure on her camera, she snapped what at first was a box of nothing until her surroundings became fully recognizable.

A leather couch sat aside to one wall that was plastered with graphic style posters, some donning scantily clad women and drug paraphernalia. A fish tank glowed softly to the side of a record player that was across from them, and a coffee table stood neatly between it all. It was almost as if the place had been copied and pasted from an 80s movie set.

She tried for one more of the fish tank but caught Trevante in the midst of taking his hoodie off, he still hadn't dried off from his shower and the light was reflecting off his wet stomach. Shawna quickly put her camera down and hid her face in embarrassment while Trevante laughed. It's not like she hadn't seen him shirtless before.

"Sorry for flashing you. Can I see it?"

She handed him her camera and he softly smiled at the monitor; his shirt was still over his head leaving only the silhouette of his body visible.

"Send that to me later, it's nice"

Shawna got her camera back whilst a brilliant idea formed in her head.

"Hey before we start, can I take a picture of you smoking? That's really weird but it'd be cool with the lights...this room is really cool."

Trevante shrugged and plopped down into the loveseat, opening the glass jar he'd been holding on to. Now she knew why they called it loud, the smell almost making her eyes tear. Taking in the pungent aroma she took pictures of him breaking it down, subjugating her attention to the cone he gently stuffed. It was in that moment she noticed he in fact, was in grey sweats that she struggled to not further examine.

‘Bitch don't be creepy.’

The sound of the lighter flicking brought her attention back. Trevante was staring at her with a slight grin which made her face flush hot. Thank God it was cold out or she’d died of a stroke heat stroke then and there.

"You good?"

Shawna quickly nodded and held her camera close to her face, trying hard to conceal a smile that was working its way through her cheeks. Doing the same as he did the previous nights ago, Trevante lit the end of the joint and inhaled smoothly. To make the pictures more interesting he blew a large cloud of smoke that almost obscured the lens view. Shawna had no idea how it was possible to keep that much in his lungs, but she was soon going to find out.

"I feel like a model," he mumbled while flashing his teeth through the haze, "come here. Before I get too high."

Shawna's stomach dropped as she put her camera aside. She was about to be extremely close to a breathtaking man that she barely even knew outside of passing. All she could hear was De'aria bagging on her if she bitched out, tonight was not the night she'd fail. She slid next to him and sunk into the seating, unzipping her hoodie just a little bit to let some air hit her skin. Along with her nervousness, she was starting to break a sweat and had completely forgot about the thick jumpsuit she'd put on.

Relaxing, Shawna took the still lit joint from him and let it hang off her lip. He noticed and cocked his eyebrow before moving over to spark the flame again.

"De'aria?”

"Yeah, I punked out a lot."

"Well, you ain’t got to now, I got you,” he ensured, “Just go slow, inhale when I say...go."

A rush of warm smoke flooded Shawna's throat as she slowly pulled inwards, taking note to double tap before handing it off. Her lungs, however, almost gave out before she could exhale forcing her to cough into the collar of her shirt. Head rushing with endorphins, she'd was astonished by somehow surviving her first real toke of weed. Trevante replaced the spliff with a water bottle and laughed, making Shawna flush hot again. It was something about his smile that flipped her insides around and she really wanted him to keep doing it. She let him smoke a little more while she caught her breath and stared in awe as he French inhaled. She usually thought it looked stupid when people played with smoke, but he made it look sexy. He passed it back for her to finish the rest, but she willfully denied.

Being high was different for everyone, for Trevante it made everything feel good. From cramming numbers to partying he found solstice in the euphoric feeling. Shawna on the other hand was skeptic but quickly found her discernment to be highly false; whatever she was feeling had begun to creep down her body and into her chest. Warmth was the best way she could put it, and her thoughts? They were everywhere but where she currently was, only being able to focus on Tre’s inexplicably huge arms flexing as he ashed the joint.

"You high already?" he snickered softly beside her.

Instead of forming words that would've made absolutely no sense she opted to nod. Being high didn't seem so bad, not as bad as her dad stressed it was. Thinking of him, she started laughing again and ran her fingers through her braids, forgetting what it even was that had started her giggle fest. Trevante had gotten up to put a record on, as he always did when he smoked in here. Through the dim lights Shawna could make out an old school album and closed her eyes as the record scratched on. How he was even capable of standing was blowing her mind, she could barely type a text out on her phone which now felt microscopic in her hand.

As if Cupids angels had alerted who she was thinking about, De'aria's contact number popped onto her screen as her FaceTime rang.

"Uh oh." Trevante said while taking his seat back next to her, this time way closer. His arm was draped behind her neck when De'aria connected, making the matchmakers eyes go wide. Shawna popped a headphone in and only caught part of what her friend was saying.

"-ich are you high?! And is that his arm behind you?!"

She could only laugh, causing DD to explode in screams. The plan sounded like an L waiting to happen, but it actually worked.

"I can hear music playing, please tell me you tapping that tonight?"

"Shh shut up!" Shawna whispered while bringing her finger to her mouth. It's not like either of them could hear what the hell she was saying.

"This is great, bitch I gotta smoke another one for this. Don't call me unless you got some dick!"

De'aria ended the phone call abruptly, taking Shawna back to her home screen which was currently moving around. Instead of fiddling with it she placed it next to her and turned to meet Trevante's glossed over eyes. It was then she got a full view of his face and took in every detail she could; he really did have a perfect smile, and his beard was well taken care of. She even noted his eyes scanning her chest before he averted his attention elsewhere.

"You smacked," he said while fishing his lighter back out his pocket, "I rolled a dutch if you don’t mind the tobacco smell. You in or you done?"

"I'm aight." Shawna half mumbled; half laughed. To be truthful, the more she watched him smoke the more she found herself imaging what his lips felt like elsewhere. She questioned taking more pictures but gave up on the idea entirely as he made a sudden reach for her camera. He wanted to be nosy too - not knowing the preloaded SD card was also home to self-made nude studies from her time in art school.

Shawna couldn’t have moved fast enough as they both made a break for camera, praying to high heavens it would die before he could take a gander at her most precious assets. What started as gentle tug of war quickly turned into grappling contest as she fought him for her camera.

“What you hiding in here a dead body?”

“Maybe, just give it here. Your mama teach you any manners?”

He took full advantage of their heigh difference and held the device high in the air away from her reach with that goofy ass smile of his. If she weren’t pressed for her reputation she’d laugh. Instead, Shawna jumped, and failed, then jumped again before deciding to launch herself off the couch.

“Give it back!” Was the last thing Trevante heard before she slammed dead center into his chest – toppling them both to the cold floor. He threw the camera to safety, then focused his attention on halting Shawna’s desperate attempt at getting one up on him. She squealed, struggling to release from his solid grip until she ultimately gave up. At this point both of her arms were pinned behind her head and her legs had gotten tangled between his. She tried her hardest to look away from him, the thought of what it looked like they were doing was turning her on and she didn't want to 'pop a lady boner' as De'aria always said.

"Okay I give up," she panted, “you strong as hell.”

"Apologize for jumping on me then."

"Boy please. Manners remember?

"Sure. But how you think you getting out of this?"

"Bet if I kissed you, you'd let me go."

Shawna wasn't exactly sure if it was her or the weed talking, but she was feeling frisky and didn't want to waste such an opportune moment. She watched the solid man hovering over her pause to cock his eyebrows, then lean down closer in her face.

"Bet."

He tasted like mint and grabba, and her panties were instantly drenched at the softness of his lips. It'd been a very long time since she'd been kissed like this, hell she wasn’t sure if she’d even been kissed like this at all. Though she tried to restrain herself, Shawna stifled a moaned into Trevante’ mouth, prompting him to draw back – stifling a promiscuous grin as he gently placed her camera back in her hand and stood her upright. An out of breath Shawna eyed him bewilderedly and quietly considered how the next few seconds could go. In good ole Shawna fashion, she could chicken out and hide in the bathroom for the rest of the night…or she could get some dick for the first time in months.

Where her own words failed her, Trevante’ curious mind came to the rescue.

“I guess you won that one…Can I make bet?

“Yes” she blurted a little too quickly, prompting a laugh from them both. As Trevante caught his breath, he gently snaked an arm around her waist to steady her and caught her eyes – her heart thumping near out of her chest as they pressed against one another.

“I bet I got you wet just now.”

A gasp was the only thing Shawna could muster, in part to his filthy decree and also due to his hand gripping deep past her ass – fingertips dancing near the damp spot in her sweats.

For a second time she moaned, now with more conviction as the situation fully dawned on her. She was about to get laid with possibly the best dick east of state line – Trevante on the other hand was all teeth, marveling at how soft she was in his hands. To be truthful, he’d been in heaven tangled between her legs and wanted to feel more. See more. But, only knowing her for a few hours he was fully aware that she could hightail it back home if it was all too much.

But it wasn’t.

In fact, it wasn’t enough.

The soft grip Trevante had on her as tightened up as Shawna stole another kiss, ensuring her tongue held up a good fight against his as they stumbled back into the couch. By the time they separated she was seated eye-level with the drawstring of his sweats, finally getting a guilt free image of what he was working with. Even through the thick fabric she could make out his impressive girth, to her dismay it was about all she could ogle at before he tilted her head back towards his.

“You or me first?”

Before answering, Shawna shed herself of her zip up, “Me.”

Trevante responded by dropping to his knees, eyes never breaking contact as he helped her out of her fleece bottoms. For just a moment he reveled at her soaked panties, and to make her squirm he ran a gentle thumb in the center seam of the fabric before pulling it entirely to the side. His lips met hers with a ferocious force before she could chide him for teasing, turning her complaint into a meager whisper as her legs inched closed. She could only watch as he took her in with every part of his mouth, tongue toying with her clit as he kept her spread eagle by the inner thighs with both hands.

“Oh shit.” Was the only legible thing she could voice through the euphoria flooding her mind and body. With one hand nestled atop his fade, she gripped the couch with her entire might as he ate her from front to back; his head beginning to swivel as he lapped up the warmth dripping down her folds. Shawna had never been this horny before; of course, she’d heard about high sex but this. This was way more than she could comprehend; not even shit faced drunk did she get this wet from a kiss - let alone head. It didn’t help that her captor was the eater of the century. Just the sight of him nose deep in her pussy was enough to send her right over the edge. As if it weren’t enough, Trevante started the drawn-out process of spelling his name on her soaked clit; tongue dancing on the rock-solid button like it was his last meal.

He got to V before Shawna felting an abrupt orgasm coming on, nearly barking at the man for some sort of relief, “Tre stop…I’m finna, oh fuck.”

Startled he came up for air, his beard near drenched with her essence. She couldn’t push him back down fast enough as she began to climax against her own wishes. In seconds, Shawnas head snapped back, and she hyperventilated into a moan so loud it overcast the music – clawing her nails deep across ever taut back. Trevante met her cries with even harder tongue lashings, finally opting to let up once her legs stoped shaking.

As she came back to Earth, the man beneath her trailed small kisses up her thighs, meeting her blushed gaze for the first time in minutes. Shawna truthfully wanted to ball up and hide – to cum this quickly on her neighbors’ leather seats when there was a much bigger (and thicker) issue at hand was a bit embarrassing in her mind.

“My bad ma. You good? We can stop if you want.” He insisted from her lap.

“I’m okay. I just…wasn’t tryna do that so quick. Sorry.”

“Sorry for what,” he chided, “you taste good. Like I said, we can stop if you want to.”

“But what about you?”

“Me? I can handle that. Unless you wanna watch like you have been.”

A pang of guilt zapped Shawnas head – had he known she’d been peeping on him this whole time? She sat up, ruined panties getting warm for the ump-teeth time that night and gave him a puzzled look. He chuckled deeply and rose up. With the erectionin his is briefs now threatening to tent outward, he pulled his sweats completely off and gripped his hard on down. Underneath the fluorescent lights he looked godly, and his dick was every bit of enticing through the thin cotton briefs keeping him contained.

“I saw you that night. To be real I bout’ to jack off but I didn’t want to be the perv of the neighborhood,” he paused, hand slowly moving up and down his shaft, “but you. You wanted to see it too. You wanted to see me… like this?”

To Shawnas surprise he was beginning to moan through his words, right hand picking up speed in his shorts. With his free hand, the towering man retrieved her long-discarded phone from the floor and tossed it her way – already recording a new kind of masterpiece for her her collection. Though still incredibly high, she was still very horny and game to his antics; ensuring the flash was on, Shawna aimed the camera at her subject and took it upon herself to get him completely naked.

She took his low eyes into hers and cooed, “Let me take it out and you show me then.”

He let off another moan at her sudden touch, her fingertips tracing the poking veins trailing his skin as she peeled him out of underwear. Just as she though, his dick was as gorgeous as he was – thick and two toned at the tip, he was slick with precum and twitching out of control. With the roles now reversed Shawna was emboldened to see him get weak in the knees like she was.

“It’s so pretty Tre. Show me how you stroke it when you alone.”

“Yes ma’am,” he exhaled, voice shaking as he whimpered her name over the music. He worked his wrist from tip to the base of his shaft, fingers squelching as he pumped swears from his soul; the more he worked the wider his mouth gaped open – moaning with each breath he took.

“Shawna…,” his voice trailed off, eyes beginning to roll back.

“Huh? Say it loud papa.”

“Please baby. You got my tip so. Fucking. Sensitive.”

She was all smiles behind the camera, partly giddy from the weed, and incredibly humbled at her ability to take Trevante’ soul without touching him. He was moaning like a bitch, now choking himself out with that free hand that had held her captive minutes before.

Nasty ass nigga

“Where you gone cum Tre? On the floor or in me?” Shawna taunted. He paused for only a second and bit back a smile, “in you.”

Keeping him at bay, Shawna wagged her finger and propped her phone up on the arm of the couch, only letting him get close when she was ready. Letting her panties slip down her figure, she raised her legs and pulled him over by the back of the thighs. Eyes glued to the screen, they both watched as his head finally made contact with her folds, each parties faces screwing up with undeniable pleasure. Taking after his solo performance, Shawna snaked her hand around his throat and squeezed hard as Trevante slowly entered her pussy.

“Oh my God.” He exclaimed. Just as he expected she felt just as heavenly as she tasted.

A drawn out ‘Tre’ was just about all the stout woman could muster, occasionally peering down to watch him slide in and out of her with the growing conviction he had brewing that entire night. Rocking his hips to the slow tempo of the music, he made sure to keep that dangerous thumb of his on her clit and circle– he wanted to break her down for all the teasing she’d been doing, one step at a time. This time she was the bitch, cursing him with all her might as he fucked her deep into the couch. With every stroke her grip loosened on his neck, hands eventually flailing aside to anchor herself in place. To make things worse, Trevante’ face was crammed deep in her neck talking big shit while he drilled her,

Between each stroke he growled, “you taking this dick so good mama. Look at how creamy it’s getting.”

“W-why?”

“Why what? Why I’m fucking you like this? Cause you deserve it.”

Again, she began to pant just as she had when she came in his mouth, only this time she was dangerously close to ruining his furniture with sweat and incoming release. Shawna clung to his shoulders, squeezing him into her bare breasts to keep them both secure, and cried into the night as he roughly blew her out in missionary. Her walls began clenching involuntarily, eyes now glued to the roof of her skull as a second orgasm crept its way out of her. Besides their exclamations a sound akin to water splashing overtook their space. She was getting close and as much as Tre wanted to go all night, he knew she couldn’t survive another round.

“Let that shit out Shawna.” Was all she had to hear. With a screech of ecstasy her hips jerked into his and she wept; bouncing from his name to a string of curses she came harder than she had in almost a year.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck! Tre fuck!”

He, on the other hand, was still stroking– rhythm becoming unhinged as his own nut started to unwind. Even blacked out she could feel his dick hitting every spot she couldn’t with a pitiful rose toy; in typical Trevante fashion he snatched her by the jaw forced her to look him in the eyes as the tension holding him together snapped.

An airy “Im cumming,” was all he could muster – twitching inside the vice grip she had on his length one last time he finally let it all out: warm cum shooting in her soft walls and voice groaning through the blue lit room. He was surprisingly more of mess than she was, collapsing into her, hips jerking violently as his climax came to a slow end.

By the time they both came to the long-forgotten record had stopped and scratched in rhythm with their cyclic breathing. Shawna took the moment to lazily turn her phone off and untangle her body from his as he tended to the mess they’d created. She was three blinks away from sleep when he finally returned to escort her to a well needed bed, wet towel in hand for her to clean off as they shuffled to his room. Before quite literally collapsing into his bed she quipped an earnest statement his way,

“You think De’aria gone flip out when I call her?”

“Think? You better hope she don’t see that video. She might wanna watch next time like you.”

With a final grumble Shawna retorted “You the one that can’t shut your blinds.”

And with, that their banter was even for the night. With only the pale terrarium silhouetting their faces the pair drifted into sleep, chests rising in tandem to the sounds of life carrying on outside that cozy bedroom window.

#writting #trevante rhodes #trevante Rhodes fanfiction #trevante rhodes smut #black writers #oc x trevante #black fem oc

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merakiui · 5 months ago

Note

idia, who's already spying on you when he hacks your phone and sees all the juicy messages you've been sending out. now he gets secret copies of everything you do. the nude you sent to tease ace and deuce last week? saved. the video of you playing with your pussy for the tweels? saved. the fancy lingerie you bought to entice malleus? idia knows and is making a custom AI model of you wearing it that he'll jack off to later. if you didn't want him seeing, you should be better at cybersecurity!

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ your fault for being trash at this sort of stuff. He’s probably hacked into your phone itself to be able to watch you from behind the screen if he hasn’t already outfitted Ramshackle with small, undetectable STYX-brand cameras. Now he gets to see you filming those lewd videos or taking photos in real time. >:) it’s like a 24/7 livestream feed, and Idia hardly ever sleeps so he’s always at attention, watching you, his room awash in crisp blue light.

When you think those photos or videos are being kept confidential between you and the others who receive them, you don’t think for a minute that a third party might have slipped in through what was basically an open door to have these sides of you to himself. Idia doesn’t understand. Why are you so huffy over the fact that some guy like Ace might spread that nude to his classmates when anyone with a brain and a modicum of cybersecurity intelligence could easily get that photo for themself. Not that just anyone could it, he’ll think, oozing pride. But still. It’s too easy. You really should make an effort. At least put a password on the folder of lewd stuff (which he’ll hack into just as easily). :/

He’ll be snacking on junk food late into the night while he watches the live feed of you lowering yourself onto a dildo. Maybe he should send you something… it would be so embarrassing if you found out it was him, though. >_< but he’ll make sure he’s perfectly anonymous. And maybe he’ll finally work up the courage to send you a message… obviously it’ll be through a number you won’t recognize. He’s too scared to talk to you in person. It’s much easier if you don’t know of his existence.

He’s typed and deleted the same greeting for days now. Once he finally sends it and you reply, it’s downhill from there. You’re like the chatbot he created of you…but real. 😳 and if you ever try to get out of this, maybe he can blackmail you, poke around inside private folders, etc etc. You can prattle on and on about all of that “they’ll find you once I report you!!” nonsense, but Idia isn’t some amateur. He knows how to be untraceable. You, darling, don’t have the winning hand here. :) so sit back down and reply to his text, and there won’t be any issues. <3

#twisted chit chat #n/sfw #idia online: scary confident boss-level threat #idia irl: 🫣 h…….h…hi…….

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purplelockscreen · 5 months ago

Note

"Hmm.."

(Solemnly looking over Cooper's shoulder at his paperwork. He seems awfully bored.)

"How would I branch out in Yokohama, undetected?"

"Undetected you say?"

*Cooper puts down his paperwork, neatly putting them in a folder before turning around in his chair.*

"Well we can always do things in a underwear secret way. If we establish a new hideout down there we can take a abandon building..."

#bsd #bsd oc #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs oc #mafia cooper #bsd rp #bsd rp blog

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a-heart-attack-ow · 9 months ago

Text

The Arrangement Part Sixteen.

Part 15

Part 16: Warnings: Smut, Violence, Language, and potential spelling errors. This was not edited.

A quiet sense of peace washed over me as I sat in front of our fireplace, my back to the large window in our living room. Where colorful leaves danced in the wind, a few dropped as the air turned cold. Fall was always my favorite season, and nights like tonight were the reason why. Surrounded by white lit candles strewn across the fireplace mantle, and the gentle sound of my daughter playing on the carpet covered floor. Her long dark brown hair falling in spirals down her back. I’d been sitting on the couch reading over a work document, trying to take in the ambience as I allowed the quiet peace to overtake me. A quick look at my watch told me that it was nearing 8:30 p.m. and that it would be time to put my daughter to bed, but when I went to put the document on the couch beside me I’m met by another voice.

“I can put Nellie to bed, darling. You can finish reading your report.”

Colby’s voice is deep, tired, and on edge. Something that I see reflected in his eyes as I meet his gaze from across the room. He’d spent nearly nine hours in his office today. Tucked away from his family and unwilling to come out for anything. Not even to eat. Looking at him, I feel sad and helpless. He was so distant for the last week, ever since I made the decision to move his distribution date back a week. He’d told me it was alright to not have his delivery date on the same day as our charity event, but some small part of me felt like it wasn’t alright. That there was some sort of consequence to my choice that hadn’t revealed itself yet. I give him a small smile and look at our daughter, who yawns.

“Thank you Colby.”

He gives me a grin in response and waits for our daughter to get up from her spot. When she does, she glances back at me and blows me a kiss before toddling over to him. I watch as he bends down to pick her up before disappearing down the hall with her. Alone with my documentation, I continue reading where I left off, but I don’t make it far. My brain is too scattered and unable to focus now that he’s left his office. I knew he kept me in the loop on his secret business ventures, but the last few days he hadn’t and the silence was killing me. My eyes trail over the last few sentences of the document without registering in my head. If you’d asked me to tell you what it said, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you. And, most importantly, I didn’t care. I couldn’t stop thinking of him and whatever it had been that had been bothering him.

Around fifteen minutes later I hear the sound of his feet on the hardwood getting closer with each passing step forward. In anticipation I toss the file folder with my document in it onto the end table and keep my gaze on the living room doorway. The same doorway he stops in front of once he’s reached the end of the hall. For a moment an awkward silence hangs between the two of us. He’d been through a lot over the last few weeks and I understood that. I’d been trying to give him his distance, but I hoped that he was ready to talk.

“Are you going to tell me what’s been eating at you?”

The words fell from me softly, my wide eyed gaze fixated on my husband. An undetectable look washes over his face a look that grows more and more dangerous with each passing second. I purse my lips and give him a look of confusion.

“No…”

He responds coldly, unlike his kind tone just moments ago. The smile he’d given me when he took our daughter to her room was long gone. Slowly he moves forward, his gaze remaining locked on me. With caution I stand up from the couch I’d been sitting on. He doesn’t speak again until he’s reached me, his hand going around my jaw. He forces me to look at him, my heart skipping a beat as he looks down at me with a smirk playing on his lips.

“...But I’m going to eat you.”

My lips part when he says this, my eyes widening. I feel my breathing hitch as he moves his lips to mine. A slow delicate kiss moves to a heated embrace. His body pulls mine in against his, his head craning down so I could reach him without standing on my tip toes. Out of instinct I run my hands along his chest before clasping them behind his neck. He’s quick to deepen the kiss and pull my body in against his, like two pieces of a puzzle clicking into place. A low growl seems to rumble out of his chest as his hands trail down my torso, past my hips, and move to lift me up into his arms. Wrapping my legs around his torso as he groans.

“The minute you looked at me with those fucking doe-eyes I knew I needed you.”

His voice sounds erratic and wild, but he remains in control of every movement of his body. I hum along in response, trying not to be too loud. Not after Eleanor was asleep just down the hall. Seeming to read my mind, Colby chuckles darkly.

“Oh don’t worry, Bug passed out cold. You know once she’s out there’s no waking her up until she wants to.”

A sharp gasp escapes me as he grabs me tighter.

“She’s like her dad. He doesn’t like to wake up until he wants to either.”

He chuckles once more as he lays me down on the couch, his body straddling mine, his lips moving to my neck. His tongue is eager to mark my skin, lapping up a spot on my collarbone. My head spins as he does this, my breathing uneven. All the thoughts that had been on my mind during the day seemed to dissipate the longer his lips waged war on my skin. I could still feel the worry I had for him inside of me, but it was no longer at the forefront of my mind. Instead I laid here entranced by him, just as I always was.

“I’m going to fuck another baby into you Emilia…”

He starts, the same growl overtaking his voice. I gasp as he bites down on my collar bone, right above where he’d marked me. I can’t help but let out a quiet moan as his hands reach for the bottom of my dress, his hands eager to feel for how wet he’s made me. The pads of his fingertips cause a chill to move up my spine, my breathing catching in my throat. However, before he can feel for my underwear, he stops finding my aching sex completely bare and without anything covering me.

He pulls back to look at me, his eyes somehow managing to go a darker shade of blue. Slowly his right hand nestles against my bare pussy. He keeps his eyes on mine as his middle finger starts to rub slow deliberate circles on my clit. I’m soaked with want, even without him dipping a finger inside my core. His jaw clenches as my body naturally leans into his touch, my hands grasping the couch for some sort of support.

“You act so fucking innocent all of the time, but here you are. No underwear, soaked when I’ve barely touched you…” He pauses, rubbing my clit lightly between his middle finger and his thumb. Massaging gently in a completely euphoric way. I feel my breathing grow more ragged as he does this, something that amuses him as he strategically decides what he wants to say next.

“...You’ve always been such a good girl. A good pliant little wife. So eager to make her husband happy. I bet you’d like me to fuck you stupid. I bet you’d like me to fuck you until your pregnant with another child. Give our sweet daughter a sibling. I bet you like being my little cum slut. I want to watch this tight body swell with another child. So the whole world knows who you belong to.”

He says such filthy things, his voice low and deranged. But all it does is turn me on more and he knows it. Though he doesn’t allow me to say anything in response as he finally dips his middle finger inside of my soaked core. The sensation of him being inside of me is so relieving that I can’t help but close my eyes in sheer bliss.

“Is that what you want darling? For daddy to fill you up? Breed you and do it all over again?”

He asks the question in such a way that I can tell there will be a consequence if I don’t speak. And I couldn’t risk a consequence that could stop him from touching me like this. He adds another finger and starts pumping them inside of me. Slowly, as if he’s preparing me for something bigger….

“Yes, daddy. Please daddy. That’s all I want.”

I gasp as his lips fall back onto mine, his fingers pumping in and out of me at a quicker pace. I feel overstimulated by him, so much so that I feel like I’m free falling without any anchor keeping me in place. He deeps the kiss as he feels my walls start to tighten around his fingers. My body is not able to keep up with this relentless pace for much longer. He feels it and whispers against my lips;

“Come on baby, cum all over daddy’s fingers.”

His words send me over the edge. And without a second of hesitation I moan as I cum on his fingers. My eyes open and move to his as he breaks the kiss. He studies the heaping mess he’s made of me and smirks. Slowly he withdraws his fingers from me and brings them to my lips. “Go on darling. Taste how sweet you are.”

I don’t hesitate as I let him trace my lips before inserting both fingers into my mouth. I do taste sweet and it makes my stomach flutter as I watch the look of cruel intent wash over his handsome face. A look of corruption that seemed to satisfy him every time he did something sexual with me. Regardless if it was the first time or the hundreth. He removes his fingers from my mouth before putting his lips back to mine, tasting what’s left of me on my lips. After a moment he breaks the kiss and studies me beneath him. He doesn’t say a word as he get up from the couch and discards his clothing, tossing them across the room before he sits back down on the couch next to me. I sit up and find my eyes glancing down at his hardened cock. He reaches out his right hand to grab me, his grip firm as he pulls my body up from where I’d sat up and guides me to straddle his lap. His eyes remain locked with mine as he slowly guides my body down onto his cock, aligning himself with my entrance. I feel my face contort from momentary discomfort as my body adjusts to how big he is.

“It’s okay baby. You know how well you take my cock, you know how that sweet pussy was made for me. I’ll wait a second before I move.”

He sounds gentle when he says this, but his eyes are still dark. Wild and detached. Ready to split me open. I give him a nod and wait a moment before I dare to kiss him once again. He remains still as we kiss, his cock stretching me in a way that’s sinful.

“Please fuck me Colby…”

I moan as I pull away, our eyes meeting once more.

“...Please daddy.”

I don’t need to say another word as he reaches for me jaw, his eyes harsh and cold as I begin to move myself up and down along his cock, riding him. He keeps his firm hold on me as his hips roll his body with mine so we can fuck in-sync. A growl falls from his lips as he holds me, his hands moving along my still clothed torso.

“I’ll have to thank you for wearing a dress. Made this so much easier.”

His words fall out in a broken rasp as he continues fucking me. The sound of skin slapping against skin is all that fills the room around us. The two of us panting and moaning as we continue. He is quick to move his hands underneath my dress, where he grips my hips and angles my body so he can fuck me deeper. So much deeper I can feel him in my stomach. I feel like he’s going to break me in two when he does this, but it feels too fucking good to stop him. I find myself growing more exhausted the longer we continue this dance, my stomach building up with nerves that tell me I can’t handle too much more of this.

“Does my darling want to cum?” He states, his eyes intensifying as he studies me. He knows that my body is ready to cum, he knows it because my pussy was made for him and he always knew exactly what I wanted and how I wanted it.

“Please daddy.” I hum in pure overstimulated sexual bliss. He chuckles once more before picking up his pace once more. Faster and unrelenting he fucks me as deeply as he can. His forehead leans against mine as he does this.

“Oh my gosh, I-I’m gonna cum Colbs.”

I whine as my body spills over the edge and I cum all around his cock. He soaks it in for a moment before I feel him cum undone as well. Shooting his seed deep inside of me as he holds my hips flush against his. He and I remain locked together like this until I feel his cock stop twitching inside of me. Only then does he slowly guide me back down onto the couch before pulling out. He doesn’t speak as he grabs the pillow at the end of the couch and tucks it underneath me so my hips are raised. He makes sure that my hips are in a way that his cum remains inside of me, pooling.

“I wasn’t kidding about another baby Emilia. Stay like that for half an hour and then you can move.”

I look over at him and nod, smiling at the way he smooths my dress down so I’m covered. After he’s finished with covering me up, he looks away from me. His mind suddenly miles away. An action that ends up making me feel like I’m all alone in this room. The same way he’d left me alone all day to retreat into his office.

“Hey…”

I breathe as I reach out to take his hand in mine.

“... Don’t do that. Don’t push me away. Tell me what’s the matter.”

At first I can tell that he doesn’t want to tell me anything. He glances over at me coldly, his face grave. Then he ponders my request for a moment before he decides he should tell me. Seeming to remember that he’d told me he wasn’t going to keep things from me anymore.

“We have another mandatory dinner to go to tomorrow. It has been requested that the whole family attend. Including our daughter. The board believes it will be good for us to do family stuff at events.”

I pull my gaze from his and stare at the ceiling above me. I hated that we had to play this game with the board. First it was his parents dictating our lives and now it’s the board. I understood that we needed to do stuff to support the board. To make our business run, but I also knew a bunch of our business was also selling illegal substances. I knew that I had to play my part but that didn’t mean I wanted Eleanor to have to play that part as well. She was only three years old, so I didn't want to exploit her. I would never want to exploit her. But I also knew what could happen to the people I love if I didn’t do as I was told. I also knew that this ‘dinner’ wasn’t going to just be a dinner. It was going to be a front for the illegal services that our company got up to. My family would be the distraction while others got paid to do very bad things.

But then a terrible thought enters my head. Did Colby just fuck me because he wanted to? Or was it because a pregnant wife with a three year old would be the perfect distraction? I already got so much attention for the outfits I wore and the charities I endorsed/participated with. I already was dissected in the media (even though I tried to ignore it). I knew my husband loved me and I knew I loved him, but after years of living in this family and doing things I never dreamed of. I couldn’t help but second guess things at times.

“Is that why you suddenly want me to get pregnant? I know Eleanor wants a sibling, but we’d talked about waiting. So now, after an entire day hidden in your office and not speaking to me, you want another child?”

My accusation hangs in the air for a moment, but he doesn't deny it. Instead he looks over at me with an undetectable expression.

“A baby would be wonderful PR move, but that’s not why I fucked you. I fucked you because I’ve been craving you all day, but had to deal with arrangements for this party that we suddenly have to host at the estate home. You know the home we moved out of because my parents were shot and killed on the premises? So no, I didn’t use you and that sweet pussy for my own personal gain. I can’t believe you’d think I would do that to you. After all of this time together…”

He pulls his hand from mine and looks away from me again. He doesn’t leave the spot beside me on the couch, but I can feel the anger radiating off of him. Instantly, I know I’ve fucked up. This right here was why he never told me things, because I always had a way of morphing it into something awful. He’d always been honest with me and I always managed to believe it was something terrible. I feel the tears fill my eyes, my throat burning. I always messed up. God I was so stupid.

“I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean to think like that. I’ve gotten so used to how I have to be in front of others that sometimes I get mixed up and think everything is PR. That everything we do is for others and our company. I’m sorry.”

I look at the couch cushion to my left and bite down on my bottom lip to keep from letting out any sound. I don’t want him to see me cry, but he could hear it in my voice. He breathes a deep sigh as he reaches his hand out to grasp mine once more.

“Hey, look at me darling.”

He speaks softly, waiting until I do as he asked before continuing to speak.

“I am sorry. I shouldn’t be surprised you’d think that. I mean when you were pregnant with Eleanor I had you do pap walks so people could see your bump. Although that wasn’t really for PR, that was more for me.”

A wave of confusion overtakes me as I look at him.

“What do you mean?”

I ask, unsure of whatever he’s talking about. He gives me a smile and a gentle squeeze of my hand.

“Watching your stomach grow with our child was a turn on. Knowing that it was my child you were carrying. That the world knew you were mine and no one else's. It was intoxicating.” I can’t help but laugh when he says this. Covering my mouth with the hand he wasn’t holding to keep from laughing too loud.

“Hey…”

He laughs, leaning over to look at me. Smiling as I start to laugh harder.

“... Don’t laugh at me. That’s why your engagement and wedding rings are so massive. I wanted the world to see that you were my girl. Without any doubt about who you belonged to.”

I keep laughing, glancing at the massive black diamond ring and the matching wedding band.

“Colbs, people can see from space that I’m yours with these things.”

He reaches to take my left hand in his and sighs.

“Yes, they can and they won’t have any doubt that you’re married.”

I roll my eyes and lean up to give him a kiss on the lips. A small peck before pulling back to look at him.

“You’re a dork.”

I watch his face as his cheeks turn red and he shakes his head while smiling.

“Yeah, I’m your dork…”

He pauses as moves the pillow from underneath me and sits me up. For a moment he just studies me, wiping away the tears that had managed to run down my face.

“... Now, let's go to bed. We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

–

The autumn leaves were just as beautiful at the Brock Estate home as I’d remembered them to be. Being back here after three and a half years away felt eerie and unnatural. I think about the last month I’d been here. When we called this mansion our home. The same month I watched Colby’s mother get murdered right before my eyes. The day in that same month that I’d seen Shay through the hedge maze.

Before the Board had gotten rid of her.

Everything about this house felt wrong. So many bad memories lived here. All the fights I’d had with Colby at the start of our arranged marriage. All the tears and discomfort. All the awkward dinner parties we’d had to go to every month. It had been hell. I feel a chill move up my spine as I stare at the white house with black shutters. The house on 100,000 acres that had been my prison for so long. I keep my eyes on the exterior as Colby drives his car up the cobblestone driveway. He doesn’t want to be here either and I can feel it. He hadn’t been here since we moved out. Even then he’d hired people to pack our stuff and move into our new home. But he couldn’t get rid of the house, it was part of the family legacy and he’d kept it because of events like this.

Times when we needed a big space for a lot of people.

I see Sam and Kat standing on the front steps when we reach the top of the driveway and park. From behind me I hear a squeal from my daughter who is so excited to see her Uncle Sam and Aunt Kat.

“AUNTIE KAT…”

She yells as she starts to undo her seatbelt, waiting for her father to turn off the car before getting down from her carseat and flings the door open.

“...UNCLE SAM.”

Her little three year old body boosts her forward like a lightning strike. I smile and look over at Colby.

“And she’s gone. Like we don’t even matter.”

He smiles too before glancing over at me, leaning in to give me a kiss on the lips before pulling back.

“Let’s face it, we’re just not as cool as Uncle Sam and Aunt Kat.”

I can’t help but laugh as I reach to unbuckle my seatbelt and get out of the car. The moment I do I’m met by camera flashes. The same cameras who filmed my daughter running to her Uncle Sam and Aunt Kat. No doubt it would be something that went viral, but it didn’t stop from making me weary.

Closing the car door behind me, I do my best to give a smile and a small wave to the camera men. All of which felt it necessary to compliment the dress I’d worn for the evening. A white, one shoulder dress that flowed to the ground. The bodice was form fitting and hugged every curve. My hair had been done into an updo and the only jewelry I wore were my wedding rings. Colby wore a suit but apparently no one seemed to care about that.

Instead, the camera men were excited by my dress and the matching dress my daughter had on. With a few key differences, we both wore a white dress with matching hair styles. The media loved it. I keep my trained smile on my face as I walk around the back end of the car and reach for Colby’s hand. He holds me steady as we walk up the steps and finally catch up with out daughter who is in Kat’s arms and immediately talking her ear off. Kat is in a black halter dress with her long locks loose and Sam is in an eerily similar suit to Colby.

Once we reach them, I reach out to hug Sam and am met by a chorus of clicks and flashes.

“Please tell me it’s better inside.” I whisper for only him to hear as he hugs me back.

“Yes, we only have one photographer inside.”

He gives me a look of sympathy as he lets me go and I reach to hug Kat. An action that makes the clicks and flashes go crazy once again. I feel my anxiety building as Sam opens the door to the house and lets us inside. Sam and Kat had moved here once Colby and I moved out. Since it had to stay in the family, it made sense that someone in the family kept the place. But this was the first time I got to see what they’d done to the place. Once we are safely inside and the doors have closed us in it takes a second for my eyes to adjust but when they do I’m met by an entirely different house. Structurally it was the same. Same massive staircase where I’d been forced to pose with Colby at the annual meetings. Same marble walls, but there was a warmth that didn’t exist when we lived there.

Along the ceilings were lights. Golden, bright lights that made the room around me warm and cozy. The kind of light that reminds you of a warm Christmas morning surrounded by family and friends. The dining hall was now to the left when you entered, closer to the kitchen which made way more sense. The doors leading to the old dining hall to the right were closed off. With a sign that said “Do Not Enter.”

“That’s under construction. We want to make it a conference room for future work events.”

Sam paused, giving me and Colby and I an expectant look. Seeming to wonder what we’d thought of the changes. The marble walls weren’t white and bland anymore, they were a cool gray with artwork hanging on the walls. A fall theme was all over the house. Leaves on the staircase railings. Pumpkins at the bottom of the steps. Even the food being served at the event was fall themed.

“It’s beautiful you guys. I love it.”

I say this in honest fascination. I couldn’t believe how they’d managed to make the house an actual home. It made me happy to see that this beautiful structure did not go to waste. I breathe a deep sigh as I look toward the dining hall and the people already orbiting around the table, finding their name cards and where to sit. I see Jake, Johnnie, and Corey sitting at the chairs lined up against the walls. Like security guards watching to make sure everything goes as planned. I knew that there was going to be an order going out tonight. The new date had been chosen by me since I didn’t want them to use last week’s charity event as a cover for their shady dealings. Knowing this made me more on edge. Without realizing it, I feel Colby move his hand to my waist as he pulls me forward. The Five of us are now heading towards our seats and I’m dreading it. The old parties had been hard enough to go to but they weren’t ever formal dinners like this. People drank and danced at our old parties, now it seemed we were going to just sit and stare at each other while we ate. Colby’s seat is at the head of the table, all eyes are trained on the two of us as he guides me to my seat to his right. Sam and Kat sit to his left. Eleanor was sitting between the two of us in her own little chair.

All around me are faces of people I don't know, but I keep my attention on Eleanor who is silent as Colby stands at the head of the table. He smiles at everyone in attendance making sure to point out the board members.

“Good evening everyone. Welcome to our first monthly meeting. I know we did these all of the time when my parents were here and I know that we stopped doing them once they were tragically taken from us. That being said, I feel that it’s time for us to return to doing these events. It's nice to come together as a community and touch base. I believe it will be fundamental to our continued business success. Now, let us eat.”

As if on cue, the moment he finishes speaking the food is brought out and he takes a seat. I feel dread fall over me when I remember that this is the first of many events to come. That this will once again be our new normal. I smile at our daughter who seems enchanted by the lights and being around this many people.

“Daddy has a lot of friends, Mama.”

She whispers to me in awe. I nod and glance over at the other who’ve taken to eating and talking with each other.

“Yes he does my love.”

She smiles and gives her dad a look as he starts to put a plate together for her with food that had been placed on the table by the servers.

“Daddy. I don’t like broccoli.” She protests when he puts it on her plate with a small bit of chicken he’d already cut up and a little pile of potatoes with gravy.

“Bug, you know the rules.” He says with warning as she nods.

“No veggies means no dessert later.”

The words come out in defeat as she looks down heartbroken that she has to eat the broccoli. He nods when she finishes her sentence before putting the plate in front of her. She glares at the broccoli and grasps the fork in front of her before sighing to herself and digging in.

I look at Colby and can’t help but smile as we watch our daughter finish all of her veggies before eating our own food.

Minutes turn into an hour as I do my best to fall into a rhythm of talking to the people around me, but I have a hard time focusing on anything when I glance across the table and meet the eyes of a man I do not know. He watches me closely, eyes fixated. We watch each other for a moment before he lifts his wine glass and gives me a smirk. An action that causes me to look away from him as quickly as I can. But I feel his eyes on me for the rest of the dinner, until he stands up from the table before dessert. I note the way his eyes move from me to Colby who he gestures to follow him. My husband, without saying a word nods and excuses himself from the table before disappearing without a second glance.

I can’t put my finger on it, but I can tell that something is wrong… Very wrong indeed. But I can’t leave Eleanor to check on whatever my husband is doing. My eyes scan the wall where Jake, Johnnie, and Corey had been sitting and feel relief when I see Corey get up to follow Colby out. I knew that Corey would have his back and watch over Colby when I couldn’t.

Comfort overtakes me as I resume conversation with the people around me. Making sure to work the crowd and be the best distraction I can be. I make jokes and small talk, somehow engaging everyone sitting at our table. Each person hanging on my every word like I’m some sort of tourist attraction. I’d had to learn to be more open with these people, to be a better public speaker and while it was hard, it was something I felt necessary. Especially when Colby and I had to be a team at these events. Eventually Sam and Kat start to do more of the talking and I’m able to glance around the room in wonder. From the clock hanging on the wall across the room, My husband had been missing for over thirty minutes. Something that was deeply unsettling for whatever reason.

My brow furrows as my eyes glance over the room, as if I’ll find an answer if I look hard enough. Its not until I find Corey walking through the door that I feel some sort of relief. His eyes lock on me as he walks behind our seated guests to reach me. Leaning down he whispers in my ear. “Colby needs to see you.”

There’s no panic in his voice, only a sound of emptiness. A tone that I wasn’t used to hearing from Corey. I nod as he pulls back to look at me, his face serious. I glance over at Kat who seems to read my mind before I have the chance to say anything.

“Eleanor, come sit between Sam and I.”

She says with a wide smile that doesn’t give away any hint of anything being wrong. My daughter doesn’t have to be asked twice as she hops down from her chair and walks over to her Aunt and Uncle. Corey pulls out my chair and helps me out of it, smiling at me as I excuse myself from our guests. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel that something is off. Even as I follow Corey out of the dining room I can’t shake the feeling creeping in. Corey guides me through the house until we reach the doorway leading to the wine cellar, a room I’d never gone into when I lived here. He opens the door and waits for me to pass in front of him before following me down the stairs and closing the door behind him. As I lead the way I feel the unease inside of myself getting worse. The wine cellar looked like it had been built over 200 years ago. With stones lining the floor and walls. The air was ice cold once I reached the bottom of the steps, a chill moving up my spine.

Once I’ve reached the bottom, I attempt to look back at Corey to speak, but when I do I freeze. He uses my pause as an opportunity to stick the barrel of his gun firmly against my back. The metal cold against the fabric of my gown. I feel my breathing hitch when he does this and suddenly I know that whatever is happening is going to be so fucking bad.

“Move Emilia.”

He rasps in my ear as he pushes the barrel into my back. I don’t speak only to comply with his demands. I walk forward and realize that there is a large tunnel that stretches farther than I’d expected. Lined with wine shelves, but scary none-the-less. I keep my eyes forward and walk. Noting that the tunnel is dark, except for the single light at the end of the tunnel, where something is laying on the ground. In the dim light of the tunnel I find each step forward to be dire. It wasn’t until we reached the end of the hallway that the pure terror within me reached a fever pitch. When I’m directly in front of the thing at the end of the hallway.

My eyes focused on the sight before me, my breathing hitched as anxiety fully took over me. For a moment my brain doesn't know what it's seeing. All the red covering the floor. So much blood matted into the stone that I knew it would be nearly impossible to clean out. I try to focus as my eyes slowly move from the floor towards the man laying in the pool of blood. For a moment I don't recognize my husband. He's been beaten beyond recognition, but deep in my bones I know it's him. I attempt to move forward to help him, but Corey holds me in place. The barrel pressing harder into my back. I'd followed Corey down here willingly and, until five minutes ago, I never considered he'd be the one I would have to worry about betraying Colby and I. He'd been friends with Colby for years. And, despite our differences at first, we'd become friends over the past three and a half years. He worked under Colby without ever questioning his boss or the motives of the company. Corey hadn't ever indicated that he wasn't loyal to my husband and our company until now.

"What did you do Corey?"

I ask, my voice shaky as I feel him move in closer behind me. The gun pointing deeper into my back. I half expect to hear him respond, but the response I get is from another voice. A voice I didn't know.

"Don’t be too upset with Corey. He was only doing what he was told, Mrs. Brock."

The voice comes from the shadows before they reveal themselves. With slow and calculated steps a man emerges. The same man who’d been staring at me during dinner. I study him closely, as he smirks at the confusion etched into my face. He continues his steps forward until he's behind Colby, squatting down behind him as he shakes my husband, earning a groan as he struggles to open his eyes. When he does, the blood makes his blue eyes pop, his gaze tired and fearful.

"Wake up Colby. Your pretty little wife is here."

The man chuckles when he sees the fear on Colby's face. When he sees how hopeless Colby is. Because he knows that Colby can't do anything due to his injuries. The amusement grows when Colby attempts and fails to sit up, a faint groan of pain falling from him as he remains glued to his spot on the floor.

"What do you want?"

I ask softly, not wanting to upset the man. I didn't want to do anything that might get Colby hurt further. The smallness of my voice earns another chuckle from the man as he stands up, his green eyes set on me. Under his gaze I feel my unease grow. This man was a stranger to me and that made him dangerous. The man's eyes move to Corey, giving him a silent command that Corey complies with without hesitation. He moves me forward, guiding my body to stand directly in front of the man as he steps over Colby's weakened body.

"I've heard so much about you Emilia. The perfect, doting wife and mother who cares about the poor. The woman who has cleaned up the Brock family's reputation with the public. I have to admit, when Corey here told me Colby was getting into an arranged marriage I had no idea you'd be such a success. I was so sure you'd be nothing more than Colby's plaything. A baby factory and nothing more, but you've turned into such a thorn in my side. You got the billionaire party boy to settle down. You got him to love you. Made him weak..."

He pauses his monologue long enough to reach out and touch my face. His smirk grows when he feels how still I become. Beside him Colby seems to growl in anger muttering "Don't touch her." In a pained gasp.

"... You must be really good in bed to have him whipped so thoroughly. Maybe I'll have to take you for a spin and see what all of the fuss is about."

My stomach turns once again when he says this. A deeper sense of danger setting in. I didn't know what this man was going to do to me, but I knew I didn't like being in his presence. Even as his hand moves from my face and down my neck I feel worse and worse. He watches me closely, noting how my breathing slows. Noting how on edge that I am as his fingertips lightly trace my collar bone before dipping lower, stopping at the start of my breasts.

"Elton, don't touch her."

Colby growls once more as he finally pulls himself up off of the ground. I look from the man, who I now know as Elton to my husband. Colby stands his ground, despite the fact that he's a bloody mess. Every ounce of me wants to reach out to my husband, to pull myself away from Corey and Elton's grasps, but neither of us moves. We both don't want to make things worse. The smirk on Elton's face grows as he pulls his hand away, holding his arms up in defense. He gives Corey another look that seems to tell him to step away from me, because he does. It takes everything inside of me not to collapse to the ground, but I manage to stay still. My eyes are wide as I look at Colby, waiting for whatever is going to happen next.

"You've gotten so possessive of this one Colby. Normally you have no qualms about sharing your girls with me. Ever since you got married I've had to find new toys all on my own..."

I try not to think too hard about what Elton has said. I try not to judge whatever bond they might've had before I entered into this marriage. I focus on what Colby and I have built together, pushing down everything else that I feel bubbling up within me.

"... It's really such a pity. She looks like she likes a good fuck."

My eyes remain forward as his comment washes over me. I felt gross and objectified in a way that I'd never felt before. Even when Colby and I first got together and he made comments like Elton's, I never felt this level of disgust. I feel Colby's eyes on me, silently processing how I'm holding up when it's him that I'm the most worried about. He was the one beaten within an inch of his life, I could handle a few ugly comments. Elton’s smirk never leaves his face, even as he turns away from me to focus on my husband. Suddenly ignoring my presence, he decides to talk as if I'm not there.

"I have it on good authority that your shipment of my supplies was pushed back by a week. I want to know why."

There is no question in his words, only the demand of an answer. I knew why the supplies were pushed back by a week. It was because I didn't want our charity event as a rendezvous for the drugs that Colby's gang was pushing. It had been my decision. I had no idea Elton was the supplier. I had no idea that Corey was the informant clearly working behind our backs the entire time. I had thought it wasn't a big deal, but I see now that I was very wrong. I look at Colby who holds his head up and focuses on Elton in front of him. Suddenly there's an anger in his eyes unlike anything I'd ever seen before. He goes to open his mouth, but I speak instead.

"It was my fault."

I rasp, quickly. Unwilling to let him take the fall for me. Knowing full well that Elton already knew that it was my fault because Corey had been at our house the night I told Colby that we wouldn't use the event as a rendezvous point. I'd said it in, what I'd thought was, safe company. I had no idea that it was going to cause all of this. The moment the words leave my lips I can tell that Colby is frustrated by the fact that I've chosen to speak up. The smirk on Elton's face seems to grow as he glances over his shoulder to look in my direction. For a moment I don't know what he's going to do or say next. But whatever I feared that he was going to do was nothing compared to what he actually decided to do. Without hesitation he takes advantage of Colby's weakened state, grabbing him and pulling his back against his chest as he puts a gun that I hadn't noticed he was holding to Colby's head. It happened so fast. So fast that I can't stop myself from screaming or controlling my composure. If Colby hadn't been hurt he could've taken Elton, but right now he wasn't in the state to do so. I can't stop the tears that enter my eyes, the panic as I reach for Colby only to have Corey hold me in place and force me to watch on helplessly.

In my mind flashes of the violence I’d witnessed flicker in my head. I watched his mother get shot in front of me three and a half years ago. I saw life leave her eyes and now I feared I would watch the same fate befall my husband. I think back to the night my father's life had been threatened in a similar fashion. When I had to beg a masked Sam not to harm him. When I exchanged my life for his, forced into an arranged marriage that had brought me great pain for months on end. Elton's stare is vacant and cold as he studies me. He seems fascinated by how distraught I am. How a sob escapes me as I break down in tears. I couldn't imagine life without Colby. I didn't want to see him get taken from me. From our daughter.

"P-Please don't hurt him."

I stammer out, my voice pleading with his capture.

Elton's vacant expression turns dark at the sound of my plea. He likes being begged. He likes it a lot.

"Tell me sweetheart, how much do you love Colby? Hmm? Maybe if you make a case for him I won't hurt him."

I look at him sick to my stomach with fear. I couldn't help but worry what would happen if he didn't believe me. So I look at Colby and really let my brain flip through the memories of what led us to this point. I think of every kiss, every conversation, every laugh, and moment we shared with our daughter. I think of how much I love him. How my heart nearly beats out of my chest every time we are together. How he was my forever person and I didn't want a life without him in it. I think of this and break down in front of the cruel man before me and I start to beg without any care for how silly it might've made me look. I tell Elton exactly how I feel about Colby and how much I love him until my throat is raw from yelling. Until I'm so raw that my throat is bleeding. Until I've sobbed so hard that I feel like my head is going to explode. Until my body is so weak that even Corey can't hold me up anymore and he lets me fall to the ground. Into a shaking mess on the floor. It's only then that Elton starts to laugh, he pulls the gun from Colby's head. He pushes Colby to the ground with me. Colby's hands reached out to grab me, holding me firmly to him.

"Holy shit dude, she actually loves you. I've seen you twist a lot of chicks up, but this one really loves you..."

He pauses and glances over at Corey with a look of cruel intent before he kneels down in front of me. Our eyes locked before he decided to finish speaking.

"... So here's the deal, sweet cheeks. You're not gonna be making any more choices for when my shipments go out. I don't mind you helping, but you don't make those calls. This is my business. I give the lover boy the addictive shit and he delivers it. Keeps people hooked and wanting more. And, since I'm a board member, all of that money trickles back to me and your whole family. We have a system in place baby and you're not going to mess it up because Brock hasn't fucked the consciousness out of that tight little body. We all have a part to play and you're going to do what's asked of you. Just because Colby's the king doesn't mean he doesn't have a council to keep happy. So you go and spread those legs for your husband, keep him happy, and pop out more babies. Keep playing the part of the doting wife and all will be fine. But, you make a decision that messes up our system again and I'll shoot Colby in front of you and your kid. Then as he's slowly dying out on the floor, I'll fuck you while he watches. It won't matter how sexy you are when you beg, I will ruin your life."

When he finishes speaking all of the air in my lungs feels like it's been sucked out of me. As if he sucked the life out of me. He smiles at me before pressing his lips to my forehead, an act that makes me want to throw up.

"Now, take this situation as a learning experience. I don't need any more hiccups from here on out."

He stands up and turns to leave Colby and I, Corey following behind him without a second glance. It's not until I hear the sound of our basement door closing behind them that I dare to breathe again. From above us I hear the sound of their footsteps working through the house before silence falling once more when they've gone. At my side, Colby pulls me in against him, kissing the side of my face. I feel him wince in pain, but he doesn't care. He kisses me and holds onto me with everything he has as my soft cries fill the room.

"I'm so sorry."

He rasps as I pull back to look at him.

"No, I'm sorry. It's my fault this happened."

Cautiously I reach out to touch his face, the pads of my fingers light on his skin as he studies me. He wants to protest and say it wasn't my fault, but I knew better. I'd spent so much time judging this lifestyle that we had. Constantly, naively believing I was undoing the bad things with the good things my charity work did. But I now realize that my original way of thinking was foolish. If I needed to embrace this lifestyle to keep my family alive then I would do it. If they wanted me to play my part then I would.

I couldn't deny what was asked of me anymore.

I was stupid to think that I ever could.

Author's note: I'm so sorry it took so long to post this. I had a tendon snap in my wrist back in April and then I had to get surgery on it. After months of healing, I am finally able to type without losing the feeling in my fingers. So here is part 16. I hope you like it! <3

#colby brock #colby brock fanfic #colby brock smut #sam and colby #sam and colby fanfiction #sam and colby smut #colby brock imagine #colby x reader #colby brock x reader

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hobisfavoritespritecan · 11 months ago

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DOGSDOGS

CHAPTER ONE

I partnered up with the amazingly talented @ka3trv to create this multiple part dogsdogs fic!! Show their account some love, this story is probably my new favorite thing in existence and they're the mastermind behind it all! Will Graham is appointed to Bucharest after the events that unfolded following Hannibal's death. He's struggling with the new scenery, even more so now that Jack needs him to follow the case of the most dangerous men who live there. Nigel knows of the tabs the FBI has on him and he will do whatever it takes to make sure he gets out of this situation unscathed. A life without Gabi and a life without running.

The entirety of the room had only been lit with that of a singular light fixture; a complete contrast to that of the dance club outside the heavy doors of this private area where the men resided. The florescent purple and pink hues from the dance floor cascaded in patterns on the tiling through these doors, an invitation to the rest of society should the men choose to. However, despite the wafting smells of liquor and the promise of a good time through the eyes of the male gaze, Darko and Nigel sat unbothered and undetected, across from one another on the black leathered couches. This room was considered to be one reserved for "private showcases," and was quite lavishly decorated for its small size. Darko was comfortably sat with his arm flush against the decorative couch, seemingly calm for the situation at hand. Nigel, however, was having more difficulty finding comfort in the events of the folder strewn out before his eyes.

As if his scarring hadn't left him enough of a headache, there was now this tumultuous churning in his stomach in regard to how he and Darko would respond to this. There was an immediate threat to not only their work but their lifestyle, as this information being spread could land them in prison, or worse, with the death penalty. Nigel had escaped death once before, he didn't think he would be so lucky as to avoid it a second time.

He placed his fingers gently on the scar which adorned his forehead, a promise he made to himself never to allow his emotions grasp the better of him again. The sound of the police's bullet grazing his forehead and leaving him wounded on the streets of Bucharest resounded in his skull as a promise of his beloved Gabi's final departure from him. She would be pleased enough to live her life in the arms of that unruly American, Charlie. So be it. Her actions had aided him in his escape anyways as he was presumed dead. Continuing the story of his faux end wouldn't be hard when he pulled strings with Darko, partnering with him once again.

And this was the reason for him sitting before Nigel, clad in a professionally tailored black suit. It was properly fitted and steamed, an indication of the wealth this man possessed. No matter the attire, anyone who gazed upon his frame would've run for the hills upon sight. Nigel, however, wore his infamous dog printed button down, upon which he remembers first having given his warning to that wretched Charlie.

He had to stop himself. He couldn't afford to think of his Gabi in a time like this. Her bright red hair had signified the ever-burning flame of his love, now just tarnished embers. He had killed for her. He had died for her. All for her to choose another man.

Darko was the one to snap him out of his pit of nostalgia. He cleared his throat and gestured to the stack of papers uncovered by the manilla folder on the table in front of him, directing Nigel's attention to the task at hand. Even with Darko now on his side, a shiver ran through Nigel's being.

Within these papers were photographs, the professionally taken kind which came from the cameras of forensic specialists. These were not an uncommon sight to either of the men, as they had been partners in the craft of murder for quite some time. With an uneasy silence, save for the bass-boosted electronic beats coming from the club, Nigel's heart dropped with every single one of the images being removed from their place. Laid out before them, Darko was the one to speak first.

"They never seem to have enough, do they?" He asked, in a deep and throaty voice. He was referring to the sheer number of tabs the FBI had on the two of them and their work and was growing more and more irritable by the moment. There was more information to be gathered by the specialists and more bodies of their making to be uncovered in due time, Nigel and Darko knew this. They were in deep shit if the FBI had managed to track them to Bucharest.

Darko motions to one of the cameras placed in the corner of the ceiling above them, beckoning with his hand for someone to bring them drinks. He had owned this club which would eventually make the most sense for future business discussions with his clients. There would be no disturbances as long as the recordings had been deleted later on.

A man in a suit came in ad handed Darko a bottle of Prosecco and two respective glasses. He left almost as swiftly as he came, not wanting to be caught between the men and their business conversations, as he knew Darko's side hobbies quite well. Glasses were poured and he handed one to Nigel, whom downed the wine in two short gulps.

"They're appointing a man by the name of Will Graham to our case. He's supposedly the best in their system." Darko had procured this information from one of his insiders, however, intel was difficult to get out of the country. This was hearsay but had a substantial amount of evidence to back this claim, as these images had come straight from the FBI quarters in Virginia. Therefore, this ordeal must be met with precise planning, in the case of actuality. Preservation of one's image and freedom was never a bad idea.

Nigel was growing slightly frustrated. Darko had initially promised him that he knew a specialist to distribute the bodies of their victims in ways where they wouldn't be caught. Nigel's newfound life and identity relied heavily on this; he couldn't remain a dead man in the eyes of the government if he was on a wanted list for murder.

"We should make plans to kill him, another addition to the list won't make a goddamn difference." He stated, his words coming out more harshly than he originally intended. He wanted this ordeal to be done and over with as quickly as it had been sprung upon him as he wanted to go back to his life without potential persecution from the country. Not that he had much keeping him tied to Bucharest.

There she was again, flush in his mind. He thought back to the coffee he had earlier that he bought solely because it came from her favorite shoppe. The aroma of the freshly ground beans still reminded him of her.

"You know that's entirely unrealistic," Darko went on to explain, "If the FBI sent him to us as a means of profiling, if he were to go missing or wind up dead they would pinpoint us exactly." He stated, matter of fact. Now, Nigel wasn't one who didn't understand the inner and outer workings of their job, but he had been recently guided by anger. An angry man in a dog shirt. Irony at its finest.

"What do you suggest we do then?" Nigel inquired, tossing one of the photographs back down on the table he'd previously been examining. It was one of the man whom owned Darko money back in September; they'd gutted his insides and sold them off to make back every penny he'd owed.

"You will become his new best friend and we can form an alliance with the guy," Darko said, raising his glass to his lips and finishing the liquid, "Its been a year since she left, Nigel. You could use some company."

It was almost a sick joke the way the man had phrased his internal and now external pain. Nigel wore the wound on his head as a memoir to his long gone lover, whom he would never truly be over. Darko had a way of belittling everyone that worked for him and Nigel would be no exception. Yet, his counterpart was right. It would take careful consideration and calculation on their end to throw this "Will Graham" off of their path so they could continue their line of work.

"Don't be fucking ridiculous, I want no part in forming this shit." Nigel exasperated, even though he knew Darko's plan would be a good one. This way, they could throw of Will's intel on them and even gain some in the process. An FBI agent who could show some of their inner workings would only benefit them. He just didn't want to put in the effort of a pretend friendship to gain it.

"Unless you want another bullet to the face, then I suggest you shut your fucking mouth and do as I tell you." Darko angrily shot back, clearly disinterested in any of Nigel's potential discomfort with the ordeal. He needed this just as much as the former did. There was no way Nigel wouldn't succumb to this offer. He needed to remain out of the eye of the government.

"How long do you expect me to pretend this man is of importance to me in his presence?" Nigel began, clearly in a state of annoyance. Darko would always be the one to have someone else doing his dirty work.

"As long as it takes. We won't be the first to reach out though. That's practical suicide," Darko said, gathering up the files and handing them to Nigel to dispose of, "We will wait for this man to approach us since we have no idea what kind of intel he has on us already. We also don't want him to know we are familiar with his existence."

"What do we know about him, other than the fact he's profiling us?" Nigel asked, trying to get any potential help he could when he would be forced into an allyship with the man. Common interests and understandings worked the best for companionship.

"He's a professor. Teaches all that macabre shit. We also know he's not technically considered a real agent because he failed his psychological screenings. The man's deemed unstable."

Nigel looked at the front of the folder which had an image of the man thought to be tracing them. It was securely paperclipped despite all the other contents of the folder being haphazardly thrown in.

Something panged on the inside of his chest upon gazing at the man. There was an uncomfortable familiarity, despite not even having known him. The brunette with a form fitting blue flannel and corduroy trousers wasn't looking at the camera when the image was procured, but his piercing grey eyes were not to be missed. The man was most likely in his late thirties, with a clean stubble and two long scars stretching across the right side of his face. There was another one, slightly smaller than the two that was placed among his forehead, clean as if a knife had grazed his skin. What kind of history did this man have that would lead to such a bodily disfiguration? Although Nigel couldn't be one to talk, considering his own scars.

Despite never having met Will Graham, there was a certain aura he had that he couldn't place upon him.

Noting Nigel's eventual acceptance of the task, Darko withdrew himself from the room they'd discussed business matters. Nigel sat alone for a moment and replayed the conversation in his head. He would do this mission for himself, for the eventual life he wanted to live without Gabi. He hadn't had a murder-related task outside of his affections for her since they'd met.

He would never let anyone get that close to him again.

...

Lecturing on the topic of death had always been something Will was astute at. It had been his profession for years, to gaze upon the dead with an analytical brain, psychoanalyzing their physical states to determine their causes of death and the mentalities of those who were behind them. Pictures upon pictures of various crime scenes and people whose names and faces Will never had the intention of learning had been displayed upon the projection board above him. This was always the job description and it had never bothered him. Garrett Jacob Hobbs had come close to leaving a pit in Will's stomach as he'd been the one responsible for his death, but no one who'd been killed had ever left him with a feeling such as the departure of Hannibal Lecter.

The man who'd been his acclaimed psychiatrist and had worked his way into his heart had been around for the longest time that after he'd passed, Will no longer knew what to do with himself. It also didn't do him any favors that he came to the realization his feelings with which he shared with the man were more than platonic. It wasn't until their last moments with each other where Will was pulled into Hannibal's arms, the two of them soaked in the blood of the Great Red Dragon that he was finally able to understand what Hannibal had meant in seeing the beauty of death. And in seeing the beauty in what their relationship truly was and all that it could have been.

And it was taken away from him in the same night he was given it.

However, this work of his under the FBI had called to him once more, leading him to his recent affiliations in Bucharest. Jack had managed to convince him to set up site somewhere other than Quantico and pulled a few strings. Will had been an on and off professor at one of the universities, coming in only when the extra person was needed and then hitching a flight back to Wolf Trap, where everything reminded him of everything. In Bucharest, he was able to form himself another identity, one that existed outside of the gaze of Hannibal Lecter. On his lengthy stays at home, however, he caught himself in a perpetual waiting room, always with the underlying hope that maybe, just maybe, his partner would come strolling through the front doors of his house in that suit he always wore. He would pet Will's dogs as they all rushed to greet the man and he would smile at him with that same unsettling smirk he'd always had.

But the last memories Will would ever be graced with would be the moment they shared at the bottom of the cliff. There had been stars in Hannibal's eyes that night, an acknowledgement of Will's total and utter true form. Hannibal had seen Will for who he was and had loved him in his entirety for it. He wanted to push him past the limits that everyone else had placed upon him and to coerce Will towards the understanding Hannibal had all along. He wanted to mold him with his bare hands into the idealized shape of the gods, someone who would see and understand the elegance in the world beyond the living. Hannibal was never a religious man, but his devotion to Will was nothing short of worship.

"Achillies wished all the Greeks would die so that he and Patroclus could conquer Troy alone. It took divine intervention to stop them." Hannibal had whispered to him the night at that museum, standing in front of The Primavera, a Botticelli painting. The Primavera has stood as a symbol of new beginnings, and that was where their relationship stood. Will would travel to any continent in search of what he'd had with the man in hopes of a possibility of something new.

He wished the universe would have allowed him anything other than having to wake up on the damp rocks below, water harshly crashing into their sides, with the realization his life had been spared solely because Hannibal had wrapped him in his arms.

He stared at the card with the Romanian translation in front of him. He had spilled traces of coffee from one of the shoppes by the train station onto the cards, but he had a sufficient amount of practice by now. He was able to cite the exclamation in a rocky translation of the language. "As it is shown in the image, there's an obvious persistent difference between the simple murders. The left one is an act of...hatred, the right one an act of liberty. The dead man, whom upon arrival to the scene was deducted to be Michael Gerard. A victim of stage four cancer. After further research on the case, the mortuary team concluded that the wounds we found along the body of the man were explained by his son's desire to 'save him.' That son was none other than Jeremiah Gerard himself." Will stated, in the lecturing voice he'd grown so used to using over the years.

Ignoring the hands raised in the air, he shut the projector off shortly after finishing his sentence, dismissing the class and his thoughts from the events a year prior. This was not the time to reminisce. But there he was, Hannibal himself, standing at the back of the classroom with eyes turned towards will in a mocking manner. Will's encephalitis has gotten the better of him on numerous occasions and now a part of him was worried he was becoming borderline schizophrenic. He saw Hannibal everywhere he turned, almost hoping he were still alive. The hallucination disappeared from his gaze as he tried his best to use the counting method he'd picked up from extensive therapy.

1,2,3, and he was alone in the room once more, briefcase in hand and almost empty coffee in the other.

His newfound scars burned with his vision.

Although Bucharest was quite the sight, there were none of the winding roads and beautiful foliage Will had come to fall in love with in Virginia. This place was entirely urbanized, and social interaction was never just common, it was expected. Much to Will's dismay. There was no way one could get away with physically hiding themselves from conversation in the outdoors with a population this vast, druggies running around in the streets and children on corners with chalk in their hands. Despite this entirely new setting, Will had never felt more like himself. He understood everything now that he'd had it brought out of him, a spiral of emotions threatening to spill over until they had hardened into the person he was now. Every day without Hannibal was the same monotonous and boring schedule, but he had never felt the same since.

He pulled up to the apartment in which he resided while he was in Bucharest and not back at home. Either place was entirely lonesome; after the events that unfolded; Molly had decided for it to be the better they'd divorced. Even though he had loved her, he'd never felt such relief and remorse at the same time. And there were no more conversations with Alana, whom Will used to consider as one of his only friends now that she'd gone about her life somewhere hidden with Margot Verger.

And he was here, across the world, hoping to figure something out about this case. Maybe even about himself.

The apartment was cold for autumn because the windows weren't properly sealed. He'd been meaning to get that fixed but he hadn't the time. There was a fire going in the hearth Will had started from the moment he walked through the door as a means to try and stay warm through the night. An empty teacup and a spread of newspaper clippings were the only remnants of the night before, thrown about the hardwood floor in seemingly no correspondence. Will had gone to Bucharest in search of a new life, of course, but there was another factor at play.

Jack needed him to profile the guys responsible for the stream of Bucharest murders.

Bodies upon bodies had popped up along the waterfront, all disposed of without their organs. They were clearly uncared for, unlike the murderous artists he'd grown familiar with over the course of his work, and had their remnants carelessly strewn about. The most recent body to have been discovered was that of a man by the name of Darrow Lux, a supposed criminal with a background in Con artistry. No prints had been left among the body, just like the others. No organs either.

This wasn't a case unlike anything Will had dealt with before. There was, however, a surmountable less passion in his work than he'd had. sure, he wanted his old life back with the FBI but he still stung on the inside. He'd been subjected to some of the worst physical and emotional turmoil over the past few years, this last year being the worst.

Sighing, he picked himself up off the floor and headed to the barren kitchen, save for a small fake plant in the middle of the island. He never bothered to stock the place with food, preferring to eat out if he had the chance or skip his meals entirely. He'd lost a fair amount of weight since everything changed, but he was still pushing through.

Pouring himself a glass of water from the kitchen sink, he looked out towards the city streets below from the small window before him. There was a crowd of people smoking by the Hostel across the street, laughing and exchanging glances at the passerby. One of the women had a sketchpad that she was drawing with, and Will could almost smell the graphite of the pencils from where he stood if he only imagined hard enough. He missed drawing. He missed fishing. He missed the smells of the woods and the barking of his dogs. He missed Alana and Jack and going into work in the cool mornings. He missed his old job and his coffee maker at home that tasted much better than what they had in Bucharest.

He missed Hannibal.

Will finished his drink and then sauntered over to his loft, where he would spend the night tossing and turning with nightmares he'd grown used to.

We hope you enjoyed! This is a working fic in progress, but we both decided to release the first chapter early so you guys could get a feel for what's in store. Let us know your thoughts! 💛🦐

#fanfiction #hobisfavoritespritecan #fanfic writing #hannibal lecter #hannibal #mads mikkelsen #hannigram #nigel charlie countryman #nigel banyai #will graham #charlie countryman #dogsdogs #hannibal nbc #nbc hannibal #the necessary death of charlie countryman

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hannahbarberra162 · 6 months ago

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WIP Game!

WIP game!

rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Tag as many people as you have wips. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

〰〰〰

Thank you to @quinloki for tagging me. This is my first rodeo so forgive me when I do this wrong. Or don't, I'm going to horny hell either way. I, um, have....a lot of WIPs...and these are all active...

A Negative Outcome (WBP and Reader, SFW for now, will be Thatch x Reader soon, hurt / comfort). Reader is taken to the Moby to be used as a human blood bank for Whitebeard. Tone shift after the first chapter.

The Crocodile's Gambit (Reader x Croc, NSFW, mostly fluff and some angst) Crocodile needs a chess partner before he impales Buggy out of frustration. Again. He finds one in a most unlikely place.

Heat Transfer (written in second person but really it's an OC / WBP, SFW for now, very little hurt a lot of comfort) You're a half blood Sea Naga, happily living by yourself. That is until a group of humans mistake you for a baby and kidnap you, taking you back to their ship.

Under the Microscope (Yandere Sabo x Reader, dark, NSFW, no non-con) Sabo's the best prisoner you've ever had at your Marine base. You'll be sad when he gets sent to Impel Down. OR - the Marines aren't taking good care of you. So Sabo's going to have to do it himself.

Snow Fall (Alpha Izou x Omega Reader, Omegaverse, hurt / comfort) Izo’s search for his mate had ended before it had begun. Until he meets you...

OMFG I have too many ugh I'm making this shorter just kidding I can't stop yapping

Opposites of Attraction (Kid x Reader, enemies to idiots to lovers, will be NSFW). You're a notorious mercenary in the New World with a powerful Devil Fruit. There's only one person you don't want to meet on the Grand Line - and the stupid fucker is looking right at you.

Not My Monkey (SHP / Reader, Jinbe x Reader, reverse Isekai trope) You've woken up on a strange sailing ship, to the complete non-surprise of the crew. You're their 23rd isekai'd reader, they're used to dealing with your type. Who is Luffy and what the hell is a One Piece? Why do ALL of them have mommy issues? You're about to find out!

Emperor's Prize (yandere Shanks x Reader, dark, hurt / some comfort, mentions of prior non-con though not from Shanks) You've been living undetected as an Omega for years, until the Kid pirates destroy your island. Shanks gets more than just the Poneglyphs when he destroys the Victoria Punk, he gets you too. Shanks is kinder than your previous owner, but an Emperor doesn't let treasures slip through his fingers.

and like 1,000 one shots I haven't finished. I'm gonna list em but I'm not gonna tag people for these ones.

Petrichor (Alpha Luffy x Beta Reader)

Aposmatism (Reiju x reader, dark, dub con)

a collection of NSFW and SFW Red Flags I wrote about Cross Guild + Shanks

Dreamless nights (Koby x Reader)

Joker Poker (Doffy x Reader)

More mean Marcos

I'm tagging @gouraminnow @alexa-fika @sordidmusings @epochal-oracle @cuckoo-on-a-string @graceland321 @lockes-woods @tzimiscequeen-blog

#tag game #I did this to myself #hoisted by my own petard #I'm sure the fact that most of these are dark says nothing about me or my psyche #I feel great tbh #love u

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kaiwewi · 1 year ago

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Once Upon a Christmas Mission

Secret Santa gift for @chaoticgoodthief Prompt: "Two people with opposite personalities falling in love and balancing each other out." Merry Christmas!! 🎅🎁

Synopsis: Supervillain gives her second in command a new mission. The job, (un)fortunately, comes with a new teammate.

“What do you make of this one?”

“The newbie?”

Frowning, they scanned the newspaper clippings Supervillain had spread out on the desk between them. The lack of enthusiasm on the journalists’ part was plain to see in the five unremarkable blocks of text with unimaginative titles. A small, slightly blurred image next to a short article on a mall robbery a month ago showed the grinning rookie villain dodging out of the way of some local hero’s attack. He held a fistful of jewellery in one hand and a hot dog in the other.

With an attitude like his, one could only wonder how the guy hadn’t been caught or killed yet.

They shrugged. “Amateur. Opportunist. Reckless. Flippant. More luck than brains.”

Supervillain hummed. She wore her impervious poker face. Everything about her posture and tone indicated disinterest. To so unnatural a degree, in fact, that it was fairly obvious she did have an agenda.

They internally groaned. This wasn’t going to end well, was it.

“Why are you asking?”

The corner of her lips twitched with something that might have been amusement at the audible unease in their question.

“No more than simple curiosity,” she said, clearly deflecting. “The other day, he approached me. Asked if we were hiring. Said he’d be eager to join us.”

Of course he would be. Any new villain in the area would grovel for a chance to work even a single job for Supervillain. Instant infamy by mere association. But the newbie’s audacity, bypassing the official procedures and approaching Supervillain directly…

“Ah, great. Reckless, flippant, and presumptuous.”

“So, you do not believe him promising?”

“Promising?” They made no effort to hide their scoff. “All I see is a liability.”

“Or a great asset, under the right person’s supervision.”

“You must be joking.”

That phantom of a smile on her face grew teeth. She was most definitely not joking.

“Surely you could utilise a versatile new piece on the board to its full potential, brilliant strategist that you are.”

“You know I don’t work well with unpredictable people.”

“You work fine with me, don’t you?”

She made that sound like casual banter; it smelled an awful lot like a trap.

“I don’t know why this newbie intrigues you so,” they said, weighing their words carefully, “but, and please pardon my bluntness, I do not want rogue pieces fucking with my game.”

“I’m afraid I need you to give him a chance,” she said as she produced a thin folder from the upper-most drawer of her office cabinet and slid it across the desk, “because I already hired him for this job I’m putting you in charge of.”

“Unbelievable! You could have asked me first.”

She should have asked them first.

“You would have said no.”

Damn right, they would have.

She gestured at the folder. “Christmas Eve. Your target is the Downtown Museum’s special End of the Year Exhibition. Can I count on you?”

Always. And she bloody well knew it too.

They heaved a heavy sigh.

“Fine. One chance. But I swear, if he fucks up…”

***

In the end, as irony would have it, when their meticulously crafted plan did fall to pieces, it wasn’t the newbie who’d fucked up.

He, against their admittedly low expectations, had listened most attentively, had carried out his orders diligently, hadn’t so much as offered a single sign of a contrary disposition. He’d checked in every other minute to report his position, had followed the exact route he’d been assigned at the exact pace they’d agreed upon.

So, as they guided him and the rest of the team through the first stage of their plan – getting everyone inside the museum undetected – they’d had to begrudgingly admit to themself that the only thing that stood out about the newbie was his annoying enthusiasm for doing a fantastic job.

And then, just when they’d started to think that maybe this would be another flawless operation after all, one of their field operatives, Tempest, reported in.

“—s….hing’s wrong. Sec..ity guard in Sector E. Hav. ..en spotted. Abort—”

Her voice cut off. Replaced by nothing but eerily crackling white noise.

It didn’t make any sense. How was there a guard in Sector E? They’d done the maths. They’d checked everything, countless times. Security wasn’t supposed to be in Sector E for at least another 10 minutes.

Not that it made much of a difference now that their cover had been blown.

Abort operation…?

Really the only viable option at this point. But that was unprecedented. There’d been hiccups on other missions, sure, but they’d never had to call for a full hasty retreat before.

Supervillain would be so disappointed.

But they had to. By the looks of it, they’d lost one operative already. They had to get the rest of the team out. This was their responsibility. Their fault. They had to do something before—

“Reporting in,” the newbie’s voice rasped from the radio. “This is Ghost. Current position: Sector E, entrance to Stairwell 4. Assisted Tempest. She is unharmed. But the security guard escaped. And he is not one of the regular crew. I repeat, the security guard is not one of the regular crew.”

Different security. Why was there different security?

They sucked in a breath that hardly made it past their throat and did nothing to relieve them of the tightness in their chest. Then they picked up the radio, and faltered.

Which of the escape routes was least likely to be compromised? It had to be an exit point everyone was able to reach. And quick. That security guard must have raised the alarm by now.

Precious seconds ticked away.

“Exit Strategy B,” they croaked. “I repeat, Exit Strategy B. Abort operation.”

***

A mere 40 minutes after their first failed mission – hardly enough time to begin to come to terms with how badly they’d fucked up, let alone recompose themself – the newbie found them sulking at the little table in the corner of the HQ’s staff kitchen.

If he’d seen them hastily brush some wetness from the corners of their eyes as he entered the room, he didn’t let it show on his face. Instead, he wordlessly walked over and set a tray of cookies down next to their still untouched cup of black coffee.

They couldn’t bring themself to contemplate where he’d found those and they didn’t particularly feel like eating anything either. They took a cookie regardless.

“Great hiding spot,” the newbie said after a moment of tense silence. “Took me forever to find you.”

That’s because they hadn’t wanted to be found.

“What do you need?” they said, speaking more to their coffee than him.

“Nothing. But I’ve got something for you; thought it might be able to lift your spirits.”

Yeah, not bloody likely.

“No thank you.”

“Why not?”

Because they didn’t deserve cheering up.

“I messed it all up,” they said, and it felt like too much of an answer. Too raw. Too honest.

Their voice shook horribly. Pathetic.

“Nah, that was bad luck. Your plan was genius.”

“My plan failed.”

“You got everyone in and out.” He offered a loathsomely genuine reassuring smile. “That the museum spontaneously hired a different security team sucks. Not your fault though. No one could have seen that coming.”

They listlessly stirred their coffee with their cookie and laughed bitterly as it broke apart and disintegrated. Just like their plan. Nothing but lukewarm wet mush.

“I should have considered the possibility. I should have had another contingency plan. You don’t understand, do you? Knowing things, anticipating events, is my job. What good am I to my team when I can’t ever acquire crucial information? I almost got Tempest arrested.”

“But she wasn’t arrested.”

“No thanks to me.”

“You weren’t there,” he said, and somehow made it sound soothing rather than accusatory.

A beat of silence in which they forced another shallow breath into their lungs.

They wanted to scream. But they had to keep their frustration in check, be professional. The newbie didn’t deserve this kind of treatment. None of this was his fault. He’d done great. Without him there…

“Thank you,” they said on the exhale.

“We are a team, you know. You do the research, prepare the operation, brief us. You find us a safe way in and out.” As he spoke, the newbie scooped up a ridiculous number of cookies from the tray. “You’re not a field operative like Tempest and me. Reacting to unexpected events and new information in the field is our job,” he said kindly, then unceremoniously dumped the entire handful of cookies into his mouth.

Like this was coffee and cake at grandma’s and not him obligingly turning a blind eye to the fact his team leader was about to have a most unprofessional breakdown in front of him.

Gosh, it was so very hard not to judge him for his table manners. It was so ridiculous it almost startled a laugh out of them despite everything.

“For what it’s worth—” they tried for a small apologetic smile “—you did do a splendid job out there. I’ll make sure to inform Supervillain about that. I know how eager you were to work with her. I cannot imagine she’ll be best pleased when we turn up empty-handed … but I’ll do what I can to ensure this mess doesn’t reflect badly on you.”

Hazel eyes watched them closely while the newbie chewed and swallowed audibly. He licked the residue powdered sugar off his lips, off the tips of his fingers. The slight creases lining the outer edges of his lower eyelids bestowed a slightly impish quality to his gaze.

The only prominent lines on their own face were those born of frowns and brooding.

His was the face of someone accustomed to grins, smirks, and laughter.

He wasn’t grinning now, of course, but …

They’d expected him to be upset. Disappointed. Anxious, perhaps, that he might have lost his one chance to impress Supervillain. But, if anything, he appeared clad in an air of nervous excitement.

“Soooo,” he drawled, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Speaking of Supervillain … I was wondering. Why didn’t you tell us what we were to steal for her? Why weren’t we supposed to know until we reached Gallery 5?”

“No particular reason,” they said, careful to temper the displeasure creeping into their tone. “It was information you didn’t require prior to reaching the target location.”

The newbie pulled a face and visibly bit back what would have undoubtedly been a snide comment. Instead, he asked, “yeah okay, but what was it?”

“Hardly matters now, does it.”

“Actually, I really think it does.”

They scrubbed a hand down their face, sighed. “How so?”

“Say, what if—” he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and lifted his shoulders in a shrug “—I had, hypothetically speaking, ignored your final order, made a breezy lil detour, and used Exit Strategy A instead of B?

“And what if,” he continued, “I had, hypothetically speaking, grabbed a couple souvenirs along the way?” He gave them a sheepish look as he pulled his hands back out of his pocket, producing two messy piles of tangled jewellery and trinkets that he placed on the table between them. “Because, confession time: I did.”

And there it was, amidst all the precious metals and all the valuable stones, their target – the ancient, allegedly cursed, Amulet of the Mothers’ Sorrow.

All they managed was a choked, breathless laugh. Their head swam with so many questions and yet they couldn’t seem to locate enough words to form a single sentence.

The newbie began answering the most pressing of them – HOW!? – without prompting.

“Well. When I pulled that guard off of Tempest, I noticed that shiny keycard hanging right there on his belt, and … I nicked it. Just couldn’t help myself. Grabbed his communicator too. Also wanted to knock the guy out, but he got away.” He made a small disgruntled noise, followed by a snort. “But then the idiot ran down Corridor 14. Like, I don’t think he was even familiar with the museum’s layout.

“Anyway, I figured I’d have at least 4 minutes before he’d find the next phone or reach another guard. And even if he found a panic button, security would still have to regroup first. And with access to the staff elevator … reaching Gallery 5 would take me, maybe, 2 minutes at best. And there I’d already be in the perfect position to use Exit Strategy A.

“Long story short: I know a worthwhile opportunity when I see it. Of course—” and here his voice gained an unmistakable edge “—I hadn’t been told what exactly I was supposed to steal. So I had no choice but to stuff whatever I thought were the most likely candidates into my pockets, hit or miss, and make a run for it.”

He made a vague gesture encompassing his loot.

“Did I get the right one?”

“I—” They cleared their throat and reached for the dark amulet – a filigreed pattern, seemingly liquid, a mercury river delta, against a background of polished onyx – on a necklace with a rich green cord woven through a silver chain, and untangled it from the other treasures. It was so pleasantly warm still from when he’d carried it in his pocket, on his person. His body heat seeping into the palm of their hands as they cradled the amulet to their chest.

They could have cried. Or kissed him.

“Yeah,” they said, barely above a whisper.

“Well then,” he offered, amiably, “lucky you. And maybe next time just tell the rest of us what it is we’re going after.” A grin tugged on their new favourite teammate’s lips. “Merry Christmas.”

The newbie took a bow, turned with an exaggerated flourish, and, humming a festive tune, strolled off towards the exit.

They stared after him, transfixed.

On the doorstep, with the door already opened, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder.

“By the way,” he said, “you got it wrong. Supervillain’s cool all right. But it isn’t her I’m eager to work with.”

~~~

Epilogue: New Christmas Traditions

“How’s the plan for this year’s Christmas operation coming along, darling?”

Their partner came up behind them, slung his arms over the back of their office chair and around their shoulders, and let his upper body go slack. As he nuzzled against the crook of their neck, he leaned on them like a particularly heavy but not at all uncomfortable scarf.

“Almost done.” They scanned the markings they’d made on the map covering half their desk. “I know how to get us inside. Currently working on how to get us out afterwards.”

“My criminal mastermind. Always gotta have at least 3 escape routes.” Their partner chuckled, somewhere between fond and mischievous, and started walking his fingers slowly down their chest.

“I prefer ‘exit strategies,’” they said, and caught him by the wrists before he got the chance to fully launch his tickle attack. “The word ‘escape’ implies opposition or pursuit. Ideally – assuming a certain someone’s antics don’t negatively affect the quality of my work – we’ll encounter neither.” Nevertheless, they turned their full attention to him now. “But should something ever not go according to plan,” they murmured into his hair, “I know I can always rely on my partner’s quick wit and nerves of steel.”

He pressed a kiss below their ear. “Damn right. Those heroes will never catch us.”

“Partners in crime.”

They shared a hearty laugh and a few seconds of tranquillity.

Then they gestured towards a booklet half-hidden beneath a stack of documents. The catalogue of the current target’s exhibits. “Have you had a chance to compile your wish list yet?”

“Nah,” their partner said, “I think I’d like it to be a surprise. I’ll know which ones I want when I see them. You?”

“I have picked a few favourites.”

“Perfect,” he purred. “You can tell me all about them over dinner. I made lasagna.”

“Perfect,” they echoed.

And that he was indeed: absolutely perfect.

44 notes · View notes

deusvervewrites · 1 year ago

Note

Wimtbah-style stealth training in Kismet, probably:

"Wanna see me get the intel?"

"Wanna see me do it again?"

In the Ghost Trick game, you can't read documents from a folder without opening it first, but at the same time it would be very easy for him to ghost trick his way to the folder and open it undetected.

#asks #kismet au

47 notes · View notes

ajqwrites · 14 days ago

Text

COD: Modern Warfare Reboot (Under Siege - Book 1)

John cut off the engine after pulling up to the curb at the Grandview Hotel. He opened the glove compartment and pulled out his Glock M1911. Checking if the safety is off before getting out, he concealed it from behind his back, under his shirt he had pulled from behind and the front to make it look like he was casual and disheveled, enough to keep out of sight. His jaw clenched as he thought about Charlie. Strolling inside the hotel like nobody's business.

She didn't ask to be a part of his world... but now that she was involved, undetected. It was his job now to keep her safe.

The elevator ride to the third floor was quick, and the hum of the old machinery filled the silence as John leaned against the back wall with his hands in his pockets. His thumb tracing the drive on his left. He hadn't had time to process what could be on it, but he knew it had to be important.

Harkin wouldn't have gone to these lengths if it weren't.

As he stepped out after the doors slid open, his shoes thud softly against the carpeted floor. Room 304 was at the end of the hallway. Between the faint murmur of televisions and muffled voices coming from other rooms. He stopped in front of the door and knocked firmly. A few seconds passed, he watched the door crack open and Kate stepped aside to let him enter. The room was simple and clean, with a desk and laptop near the window.

"You got the drive?" She asked while locking the door and facing him.

John pulled the thumb drive from his pocket and handed it over to her.

When she took it without a word and moved to the desk, sliding into the chair. She plugged the drive into the slot of her laptop, her finger moving over the mouse pad as she brought up her decryption tools. He stood behind her and crossed arms, watching as the screen filled with lines of code and progress bars. Crossing his arms against his chest, his sharp eyes scanned the room out of instinct.

"What are you expecting to find?" he asked without looking at her.

"Anything that tells us what's important in the drive," Kate said, focusing on the screen. "This could be the break we need."

Minutes ticked by as the drive's contents were loading. John uncrossed arms and moved to sit at the edge of the bed, leaning forward with his hands clasped and bent over, waiting for the case handler to speak. As her brows furrowed, watching the files began appearing on the screen. Kate clicked one of them and her eyes quickly moved over each content. Suddenly, her eyes widened.

"John, you want to look at this."

He stood and moved closer to where he witnessed the first document opened.

"Bloody hell," John muttered under his breath.

"Bloody hell it is," she mumbled, her tone tinged with disbelief.

The screen was filled with folders labeled in vague but telling terms: Financials, Operations, Locations. Kate opened one of them, revealing spreadsheets detailing monetary transfers—millions of dollars funneled through dummy corporations.

"Laundering," Kate said, her tone flat but loaded with meaning. "These transactions are massive."

"Laundering for what?" John asked, frowning.

Kate clicked into another folder, and a list of names and locations appeared. Each one logged. Some were circled, others annotated with dates.

"These aren't just names," she continued. "These are dummy corporations funneling the money."

"Funding Zakharov," John added.

Kate turned her gaze to him. "It's a damn spiderweb. What the hell was Harkin doing with Zakharov?"

"Job. Income. Harkin is doing some bids to get paid," John answered her. "Not that he's a fucking assassin but a middleman. He's just another pawn to be stomped over."

"Does Charlie know about this?"

"No."

When she turned her gaze back to the screen and clicked on another file. It was filled with more encrypted documents. As she began using the decryption software to decrypt the file, it worked quickly, revealing what appeared to be operational plans.

"Looks like Zakharov using his money to fund logistics, weapon shipments, and...this mentions... bio weapons."

John frowned deep, until he cursed under his breath.

"Damien. It's all coming together. Rich did mention Damien being his business partner. Makarov would be the head over all this planning."

"On stage," Kate added. "If this is all connected to Makarov, he's building an allegiance to another country, mainly the Middle East, to create war and partnering with Zakharov, who would pay each worker of their time spent."

“Gabby knows about this,” he muttered.

“Does she?” Kate turned her face over her shoulder, looking up to him.

“Something had to be done with Zakharov or Damien's involvement with The Cartel and the AQ. Not sure if this is all connected. But for some reason, their names don’t disappear in less than three years. After we have killed Hassan…” then he paused before licking his bottom wet, his mind racing before exhaling slowly. Bits of pieces were starting to fall slowly like each piece of puzzle was found out of nowhere to fit in the right spot.

“But what if they are?” Kate questioned. “If the Cartel, hence El Sin Nombre and Al-Qatala have something to do with Zakharov next. After Hassan was neutralized, their main objective was to gather money and then launder all at the same time while hiring enough middlemen to smuggle weapons from somewhere like a Halloween candy handout.

“It would make sense about Damien’s involvement with Makarov and the history they have with Roman Barkov. I know someone from Verdansk may have the files I needed to investigate further but it doesn’t make sense why the AQ? They only care about power and motivation, from their religious standpoint.”

“Weapons and religions?” John guessed. “You don’t think this is about war? Could it be that they’re stashing like they did with The Cartel before? This isn’t their first time working with another terrorist group. Just like what Valeria has said before about war on blood instead of war on drugs. Same thing goes to the Al-Qatala, they’d be happy to pay in blood. Zakharov and Makarov are the same.”

She paused. Taking his words into consideration, she shook her head.

“Shit, this could be another war on terrorism. Same thing that has happened since 2001.”

John slowly frowned. “I thought so too. History tends to repeat itself, don’t they?”

She heaved a sigh before looking back to the screen.

"I'll get this to my contact, but we're dealing with a large network, not a rogue operator," Kate said without looking at him. She was already saving the files to an external drive.

"Then we cut the head off the snake, right?"

"Not yet," Kate said, looking at him over her shoulder. "You already killed Rich. Zakharov is our last resort including Harkin, so whatever you do. Keep them on leash when you catch them. I need all the information from either one of them, got it? And get whatever information that Charlie knows about, but I need to know why she has the drive in the first place?"

"Harkin gave it to her," John said nonchalantly.

"Why?"

"It was a fluke move he did without realizing that Zakharov needed the drive back," John explained.

Kate scoffed. "Dumbass."

"Least you agree with me,"

"I'll forward details to my director as well, and I expect all of you to cut the channels before it sails away. We just need to know when."

A loud knock suddenly echoed through the room, breaking the heavy silence.

John turned his head toward the door, his brow furrowing.

"Expecting company?" he asked quietly.

Kate frowned. "No."

He moved toward the door cautiously, his shoes silent against the carpet. John pulled out his Glock from behind his shirt through his trousers. Peering through the peephole, John saw a man in a hotel uniform holding a tray. He turned back to Kate.

"You call someone in for service?" John said quietly, stepping back from the door.

Kate shook her head 'no'.

"You've got a suppressor?" John asked, suspicion curling in his gut.

She reached into her purse, pulling out a small black cylinder, and handing the suppressor to him. John took it and attached it to the muzzle of his Glock. Once it was secure, he slipped the weapon behind his back, out of sight, and moved toward the door.

"Stay quiet," he said quietly over his shoulder.

Kate nodded. Her face set in a grim expression as she positioned herself on the far side of the desk, ready to grab her sidearm, if needed. When he unlocked the door and opened it just enough to meet the man's eyes. The room service employee smiled faintly, holding up a bucket of cleaning supplies.

"Good evening," the man said in a smooth voice. "I'm here for a cleanup."

John arched an eyebrow, forcing his tone to remain casual. "Didn't call for anything. Must've been a mistake."

The man's smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes flicking past John into the room. That split-second movement was all John needed to confirm his suspicion.

"Right," John said, stepping back and opening the door wider, letting the man take a step inside. "Guess I could use a cleanup quick."

The instant the man crossed the threshold, John slammed the door shut with his foot, spun the man around, and shoved him against the wall.

"Who sent you?" he growled, pressing the man's chest against the wallpapered surface.

The man squirmed, his hand darting toward his waistband, but John was faster. The suppressed shot was barely more than a muffled pop, and the man crumpled to the floor with a thud.

Kate stepped out from her hiding spot, her face pale but composed. She didn't say anything after what John had done.

"Not a serviceman," John said grimly, crouching beside the body and pulling the man's jacket open to reveal a holstered weapon and a knife strapped to his thigh. "Cleaner, alright—but not for this hotel."

Kate sighed hard, watching as he stood, removed the suppressor from his Glock, and handed it back to her. She slipped it into her purse, and her sharp gaze darted between the body and John.

"We can't leave him like this,"

"I've got it," John said firmly.

He dragged the body toward the bathroom, pausing only to rearrange the scene.

Pulling the man's gun from its sheath, he placed the man's gun loosely in his hand, aimed at his chest. It was a grim tableau that would look convincing enough to anyone who stumbled upon the scene. A man who committed suicide while working in a hotel. John pulled the knife also from the man and pocketed—handy use for later.

Kate stood in the bathroom doorway as John straightened, wiping his hands after grabbing a towel he found on the counter. "Looks like he offed himself of the job."

"You've done this before," Kate said flatly, her sharp gaze on John as he inspected the now-staged scene.

John glanced at her. "Of what? My grumpy personality or my attention to detail?"

Kate raised an eyebrow. "The fact that you can make a murder look like a tragic workplace incident in under two minutes. That's not shocking."

He shrugged. "It's a skill set. Comes in handy more often than you'd think."

Kate leaned against the doorframe, her arms still crossed, her expression shifting into something more wry. "And here I thought you were good at breaking down doors and barking orders."

"That's just for show," John said, his lips twitching into a faint grin. "This is the real art."

Kate let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Right, most people would be panicking right now."

"Good thing neither of us is 'most people,'" John shot back. "Besides, I've got a talent for cleaning up messes."

Kate snorted. "Yeah, well, let's hope your talent keeps us both out of handcuffs."

"If Harkin sent this bloke, handcuffs are the least of our worries," John said sternly. "He's poking the bear, and he knows it."

Kate scoffed. "Poking the bear? John, he's practically smacking it with a stick. And now we're dealing with Zakharov's network on top of it."

John nodded, his jaw tightening. "Which means we need to move fast, and he's got to cover his tracks."

"Fine. I'll finish forwarding the files. You keep an eye out for any more 'cleaning staff.'" Kate pushed off the doorframe and left the bathroom to sit back at the desk.

John chuckled dryly, walking out of the bathroom. "You know, Kate, for someone who's supposed to be all about protocol, you're calm about letting me stage a crime scene."

She didn't look up from the screen as she replied. "Calm? No. Pragmatic? Always. Besides, you'd do it if I didn't let you. Might as well get it done right."

"You're not wrong."

***

Kate carefully packed up her external drive and shut the machine down.

"All set," she glanced at John after slipping the drive into her purse.

John turned after he was on guard near the door. "Let's get out of here."

As she moved towards the door, John took the lead when he opened the and checked the hallway first. It was empty, save for the soft glow of overhead lights and the faint hum of the hotel's heating system.

"Clear," he said, stepping out with Kate close behind.

Moving steady as they can, the elevator was at the far end of the hall, its polished metal doors gleaming under the lights. They made their way toward it in a hush. But as they neared the elevator, John suddenly stopped, his arm shooting out to block Kate's path.

"What—" Kate began, but John quickly pulled her to the side, pressing them against the wall beside a service closet.

His body tensed like a coiled spring, and his hand moved to his pistol, still holstered beneath his jeans behind.

"Stay close," he whispered, tilting his head just enough to peer around the corner.

Down the hall near the elevator, three men lingered, their postures casual but their intent clear.

They weren't hotel guests.

John could tell by their appearance, how they scanned the hallway, and the faint bulge under one man's jacket that screamed concealed weapon.

"Thugs," John said under his breath.

Kate leaned in, her voice low. "They followed you. From Charlie's apartment, no doubt. They've been tailing you."

John gritted his teeth and his jaw tightened. "Fuck. Guess they're persistent enough to be dangerous, I'll give 'em the credit."

"What's the plan?" Kate asked, ignoring his comment.

His mind raced. The men were blocking the elevator, and engaging them here would draw too much attention. The hotel had cameras and witnesses. The last thing they don't need is a scene caused by thugs, a task force captain working for the government, and a CIA operative in the hotel.

"We take the back exit," he said finally. "Stairs should be just around the corner."

"And if they spot us?" Kate looked at him.

"They won't," John said without looking at her. "Not if we move fast and stay quiet."

She nodded.

When they moved toward the service stairs and slipped back down the hall. John led the way. As they reached the door that would take them to stairs, John eased it open. Glancing inside to make sure it was clear. He motioned her to follow. The narrow stairwell had the smell of disinfectant hanging in the air. Heading downstairs quickly, John kept one hand on his Glock as his other gripped the railing. Kate followed behind, her boots clicking against the concrete steps. Halfway down, the sound of footsteps echoed above them.

"Shit," Kate whispered.

John glanced up, his expression hardening after he stopped. He pulled Kate to the side of the staircase and motioning for her to stay put. "You keep going down, straight to the exit. Wait for me outside."

"What about you?" she asked, her voice low but insistent.

"I'll handle them," John said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Go."

Shaking her head, she knew she couldn't argue with him now. In response, she left him.

John watched her leave before stepping back into the stairwell, his hand gripping his weapon tight. He crouched low, positioning himself out of sight but ready to strike. Listening to the footsteps that grew louder, they were close until the first thug appeared on the landing above.

Without hesitation, John grabbed the man's ankle, yanking him off balance and sending him tumbling down the stairs. The thug's body hit the concrete with a sickening thud, and he didn't get up. The commotion drew the attention of the other two men. John pressed himself against the wall, using the stairwell's shadows to his advantage.

As the second thug came into view, John lunged, slamming the man's head against the railing and dropping him in one swift motion. The third man drew his weapon, but John pulled the trigger, and the man crumpled to the floor, his weapon skittering across the steps.

John quickly checked to ensure all three were down before heading downstairs and reaching the exit.

***

Kate was near her car as she looked around to find any signs of John. Her eyes caught him stepping out of through the heavy door exit and he walked briskly towards her.

"All clear?" she glanced at him and asked.

John nodded, scanning the area to ensure they weren't being watched. "For now—"

Before he finished the sentence, their ears picked up a sharp crack split the air. A bullet ricocheted off the wall inches from his head.

"Get down!" John barked, grabbing Kate and pulling her behind a few cars away as more shots rang out, targeting them.

"How many?" she asked, instinctively reaching for her Glock 19 from her purse.

John peeked around the corner, spotting at least four men advancing, their silhouettes barely visible under the dim streetlights. "Four, maybe more."

"And here I thought we'd get a quiet escape." Kate said, irritated while pulling out her gun.

John scoffed. "You jinxed it."

He popped up from cover, firing off a few shots. One thug dropped, clutching his shoulder, but the others returned fire, forcing John to duck back down.

Kate took her turn, her aim steady as she fired two quick shots, taking down another.

Each side traded bullets as the firefight dragged on in the hotel parking lot. His mind has to work quickly. Authorities would come by at any minute, and they're stuck. His sharp eyes caught movement in the shadows—another group of thugs circling around to flank them.

"Shit!" he hissed. "They're trying to pin us in."

"You think?!" Kate hissed, reloading her weapon with practiced efficiency.

Before John could answer, the distant growl of an engine pierced the air and then—the beat of Come Together by The Beatles echoed down the distant, thumping through the approaching vehicle's stereo like a war drum. The iconic bassline kicked in, steady and slow, almost taunting in its timing. His eyes flicked up just in time to see headlights flare and tires scream as a black van careened around the corner.

"...Here come old flat-top," the voice sang through the crackling speakers as the van charged forward, a living beast barreling down on the thugs with reckless intention.

Ghost didn't just show up after the tires screeched. Metal roared. One body flew. Another dived. The remaining thugs scattered, some ran off while the other ones shouted in confusion as the van reached a screeching halt near John and Kate. The passenger-side window rolled down, and a voice drawled from inside.

"Need a lift, boss?" Ghost said dryly, as though he'd just stumbled onto a casual pub night instead of a firefight.

John didn't answer right away. He stood, fired one last shot that sent a thug diving for cover, then turned back to Kate and gave her a sharp nod.

"That's your ride. Go!"

Kate ducked low and sprinted across the lot as bullets sliced through the air behind her. John followed her behind. One clipped the side mirror of a parked car, another sparked off the pavement. When they reached to the van, John grabbed the handle and shoved Kate inside first before slamming it shut.

“John!” Her voice cut through the open passenger window. “Get in!”

He ignored her as he turned on his heel, eyes locked on the last two thugs scrambling for cover behind a nearby sedan. Raising his Glock, he sprinted back toward the firefight. As he took the first shot mid-stride—clean, center mass. The thug collapsed like a sack of bricks. The second tried to make a break for it across the lot. He didn’t hesitate. John pivoted, squared his shoulders, and pulled the trigger once.

The second thug crumpled to the asphalt.

A scream of tires behind him—Ghost had swung the van in a tight arc, reversing to keep the engine toward John’s direction.

With one last glance over his shoulder to make sure no other shooters remained, John sprinted full-speed toward his own truck parked near the corner. He jumped in, slammed the door, and ignited the engine with a deep growl.

Kate watched through the side mirror, breath tight in her throat. “What is he—”

“He’s sweeping the tail," Ghost answered for her, and he knew what John was up too.

As he pulled off with a jolt, and John’s truck followed him fast behind. The headlights were flashing as he gunned down the road. But John wasn’t following. He swerved to the left instead. Then to the right.

And then—

Boom!

Metal crunched as he rammed a last straggling thug’s SUV coming in from a side alley. The sound of the impact echoed down the street, drawing startled gasps from distant pedestrians. John threw the truck into reverse, tires screeching. Then forward again, finishing the job with one more jarring slam that left the enemy vehicle smoking and useless. The thugs inside weren’t getting out anytime soon.

With the threat neutralized, he spun the wheel, turned onto the main road, and merged behind Ghost.

Inside the van, Ghost glanced at the rearview mirror and gave a small grunt of approval. “The old man still got it.”

Kate, still catching her breath, looked over at him. “He could’ve gotten himself killed.”

“But he didn’t,” Ghost replied simply, hands steady on the wheel.

Kate didn’t answer, but the silence was weighted. Her expression was unreadable as the van sped through the streets, weaving past quiet neighborhoods and darkened intersections, heading in the direction of the forest-lined backroads that would lead to Ghost and Gabby’s secluded property.

After about ten minutes, the van turned off the main road, heading toward the safe house. The tension inside had started to ease, though the adrenaline hadn’t worn off.

Kate finally broke the silence.

“He didn’t have to come back for me.”

Ghost kept his eyes on the road. “He did.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what wolves do,” Ghost said flatly. “We protect our own. Even when we’re mad at ‘em.”

“Still doesn’t make it less complicated.”

“You’re not wrong,” Ghost replied. “But this is Price, he’s your best weapon, as we speak.”

Just as they reached the house, headlights glowed behind them.

John’s truck pulled up right behind the van, gravel spraying as he parked hard and jumped out—gun still holstered and his face stone-cold. He walked up to the van as Ghost stepped out to open the door for Kate.

“You alright?” John asked her, scanning her quickly.

Kate stepped down. “Yeah. You?”

John gave a single nod. “I cleared the tail.”

“Obviously,” she muttered, glancing at the dented side of his truck.

Ghost leaned against the van, arms crossed. “You two wanna keep dancing around what just happened, or can we go inside and talk plans?”

John looked at him before Kate.

"No more talking," he said gruffly. "Let's finish what we started."