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#''shit the cell towers are still down''
thepringlesofblood · 3 months
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the vibe im getting from FHJY is that this is the season where they really lean into the high school aspect. that probably sounds bonkers since its called Fantasy High, but like. hear me out.
Freshman year, they come at high school from the "John Hughes" "80s teen movie trope" vibe, which is to say different from the real-world experience of high school.
it works great! operating in that frame of reference makes everything flow really well, and hits all the high-school-related-media notes in a very satisfying way while putting its own spin on it and not getting bogged down by the actual slog that is high school in reality.
there's still a lot of more modern inspo, but it stays in the kinda expectation-suspension-tropey area of how 80s movie high school works.
Sophomore year is spring break! I believe in you! They're not at school! They're on an adventure!
They lean into being a teenager and coming-of-age themes a lot (obvs), but the only big reference point to the institution of high school is that it'll be worth 60% of their grade.
A huge point, to be sure, and the exact kind of objectively unfair but somehow not against the rules shit that happens in high school, but not the main driving force of the season.
arthur aguefort also does a bunch of wack shit but it's more fantasy than it is high school although its a lot of both.
they lean into adventuring as a set career path much more, with the school giving money for hirelings and offering a basic incentive for other students to go, so that's a loose connection to the real-world career counseling high schools have, but again, not the main thing.
VERY Important though: we are now very much in the present. The viral shrimp party, livestreaming Kalina, online banking, the epic of Gorgug building a cell tower? this isn't john hughes 80s town anymore, this is now. (at least in Solace).
Junior year
almost everything in the trailer is about academia
we've got the cool doodles-in-the-margins style art and intro
in the interviews and BTS (so far), the cast have talked a lot about what they were like in high school (not the 80s)
and the precedent that The Seven set where the MacGuffin was getting their GED? It's time.
we're getting into what is actually hell about high school - the institution itself. the arbitrary standards that academia in the US holds, and how it leaves behind, punishes, and fails its students in its extremely important role of preparing them for life as an adult.
i could talk about this all day, but personally for me the quote from the trailer that shot me back to my junior year of high school was "You have perfect grades, and it still might not be enough for you to graduate"
riz's arc this season is shaping up to punch me in the academia trauma and personally i can't wait for the catharsis
Brennan has shown time and time again that he Gets and wants to tell stories about the ways in which the US education system affects, hurts, shapes, traumatizes, changes people, and how they survive and recover from it and make their own lives. I for one am so so ready to see that reflected with the bad kids.
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golden-cherry · 6 months
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deal - cl16 (17/?)
Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader
Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.
Chapter Summary: That's definitely not the goodbye you wanted.
Warnings: angst, jealousy, swear words
Word Count: 3.3k
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A/N: sorry for this shitty chapter and sorry for keeping you waiting! feedback is appreciated! love ya.
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It's not long before Charles falls asleep next to you. 
You hear his soft breathing, the way the bedspread rustles as he slides his arm under the pillow and bends his right knee. Apparently he's lying on his stomach, snuggled tightly in the warmth of the bed you'll share for the second and last time. 
That Charles has grown so close to your heart in exactly three days is something you would never have thought was possible in your life.
After Raphael cheated on you and your friends let you down, you vowed to take better care of yourself and your heart and never let anyone into your life so easily again. You resigned yourself to the fact that you would spend the next time alone until you could put your trust in someone again. And that had been perfectly fine with you, as long as it had kept further pain at bay.  
But the brunette Monegasque, without making any particular effort, has walked into your life as if God personally had opened the gates for him, and has taken up residence with you as if he were a virus that is taking you over completely. 
You turn away from him, but you can still feel the warmth of his body through the many layers of fabric that lie between you. 
The fact that he will spend the next few days in Italy is a good start to building the wall that will keep your heart from great harm. It will create some distance between you, buy you more time in which to figure out your feelings. And if it really comes down to you feeling more than simple friendship for your roommate, you'll still have plenty of time to think of some way to handle the situation. 
You're about to press your face into your pillow so it can stop the whirlwind of thoughts in your head when your cell phone lights up. 
Lando: Did you know that the Eiffel Tower is about six inches taller in the summer than in the winter?
Confused, but grinning, you glance at the screen. It's the middle of the night - why is he sending you such a strange message at this late hour?
You cast a glance over your shoulder to make sure Charles is actually asleep before releasing the key lock, lowering your phone's brightness to its lowest setting, and starting to type. 
You: Didn't know that. Why is that?
The "seen" with the little checkmark appears directly under your sent message, and a few moments later the typical three dots that appear when a reply is composed flash. 
Lando: Due to thermal expansion, meaning the iron heats up, the particles gain kinetic energy and take up more space.
You have to smile, even suppress a giggle. 
You: You googled that for sure. 
Lando: You got me. I didn't know the best way to start a conversation. 
You: I'd say the middle of the night is generally not a good time to start a conversation. What if I had already been asleep?
Lando: Then you would have woken up confused for sure and blocked me right after the message. 
You: Then you're lucky I'm still awake. 
Lando: I'm definitely lucky. 
Behind you, Charles moves a little, but doesn't seem to wake up. You feel him scoot a tiny bit closer to you, as if he realizes you're still awake. 
Lando: Have you ever been to Paris?
You: Unfortunately not. I'd like to go there sometime, though. And you?
Lando: I've been there before. Maybe we can go there together? Then I can show you the most beautiful places. 
You have to grin. Straightforward guy he is. 
You: Do you really think I would just travel to Paris with a semi stranger?
Lando: You're right about that. But that can easily be changed. You and me, tomorrow, dinner at 8?
You feel Charles rest his hand on your bedspread. It's like he subconsciously realizes you're about to go out with one of his friends. He exhales deeply, but doesn't move any further. 
You: That was very smooth, Mr. Norris. 
Lando: So is that a yes?
Without giving it much thought, you answer the Brit with a "Yes, I'd love to," whereupon he responds with a "Great. I'll get back to you tomorrow. Don't stay up too late and sleep well" back. You press the key lock on your phone and put it back next to your pillow. 
Time you do have. Charles isn't around, and you don't have a job to go to every day, so your days are as free as the beach in winter. And for sure it will do you good to spend time with someone other than the Monegasque. Lando is nice and friendly and funny. And since the two of you don't live together, and the level at which you're getting to know each other is much more superficial than the one Charles and you are on right now, you shouldn't be in danger of taking him to your heart as quickly as your roommate.
Who by now has moved so close to you that you can feel his warm breath on the back of your neck. It's steady, coming in waves and brushing your skin like a warm summer breeze. For sure he is sleeping well, maybe even having a nice dream. He doesn't even know yet that it's the last time he'll sleep next to you.
You close your eyes, almost press your eyelids together and force yourself to fall asleep. With the ulterior motive that the person who is dearest to you right now is exactly the one with whom you will soon have to keep the most distance.
-
Something rustles. 
The sound is close, but not so close that it could find its origin right next to your ear. It also sounds muffled, as if there is a thick piece of soft cotton between the sound and your eardrum, so you can't really hear what exactly is making that sound. 
You press your face a little deeper into the pillow. 
The rustling becomes louder. 
Tired and with your eyes closed, you pull the blanket higher to your chin to cling to sleep. And for a brief moment it works, your mind slips back into a gentle slumber - until you hear a loud, unmistakable rumble. 
Annoyed and above all confused, you open your eyes. Your cell phone reads 6:15 a.m. Who's making that kind of noise at this hour?
You sit up abruptly, as if you've been electrocuted, and the covers fall into your lap. Charles.
For sure he is packing up the last things before he wants to wake you up. To say goodbye to you. You're surprised you didn't hear his alarm clock. For sure he only rang it once briefly before your roommate turned it off so it wouldn't wake you up. Very kind and considerate. 
You swing your legs over the side of the bed and slip into fuzzy socks so your feet don't freeze. As you tie your hair so it doesn't look like you've touched an electrical socket, you hear keys jingle. 
Charles wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to you, would he?
Hesitantly, you go to the door of the room and open it slowly to make sure he's still there. And indeed, he hasn't left the apartment yet. 
But he has shouldered his travel bag, his feet are in shoes, and the apartment door is open, as if he is about to take the first step out. When he hears you, he turns around. 
Confused and still slightly sleepy, you stand in the doorway. You point your finger at the large bag. "Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?" you ask him, rubbing the heels of your hands over your eyes. Damn, it's definitely too early to be awake. 
Your roommate steps unsteadily from one foot to the other. "I didn't mean to wake you." In his free hand, he holds his key. 
You screw up your face. "But you wanted to say goodbye." You cross your arms in front of your chest. "You said you'd set an alarm so you could get up on time and we could say goodbye properly."
The situation is strange. You're standing in the doorway to the room where Charles shared a bed with you, as he stands on the threshold that separates this apartment from the rest of the world. It feels like he's trying to escape from what's happening inside these four walls. Like he can't wait to leave and leave you here. 
He doesn't even want to say goodbye to you. 
"I know, but-" he begins, but doesn't seem to know how to finish the sentence, which is why he just falls silent. His gaze wanders from your face to the room behind you before he lowers it to his shoes. He swallows once before looking at you again. "Can we talk about this another time?" he asks quietly. "I have to go."
What happened in the last few hours you were asleep? Did you do something to make him want to run away from here? To want to flee from you? The way he's standing there, he seems like he can't wait to finally leave the apartment. As if he had to quickly put as many kilometers as possible between you. 
The fact that he doesn't want to talk to you about it unsettles you more than you'd like to admit.
When you were with Raphael, there were many arguments, after which you both went to bed without clearing up the situation or talking things out. That oppressive, stomach-churning feeling was so devastating and caused such nausea in you that you told yourself that you will never again let an argument or difficult situation just stand.
You don't want to go to bed angry. And you don't want anyone to go to bed angry and mad at you either. 
"Did I do something?" you ask, letting your arms, which were crossed just a moment ago, fall to your sides. As a sign that you're ready to face whatever may follow. "Talk to me, please, Charles."
Of course, neither of you would go to sleep now. But the very thought that you won't see each other again for another four days, and thus parting, leaves a bitter taste on your tongue. Which you naturally want to get rid of as quickly as possible. 
Demonstratively, he glances at his wristwatch. "I don't have time. Let's talk about it another time."
"It's 6:25. I thought you didn't have to leave until 7?"
He clenches his teeth. "I want to drive now." He's visibly tense, his hand almost tightening around the key. Charles doesn't want to drive. He wants to run. From you. And you don't know why. 
Somewhere inside you, a small crack is opening up, uncomfortable, pressing on the pit of your stomach. Your discomfort worsens with each passing moment. 
"What have I done?" you try again to get him to talk. You cross the room until you're standing in front of him. "Whatever it was - I'm sorry. I don't know what it is that I could have done that upset you so much. But I don't want you to leave now and be mad at me when we won't see each other again for another four days. Let's talk about it. Please."
It's almost pathetic how desperate you sound. Your voice trembles like it's going to break at any moment, and you can feel tears gathering in your eyes. You try to blink them away. 
There have been countless situations like this with Raphael. It was always you who wanted to solve an argument. The one who tried harder. Who sacrificed more. And it has brought nothing. 
Even though you two have only known each other for a few days, this argument is much worse. Because you don't know what you have done, and therefore you can't change anything. You can't find a solution here. 
Charles doesn't seem to care that you are on the verge of crying. His gaze is hard and cold as he looks down at you. He looks at you as if you were a stranger just standing in his apartment.
As you reach out to him, he takes the last step over the threshold. The small crack inside you grows larger, now seems to have reached your heart, forming a great chasm. The wall that has been built so far has been of no use. It is completely useless. 
"If you really want to talk to someone, why don't you talk to Lando?" His tone is icy and his gaze sprays venom. 
Lando?
Charles seems to have picked up on your confused look. Annoyed, he rolls his eyes, which stings you further. "Now don't act like that. He texted me in the middle of the night asking what culinary cuisine you prefer for your dinner tonight." He raises an eyebrow. "And here I thought you'd already had an extensive conversation about it. What was it again? Canned soup and BigMac?"
Your discomfort gives way to an even more rotten feeling. Anger spreads through you like a wildfire you can't stop it. How dare he?
"What are you trying to say?" you ask calmly, even though everything is burning inside you. Charles interfering in this matter when he has no right to do so makes your anger spill over, but you know better than to take it out on him directly. You pull yourself together. Even though you'd like to strangle him, you don't want you two to fight. 
"Come on, Y/N." His smile is spiteful and ugly - even though he's the most beautiful man on the planet. "We both know he's just trying to fuck you. So what's the point of dinner? It's just a waste of money."
Excuse me?
"What do you mean?"
He seems to think for a moment, as if he were struggling with himself to say the next words. "After all, what Raphael did to you doesn't seem to bother you much if you're going to date someone new right away. And you said yourself yesterday that you weren't going to meet anyone on this couch." He extends his free arm and waves it in a semicircle in front of him. "Let's do it, then. Monaco is full of rich men. Then you don't exactly have to hook up with one who's my friend."
Never in your entire life have you wanted to smack someone so badly as Charles at this moment. 
He knows what Raphael did to you. And he also knows why your ex cheated on you. The fact that he now assumes that you would just jump into bed with Lando like that upsets you so much that you're at a loss for words. 
You don't recognize him. The Charles who lets you stay with him for free, who makes you laugh, and who is so close to you at times that you have to consider how to protect your heart, has dropped off the face of the earth. 
Opposite you is a mean and ruthless man you can't get away from fast enough. His words hit you harder than any blow could, and the tears in your eyes no longer originate in discomfort, but in pure rage. 
You don't care what you did to make him act this way. You don't care what exactly happened between you that caused this argument to degenerate like this. And you don't care if you go to bed tonight mad at him. 
This argument is different than the one over his phone call with Raphael or the one at dinner with his friends. It's too close, too personal, and for Charles to think of you that way, after everything you've told him about yourself, chokes your throat and makes your heart shatter into a thousand pieces. 
"You can have the apartment," you say emotionlessly. Your fire is extinguished, your anger is suffocated. The only thing left is a dull feeling of grief. 
How could you think Charles would be any different? That he would actually be a friend to you? You even showed him your favorite place. That wasn't even twelve hours ago. 
"When you come back, I'll be gone." Your gaze is fixed on Charles, letting him know how serious you are. Something flashes in his eyes, but whatever it is - you don't care. "I hate you."
Without waiting for an answer, you close the apartment door. As you turn around, you feel like an intruder in your own home. 
Which, theoretically, isn't even your home. It's Charles' home, it's his apartment. He's just been nice and let you stay with him. And he didn't do that because he saw a friend in you, but because he felt sorry for you, as you must now realize. 
Did this "good deed" make him feel better? Did he let you stay here to prove to himself what a good guy he is after everything with Annika? Is he really that selfish? 
Who exactly is Charles Leclerc?
You would like to leave the apartment immediately, because there is nothing that doesn't make you remember Charles. The couch reminds you of the evening when you drank wine and watched Cars. The kitchen table is where you eat pain au chocolat and croissants. The bathroom is where you grin at each other in the mirror as you brush your teeth. Charles is everywhere. 
He's especially in the dark bedroom, too, when you return to lie down in bed. His sheets are still where you found them when you woke up, and his smell is all over the room, making it hard for you to breathe. 
Pulling your own blanket up to your chin, you lie there staring at the ceiling, racking your brain as to where exactly you took a wrong turn. But for the life of you, you can't think of anything. 
You turn on your side and take a deep breath. Charles' smell hits your nose and only now, surrounded by darkness and silence, do you allow yourself to cry. Tears roll down your skin and one sob after another escapes your sore throat, which feels as if it has been laced shut. Your body shakes like it's electrified and somewhere inside you think your heart has stopped beating. 
The person you trusted the most has let you down. Your closest friend has dropped you without explaining himself to you. 
But that's not what hurts so indescribably. 
It hurts so much because it's Charles. The Charles you saw as your best friend after only a few days. The Charles who didn't judge you. 
You slide to the other side of the bed and slip under Charles' covers so that you are now completely enveloped in his smell. You feel so close to him, even though he's so far away, and even though the warmth feels like a hug, you feel lonely. You cling to that hug that isn't a hug, because that's the closest thing you have left of him. 
Tomorrow you would look for another apartment, maybe even move away from Monaco. And then you would pack your things and leave, just like you promised Charles. And you wouldn't break that promise - that deal, the way he broke his. 
Not long ago, you didn't want to share the bed with him anymore, braced yourself for it to be the last time you'd be this close. You wanted to build the wall that would protect, should protect your heart. 
But it's no use building a wall when your heart hasn't been yours for a while.
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antiquarianfics · 8 months
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Taken pt. 3
If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would go back to that morning. He would hold you a little tighter in his arms, and he would kiss you a little deeper. He would pull your daughter in between the two of you, letting her giggle as loudly as she wants whilst her parents kiss her cheeks and tickle her belly. If Bucky Barnes could time travel, he would have told you not to go to the park—to go anywhere else. But Bucky Barnes can’t time travel, and his wife and daughter are gone.
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A/N: If I were you guys, I would hate me. This is so. I'm sorry. Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader Genre: Angst / Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Kidnapping, torture, swearing, canon-typical violence. Note: I do not own the character Bucky Barnes or any other Marvel affiliated characters.
You do not have permission to copy or repost my work; however, feel free to like, comment, and reblog.
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"Mrs. Barnes, do follow me, please," Morozov demands despite his polite formalities. "And I advise you keep the baby to your side. You never know where she may wander off to if you're not watching," he says ominously.
You clench your jaw as you scoop Becca into your arms. She clings to you, little arms surrounding your neck. The poor girl is terrified, and you know you have to pretend you're not, too. For her.
You follow after Morozov and pray your phone hasn't died yet.
Please, Buck. Find us.
Morozov leads you down several confusing hallways that all look the same. You look for indicators to help you find your bearings, but there’s little to nothing there. You pray your phone still has some juice and is connected to a cell tower somewhere; you’re not getting out on your own.
Becca holds onto you with a death grip, her face buried in the crook of your neck to hide her eyes from the scary soldiers escorting you. Despite being an Avenger, you kind of wish Bucky was here for you to do the same thing.
“So, Mrs. Barnes, you’re wondering why we’ve brought you here?” Morozov asks, but his tone is more declarative. He does not wait for a response.
“Well, we’ve been tracking the Asset since I took over the Siberian HYDRA division, and that’s when we discovered that there was a Mini Asset! It was quite the pleasant surprise! We are well aware that the Asset’s trigger words have been removed—a shame, really. They took so long to install. So the original plan was to figure out how to reset the Asset, but with the development of the baby? Well…” He trails off, refusing to finish the thought.
Instead of providing further explanation for your capture, Morozov abruptly stops in front of a door, unlocking it and holding it open like a hotel concierge.
“Right in here.”
One of the guards pushes you in and you stumble a little. Straightening up and readjusting Becca in your arms, you turn and shoot a glare at the guard.
You quickly take note of your surroundings and realize you’re in a cell. This is when one of the guards and Morozov step in, closing the door behind them.
The cell is small and bare except for some shackles anchored to the wall. The soldier wrestles Becca out of your arms despite the little girl’s wailing and kicking and your onset panic. He then unceremoniously drops her to the ground and grabs your wrists, shackling you to the wall.
You lunge at the soldier, painfully pulling on your restraints.
“Don’t you dare touch her, you piece of shit!” You scream.
Morozov chuckles darkly, sending you an amused look, and crouches down to Becca’s height.
“Hello, miss,” he says, holding a hand out to help her stand.
Becca looks at his hand and then at you, unsure of what to do. You shake your head and she scoots away from the doctor and closer to you. Morozov only laughs again.
“You’ll be more cooperative in time,” he says simply, holding his hands casually behind his back. He turns back to you.
“And, Mrs. Barnes, I recommend you refrain from attacking or cursing at my men. It would be unpleasant.
“Now, please, ladies, make yourselves comfortable.”
Morozov turns and leaves the room, letting the thick metal door slam shut behind him and his soldier. You hear the locks click shut and you crumple in your spot, leaning against the wall, and try to get comfortable despite your arms restrained behind you.
“Mommy?” Becca calls, looking at your face.
“Yeah, baby?” You try to pull a comforting look onto your face but you have a feeling it looks more like a grimace.
“What’s the mean guy want?”
“I’m not sure, honey.”
“What’s ‘the Asset’?”
You frown, unsure what to say to her. You and Bucky had never explained to your daughter her father’s complicated past. In fact, you had intended to put it off as long as possible. You chew your lip nervously before you speak, carefully mulling over your words.
“‘The Asset’ is your daddy. A long time ago, before Daddy and I met, he was trapped by some bad people, and they made him do some bad things.”
Becca’s eyes widen.
“Do they wanna hurt Daddy?”
“I really don’t know, baby.”
“They hurt you,” she points out, small hands grabbing your face.
You lean forward and kiss her forehead.
“I’m alright, Becca. Promise.”
Suddenly, the small sliding door built into the cell’s door opens and a tray of food slides in. It closes immediately.
“Becca, can you bring that tray over here? It’s dinner time.”
The hungry toddler happily runs to pull the food over. For the first time since you were abducted, you feel a semblance of peace while you watch your daughter eat, and you giggle when she has you open up for the airplane.
You estimate you’ve been gone about a week, and your stay at the Siberian HYDRA facility has been less than pleasant.
They have refrained from taking Becca away from you, but they have happily tortured you in front of her. Frankly, you’re not sure which is worse.
Today has been brutal. Almost as brutal as when they found the phone.
The soldier’s cutting of your body—your body his canvas, his knives his brushes—is what led to the revelation of your phone. You’d been stripped of your shirt, leaving you in the sports bra. Your mistake comes in the form of a taunt, an ill chosen statement.
“That all you got?”
It was not. The soldier jammed his fist hard into your gut and you crumpled. You leaned forward, retching, and your phone happened to slip out of your bra onto the cell floor.
You froze.
Morozov lost it. The phone meant they were on the Avengers’ radar, and that was less than ideal. He grabbed the phone and hit the power button.
“1%. Hmm. We may have unwelcome visitors soon,” he said as he walked towards the exit. “Please show Mrs. Barnes how we feel about unwelcome visitors.”
With that, he left, and you quickly found out that they do not feel good about unwelcome visitors.
Morozov is always present, but he never strikes himself. He lets those around him get their hands dirty and helpfully asks questions from the sidelines.
Today, however, has been different. After all, everyone has their limit.
“Tell. me. how. the. hell. they. erased. the. brainwashing,” Morozov demands.
You scoff in his face.
“Go to hell.”
“You bitch!” He slaps you across the face.
Your face is forced sharply to the side from the slap, but you laugh as you turn to face him.
“What the fuck are you laughing at?”
“Not only do you look like you’re pretending to have power, but your slap lacks power, too.”
Taunting him is probably not your best move, you’re aware, but it’s been a week and all they’ve done is torture you for information about Bucky. And you were trained to keep your mouth shut.
Morozov stands up straight, smoothing out his ill-fitting military jacket. He takes the second to compose himself before he turns to the guard at the door.
“Grab the kid,” he says, smirking at you.
Your eyes widen.
“Don’t you dare touch her! I’ll kill you! I swear to god I’ll kill you!” You pull on your restraints, scrambling to find footing even though you can’t stand from the way you’re restrained.
Becca has been hiding in the corner of the room, petrified, as she has every time they’ve come to question you. She pushes herself further back into the wall as the guard moves towards her, but with nowhere to go, he easily picks her up and carries her to Morozov.
“You know, my strength may lack power to you, but I’m sure a punch to the baby’s gut would hold all the power it needs,” he muses, closing his hand into a fist in front of his face, observing it.
You struggle to get to Becca, tears beginning to escape and run down your face.
“Now,” he says, side-eying you, “tell me. How did they remove the trigger words? Because when we turn your daughter here into the next Winter Soldier—raising and conditioning her to serve HYDRA—we need to make sure she can’t defect like her traitor father.”
Morozov’s admission towards his plans for Becca flips a switch inside you. You’ve heard of mothers doing incredible things—like lifting cars off of their children—due to the child being in danger. It causes hysterical strength; you were never sure you believed it. But watching Morozov threaten your child? It was life or death. It was unforgivable. It made you hysterical. So Morozov even threatening to do to her what HYDRA did to Bucky causes you to act.
You scream something unintelligible as you yank yourself free. The chains are still bound to your wrists, but the anchor in the wall crashes to the ground. The cement moving with it. Before you comprehend it, you’ve gotten to your feet, jumped enough to hop the shackles and bring your hands to the front of your body, and have the chains around Morozov’s neck.
You pull the chain taut against his throat, and he chokes. You glare at the soldier holding Becca who looks incredibly unsure what to do (Does he save his boss? Does he hold onto the kid?).
“Let. Her. Go.” You tighten the chain on Morozov’s neck with each syllable.
Morozov subtly nods, signaling to the man to let Becca down. He does and you forget Morozov, leaving him to gasp for breath as you run to your daughter.
Skidding to your knees, you check over Becca as you scoop her into your arms.
“It’s okay, bug. You’re okay.”
You comfortingly run your fingers through her hair while she shakes with fear in your arms.
“Hmm,” Morozov muses as he rubs a hand against his sore neck. “Perhaps we might come to a compromise, Mrs. Barnes.”
You shoot an incredulous look at him over your shoulder.
“The strength you just exhibited? Extraordinary! Perhaps you might consider joining HYDRA’s cause,” he holds up a hand to silence you when you open your mouth to protest. “Perhaps you might consider joining HYDRA’s cause,” he repeats, “in exchange for your daughter’s release.”
You pick Becca up, letting her bury her face into your neck while she cries, and stand, turning to face Morozov.
“If you safely return her to her father and the Avengers, I’ll do it,” you say confidently. You absolutely did not want to work for HYDRA, but you could figure out your own escape later. Becca’s safety is your priority and only current concern.
“That can be arranged.”
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Tags: @just-henny @jasminocano @browneyedgirl22 @barnesboo1967 @matchat3a
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zepskies · 1 year
Text
Break Me Down - Prologue
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Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader
Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.
Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…
💚 Break Me Down Masterlist
AN: For those of you who enjoyed “Checkerboard,” here’s the requested prequel series! It’s going to be a long and bumpy road to get to that version of Soldier Boy. Technically this is an AU set post-season 3. [18+ only! This story is rated M.]
Song Inspo: For this story it's "All My Livin Time" by Radio Company! You'll notice it in some of the chapter titles.
Word Count: 2,800 Warnings: Violence, character death, bondage (not in the good way).
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Prologue:
Well, this fucking sucks.
The thought rattled through your mind as you were led down a hallway, across a cold expanse of tile floor.
You couldn’t see where you were going with this stuffy bag over your head, but you knew it was tile. Your bare feet all but scraped across it as they dragged you.
Whoever held your arms in a vice grip eventually forced you to sit in a rickety wooden chair. They pulled your wrists behind the chair and bound them together with a zip tie.
You felt the slit on your dress sliding open, so you crossed your legs, for whatever good that would do you. At the very least, it would give the impression that you were sitting here casually, and not (figuratively) shitting yourself with fear. 
“What the hell is this?” a deep, familiar voice asked.
“A gift.” You knew this voice as well. Neither one instilled you with calm.
Then the bag finally came off your head. The gag did not, however. You knew your red dress was in unfortunate tatters. You knew you were bruised and scratched, and overall worse for wear.
But when your gaze found your kidnapper, you glared up at him with a stubborn tilt to your chin.
Soldier Boy stared back at you with raised brows, and instant recognition in his eyes. His lips curved into a smirk.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
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Three months ago…
You watched the footage in disbelief.
Soldier Boy managed to grapple Homelander long enough to blast him right out of Vought Tower.
The two of them tangled in a big ball of nuclear light, and the resulting impact into the ground created a tremor throughout New York City. You had felt it even from the Surveillance office of Supe Affairs.
But now, an hour later, you stood at the site of the crash landing. You still couldn’t believe that Homelander’s lifeless body (complete with two suspect bullet holes to the head) was already wrapped up by the CIA.
The body would be destroyed, if Grace Mallory had anything to say about it. Though you knew that Vought would try to claim custody.
They can try, you thought. Grace had briefed you of the situation: Soldier Boy’s strange new power had taken away Homelander’s in the blast. That had allowed Billy Butcher to finish the job.
But as enormous a win as that was for the S.A. (for the world, really), Soldier Boy had unfortunately escaped in the aftermath of the crash. 
You watched Butcher’s team being treated by paramedics. They all seemed to be in good spirits, considering. Talking and laughing through their bloody cuts and bruises. Butcher seemed the most contemplative, maybe because his nine-year vendetta had finally come to a close.
But you knew, even with this victory, their troubles were far from over.
Mother’s Milk snapped back at something Frenchie said, but when he looked up and caught you staring, you looked over pointedly at the massive crater in the ground. His lips thinned into a determined line.
Soldier Boy’s still out there.
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You took a break from staring at the double surveillance screens at your work desk to answer your cell phone.
“Hey, Yvette. How’s it going?” you said, smiling.
“Oh, good. Just clinging to a sinking ship,” she said wryly. “My department’s down to two people.”
Your eyes widened. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. In customer service? Is Vought insane?”
Yvette was the only friend you still talked to from your time at Vought. Though the two of you had been in different departments, they’d been on the same floor in the tower.
“Company shares have dropped into the toilet after…well, Homelander,” she explained. “Somehow I made it through the preliminary mass layoffs. But they want us to operate on a damn skeleton crew with no support.”
You bit your lip in sympathy. “You’re looking for another job, right?”
“Of course,” said Yvette. Her tone was hushed, and you heard her underlying worry. “Chris and I can barely afford Devon’s private school as it is. We won’t be able to renew for next year if I lose my job.”
You frowned. Her son Devon was in elementary school, a bright kid. But unlike his wealthy classmates, he’d gotten into the school on a partial scholarship. That alone was enough to single him out among the other families (even the kids, unfortunately).
“Do you want me to see if there’s anything for you here at the S.A.?” you asked. “I make an excellent reference.”
As in, you’d track down whatever department was hiring and talk them around until they agreed to look at Yvette’s resume, if for no other reason than to shut you up.
“That would be great,” she said with a sigh. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“Of course!” you agreed.
Yvette had been one of the few people to actually support you after you left Vought. After that, she’d cemented a place in your life from “work friend” to something real, and as honest as you’d let yourself be in a long time.
When the phone on your work desk started to ring, you let out a sigh.
“Sorry, Yvette. I’m getting another call.”
“No problem. Still coming for dinner on Friday? I finally talked Chris into making his arroz con gandules. And in honor of you, I’m making pain patate. My grandma's recipe, if I might add.”
“Oooh, excellent,” you said, already mentally rubbing your hands together. Yvette was Haitian, married to a Puerto Rican man. Both were ridiculously great cooks, and had been teaching you their ways in the kitchen for the past few years.
Before you became friends with Yvette, you could barely boil an egg. Your mother, bless her, wasn’t the best cook. So you and your sister had survived mainly on boxed meals growing up...mainly on Hamburger Helper and the like, if you were honest.
But you were a quick student, according to your friend. You could even make baked macaroni from scratch now.
“I’ll definitely be there,” you said. “See ya then!”
You hung up your cell and picked up your work phone just as it was about to stop ringing.
“Surveillance department,” you answered.
You positioned the phone between your ear and your shoulder and checked on the surveillance cameras you were monitoring. Nothing was amiss (yet), but you were watching in case a telekinetic went off the rails on her next drug bust.
There had been reports of this particular supe being too careless with her arrests, even putting a teenager into a full body cast after flinging him off a second-story building.
But you were only half-shaken out of your thoughts when a woman greeted you on the line.
“Can you come up to my office please?” she said.
“Who’s this?” you asked distractedly.
“Grace Mallory.”
You paused. Oh shit.
The head boss lady of this whole operation was on your phone, and she wanted to see you.
“Uh…yes, ma’am,” you said. “Right now?”
“…Yeah. Right now,” she said dryly. And she hung up on you.
You heaved a sigh as you also hung up the phone at your desk. Your manager (and the head of S.A. Surveillance) was already working your team over time.
And for some reason, Grace Mallory wanted to have a little chit chat.
You didn’t know why she singled you out, but you had a handful of guesses. All of them were making your stomach churn.
You popped your head out of your cubicle and leaned over to the one next to yours.
“Hey Jess, I need you to cover for me for a bit,” you told your coworker. Jess didn’t have as much experience as you, but she was solid at her job and you could count on her to handle things while you were gone for a bit. The blonde smiled and bobbed her head.
“Okie! No problem, friend,” she said.
Her bubbliness grated on your psyche a bit, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hate her either. It wasn’t her fault the world hadn’t kicked her in the ass yet.
You nodded and went up to Grace’s office, where she welcomed you in and asked you to sit down in the plush chair in front of her rather large mahogany desk.
It was leagues above your small, plain gray cubicle, but you supposed these were the kinds of things that came with being the head of the operation.
The S.A. was now strictly her domain, following the clusterfuck of Victoria Neuman departing the organization to join Robert Singer’s presidential campaign.
“What can I do for you, Grace?” you asked.
The other woman gave you a patient, if knowing look. “I think you know why I asked you here.”
“Can’t say that I do,” you replied, tight-lipped.
“As I’m sure you’re aware, the manhunt for Soldier Boy is now this organization’s top priority,” she began. “I’d like to recruit you, beyond surveillance. I want to put you in the field.”
You were already shaking your head before she’d finished speaking. You’d been happily sitting at a desk for a year now.
“I don’t think I’m qualified, ma’am.”
She gave a small huff of a laugh. “I beg to differ.”
You shifted in your seat, impatient and uncomfortable, as she folded her pale hands on her desk.
“Before you joined Supe Affairs last year, you were a private investigator…on Vought’s payroll,” she said. “I promise, you will have even more resources at your disposal. And my full support.”
“You’re CIA,” you said, hiding your nervousness. “Why do you need me?”
For a moment, Grace just stared at you. Her head tilted just so, lips pursing.
“Because this is an all-hands-on-fucking-deck situation. I need every single body I can throw at this,” she said, her blue eyes unyielding. “I’ve seen your track record. Here at the S.A., your years at Vought, and before. When you worked at your father’s firm.”
Your spine tightened at the mention of your father, but you forced yourself to relax.
“You get results,” Grace continued. “And I think you’ll do well working with Butcher’s team.”
Your eyes widened.
“Billy Butcher?” you repeated. “Oh, hell no. I’m not working with that crazy bastard…with all due respect, ma’am.”
You lowered your eyes in embarrassment.
You’d only worked in Surveillance for the past year, but you’d often heard Victoria Neuman’s bitching to Hughie Campbell down the hall—especially in the break room.
“I understand your reservations, believe me,” Grace said wryly. “But he’s the one who found Soldier Boy in Siberia, after forty years of him being presumed dead.”
“In part, thanks to you,” you couldn’t help pointing out…maybe a bit too petulantly to a high-ranking CIA agent.
Grace’s lips thinned even further, but after she considered you a moment longer, she relaxed with a slight smile.  
“I think you’ll fit in just fine,” she said.
You let out a deep breath. After Hughie clued you in on Victoria Neuman being an undercover supe, you’d laid low at the S.A., waiting for the right time to quit. After Neuman left the organization, and Homelander’s death, you’d actually thought it was safe enough to stay. 
You’d left Vought for several reasons, all of them good ones…
“What if I don’t want the job?” you asked.
Grace tapped a finger on her desk. “As I understand, you have a younger sister.”
Your lips pulled into a frown, your shoulders tightening. Your family had nothing to do with this. Was this the part where the CIA agent threatened you in order to get her way?
“Why do you ask?”
Grace raised a brow.
“I know exactly what Vought was paying you for your exclusivity clause. Which was then rescinded when you began working for Supe Affairs,” she said.
“They kept approximately six months of your backpay on ongoing assignments, and even tried to sue you for breach of contract when you gave Neuman your intel on their supes. Drugs, prostitutes, the whole gambit.”
You crossed your arms and leaned back in your chair; you saw her game now.
“You tried to fight back in the courts, but the earnings that once sustained you have since dried up," she added, and with a nod, "Yes, I checked your bank statements.”
You were affronted at the breach of your privacy, but you weren’t exactly surprised.
“Our American justice system at work,” you snipped. Grace smiled.
“I’m prepared to double their fee,” she said. “As I understand it, your sister Luisa is a gifted girl. First chair violinist. Auditions for Julliard lined up for next month. Tuition increases every year.”
And that was when you faltered. You still didn’t think hunting after the world’s most wanted ex-superhero was a smart decision. Not even for money…but damn this Mallory. Damn the CIA and Vought, Neuman, Stan Edgar, and everyone in between!
Julliard was your sister’s dream. For the entirety of her senior year, you’d been wracking your brain (and your pitiful savings) trying to find a way to give it to her.
Your mom was a hospital receptionist making barely enough to support herself. As it was, you were supporting Luisa financially.
Since the two of you were kids, you’d done your best to protect your sister. To be the one she could always count on when your mom just…couldn’t.
But still. Making this deal with Grace felt a bit too much like making that deal with Vought five years ago. And look at how that had come to bite you in the ass.
“I don’t think—” you started to say.
“Up front,” Mallory said.
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’ll get double your fee, up front,” she said. “Then you’ll get triple if Soldier Boy is caught and brought back into U.S. custody, or eliminated in the field.”
Dead or alive…
You knew what this decision meant for you.
Grace Mallory was Don Corleone, making you an offer. Could you afford to refuse?
After a beat to think, you drummed your nails on the chair’s arm and looked up at Grace decisively.
“You mean when he’s caught.”
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Somewhere in South America…
Soldier Boy was having a great fucking time.
Thoroughly debauched, he’d rented out an entire casino for his 101st birthday. Bottomless drinks, drugs, whores, and poker. Didn’t get much better than that, in his (literally) high opinion.
Until a bullet ripped through his champagne glass.
The fuck. He glanced up and watched the unit of military personnel line up around all four floors of the casino. If his nose was mistaken (and it never was), most of these guys were hopped up on V. It smelled like the temporary stuff.
Good fucking job, Wannabe President Singer, he thought.
The group of women that had been hanging out at his table had already fled, save for one cowering at his feet when the first shot rang out. She was a thin blonde with big Bette Davis eyes, but she was much easier on said eyes than that fucking broad had been.
Soldier Boy grabbed the girl up off the floor, like the dead weight she was, and gave her his room key.
“If you make it outta here, catch me at my place, would ya?” he told her, though his attention was on the guns surrounding him. She took the key with shaking hands and looked up at him. He spared her a glance.
“I’d go now, if I were you. Things are about to get fuckin' crispy.”
And that was when they tossed the tear gas.
The futile sniping began, tearing through his new silk suit but bouncing harmlessly off his skin. The girl screamed and cowered under the table.
Soldier Boy snapped off a roulette wheel from a nearby table and tossed it like a frisbee at the closest guns. The tear gas was just making him want to sneeze.
But he smirked and rolled his neck. Here we go...
By the end, Soldier Boy was the only one standing. And that included the casino. It was a mess of broken wood, overturned tables, and the blood and bodies of soldiers, staff, gambling patrons, and Bette Davis Eyes under the table.
Straightening his ruined blazer, he stepped out the back of the casino and disappeared into the dark.
On the only table left standing was a hand-written note, pinned down with a steak knife:
Try harder.
S. B.
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AN: Well, then. 😂 I can say this is a very different story than I'm used to writing, but I couldn't not explore Soldier Boy. 😏
Let me know what you think of this little intro!
Keep Reading: PART 1
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Soldier Boy Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Series Tag List:
@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0
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anundyingfidelity · 18 days
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I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy (Part II)
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Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.
Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.
Word count: 2.5k.
Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.
Warnings on this chapter: Ben being a misogynist, talks about masturbation and porn, killing threats, Ben's POV in general is a red flag, death.
Part I | Part II | Part III | Part IV
tags: @k-slla
GEN MASTERLIST!
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Part II: Silence is Peace
The next day arrived fast, and again, you found yourself walking ready to have a conversation with the supe locked in the facility. A part of you was surprised he didn't try to escape yet, but Ben, on the other hand, was just letting things flow at the moment.
The heavy, metal door opened to let you in. The supe caught by surprise seeing you coming inside full of confidence at this time in the morning. A couple of armed men in black uniforms followed behind as they settled down some furniture in the empty area of the room: two small sofas and a coffee table.
His arrogant self knew those guns wouldn't tear a single hair off of him, but hey, he understood you needed to feel safe. So meanwhile, he decided to play along. He remained still by the bathroom door as you came closer.
"I didn't request that," he said once you stood face to face.
"Oh, I know. I did, it's for your therapy," you smiled, tugging the bag on your shoulder. The armed men finished decorating the cell, and they left with a loud thud of the door being closed behind their backs. "There's been a small change of plans. I will come by every day for one hour. Anything you want you will ask me first and if I approve, then I will bring it to you."
He smirked. Like if he needed to be bossed around by a fucking woman, he thought. "You sure have the balls to stand up on me like that."
"Like I said, I want to help you," you replied, making your way and sitting down on a sofa. "Please," you requested him with a hand to do the same and he followed with curiosity. You put the bag on the coffee table, taking out a notebook, pens, a folder, and a small zip bag containing the only thing he asked from you the day before. You left his reefer on the coffee table, putting the folder in your lap as you waited for him with a smile on your face he found unsettling.
Ben still didn't buy you or your intentions, but he sat down on the opposite sofa nonetheless. You had brought him something he asked from you, something he wanted and would calm him down for a little. Hopefully it wasn't going to be that bad. He only had to put up with the game of doctor-patient. In the back of his mind, he was also grateful you dropped the stupid white coat at the same time he found your attempt to fix him ridiculous. He didn't need to get fixed.
"Your guards ain't hurting me with those guns, you know that," Ben started.
"We have to try," you shrugged. "And you're still here, that has to mean something."
He rolled his eyes. Of fucking course he had to stay. There were a lot of questions in his head. He had to settle down for a moment. Things were different in the world, he needed to learn about today's tech and get a fucking good plan to get away with his shit. Who would he get to kill first? Still thinking about it. How would he escape? Probably could use some help to keep a low profile. Could you be that help, being the only human contact he figured would have from now on? Maybe.
"So how are you feeling? Did you have some sleep?" you asked.
"I slept enough, spent the whole fucking night jerking off," he spat. "That TV of yours now does have good porn some hours in the day."
With wide eyes, you wrote down after his answer.
"Alright. But tell me, how are you feeling?" you pushed, your smile long gone and replaced with a serious face locking your gaze to his own.
"Great, never been fucking better" he smirked and you shifted on your seat.
His green eyes started checking you all over for a second. The pencil skirt hugged your legs perfectly and the blouse was tight enough to show off the size of your breasts. The clothes yelling that you were expensive and valuable for the CIA, and most important, to Mallory. Soon he sensed the discomfort emanating from you as his gaze returned to your face. God, he loved doing that, but you sure were daring to get locked inside a room with him alone.
"You can tell me the truth, you know," you said.
"I can easily break your neck and explode this shithole if I want to," he spat back.
"You won't do that. You had the chance yesterday, today even, and yet here you are."
He thought you sounded so sure about that. Ben held your gaze. Neither of you dare to break eye contact. It was like you were challenging him to something he wasn't aware of just yet. He didn't like that, but he remained there, breathing deeply with a strong look on his face. You were right though, and he realised could find you a good usage besides the obvious fucking use for pretty girls like you. He might have missed a good fuck for 40 years but the little common sense on the back of his mind told him the porn channel was enough for now.
"Listen, I know you're not a bad guy," the words fell softly from your lips. "I know you didn't mean to harm those people in Midtown... And in order to help you I could use some information on how you feel every time the blast comes-"
He stood up abruptly, strong enough to move the sofa he was sitting some feet away behind his back and yelled aggressively.
"Fuck off, bitch. What the fuck do you know about me? I don't trust your kind and you're making my threat sound like a great plan now.
You held his gaze as he made his way towards you. You were a prey in his cage, but even if you were scared, he didn't sense any sign of it. Ben's big frame towered you, standing just inches away from the couch you sat on. The space was enough for him to kill you with only one hand but you never moved or flinched a second.
"If you touch me, just a single hair on my scalp, you're fucked."
"C'mon sweetheart, you're no match for me," he mocked with a smirk on his face.
"Novichok definitely is."
He tightened his fists with his lips on a straight line, and his heartbeat increased at the mention of that fucking poison. Meanwhile, you just sat down looking at him with a blank face and innocent eyes. For a moment, he was tempted to just kill you but he forced himself to calm the fuck down. He didn't want to black out again, he certainly did not want to become a fugitive. If he was going to do something, it had to be done well.
"Soldier Boy, it's okay," you got on your feet. His eyes followed your moves. "It's fine if you don't want to talk to me. I can't force you to."
He saw a strange sparkle in your eyes. Were you pitying him? He didn't need that. And when he said nothing, then you continued.
"You accepted the deal, and that includes therapy to help you get out of your trauma. And sooner or later, you have to talk to me," you explained, he felt like a fucking child being scolded.
"You want to fucking help me and spray me with Novichok at the same time," he groaned.
"We have to take our precautions. But trust me. I’d rather not use that on you, I prefer other ways."
"This is fucking crap," he mumbled through his teeth.
He watched you making your way towards the book shelf, leaning down to grab a couple of books. He took in the curve of your ass as you knelt, and he wondered if you were doing all that little show on purpose to test him. His jaw clenched once again at the thought of being played with false promises and a cure to his memories.
"I can leave, but I will come tomorrow," you tossed two books on the coffee table: one about PTSD, the other one about new technology for him to start educating himself on that. "Start reading those and write down in the notebook anything you have to say. It can be about the books, your thoughts, your feelings... Anything you want. I don't have to know unless you want me to."
If looks could kill, you were already dead. He still didn't trust you. He didn't understand completely why a stupid psychiatrist of the CIA wanted him to go through rehab. You were a woman, for fucks sake. Psychiatrists were old, wise, rich men back in his days, not expensive sluts.
He scoffed and rolled his eyes. "You're lucky I'm trying hard not to crush your bones right now, pretty thing."
"At least you're trying, that's improvement," you smiled cockily, pointing at his chest with a finger and you took your bag and belongings together, as if he didn't threaten to kill you like three times in the same conversation. "I will leave you now. Have a good lunch, Soldier Boy."
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"Time of death 9:41 a.m."
The sound of the monitor disturbed your senses as the voice announced all over the place the death of yet another supe. You watched through the windows as two lab assistants ran inside the chamber to take out the lifeless body of the woman who had given her life to volunteer and assist the program. Anything for the cure, you remember her voice saying, even after she was warned about the possible effects. The worst of them being death. The contract stipulated it clearly and you told her to think twice before agreeing to take the third version of the Anti-V, although she hesitated a lot before joining.
You breathed out. The formula needed improvement, quickly. How many corpses had they taken out of there? You lost count already. You ordered Bianca, your young assistant, to note down all the details one day after the second death of a supe you witnessed, and for her to count them as necessary and at all cost. Arms folded on your chest, your jaw clenched, losing hope and feeling despair running through your spine. The discomfort of what had to be done to find a cure sometimes was too much of a burden. But sacrifices had to be done.
And speaking about sacrifices, you knew you had to get into Soldier Boy's head as soon as possible. The few other sessions you tried to talk to him were useless. The sixth one being today before lunch. A part of you was growing tired of faking it and pretending to be a psychiatrist, it really wasn't your field but you knew how to be one after many sessions, research, and medication on your own. Grace had taken care of your training years ago and this was just another mission with a huge impact and objective in mind: destroy Vought and Homelander, and then provide the cure to supes who didn't want their powers and give them the chance to live a normal life. People like you needed the cure, but first things first.
"Doc, the analysis of Blaze is updated," Bianca said, giving you the tablet to check the information on the supe that was collected.
"Thanks."
Blaze, or Electra Richards was her real name, was a low-profile supe for some time, and you had a secret track of those like her with some help. These kinds of supes didn't really represent a threat to Vought, so it was kind of easy to contact them and give them a possible solution with a warning written all over the place. When Electra was contacted, she had to think about it but eventually said yes. She was young and brave, but she never wanted powers. She had superhuman strength and healed in minutes, seconds even, her bones were indestructible, and when your people ran the proper tests on her she was healthy as hell. Pity that her body wasn't enough to take in the injection of the new Anti-V prototype.
You read the last notes your assistant typed on the supe's profile.
Cause of death: sudden cardiac arrest caused by ventricular fibrillation; failure in electrical signaling within the heart.
You couldn't continue like this, not anymore. Nine months and nothing seemed to work out. Some supes died, some of them quit the program, and you didn't really blame them for it. The failures were growing bigger than the small steps close to creating the final antidote. The process was becoming an endless trial and error. With a tired face and a sigh, you left the tablet on a desk and walked out making your way to your office.
You took out your cell phone and dialed Grace, walking around the room worriedly. You needed to vent or talk. Anything. And gladly, she picked up by the third ring.
"Is everything okay?" she asked on the other line. She knew you too well.
"I- No, it isn't. But you already know that," you breathed. "Another supe died on trial today. I don't know how many we have-" your voice cut off abruptly and you sighed, composing yourself after a moment. "We keep losing a lot of people..."
Grace exhaled. "It's part of the job. It's your project, you know it was coming when I approved to do this."
"That makes it even worse, you're not helping me," you replied with a playful tone. "I've been thinking- I would like to try the cure."
"No. We need you to focus on this."
"And when I get him, when I get Soldier Boy's blood? He already takes powers of supes with the blast. Should be easier."
"He's your safest option for now. You'll find a way to get it, I trust you. But don't make stupid and hurried decisions, just wait for the right moment," the lady scolded. You smiled a little, like if she was watching you. "About that, how's he doing? Is he cooperating?"
"Not at all, that's my other problem," you fell back on your chair ungracefully, your back hurting at the thought of seeing him again that day. "I am trying to get him to talk, even using my cards of dressing up like I'm a fucking slut with tight skirts and all, but he's really backing up. Besides he's a fucking dick," your words made Grace chuckle for a bit.
"All supes we have dealt with are dicks, especially Vought. But Y/N, you got this," her words attempted to make you feel better. "This is one of our best options to take them down for once. I know you've been working on this way long before you talked to me, and that's the reason I know it's gonna work, doing whatever it takes."
"Thank you, Grace," you mumbled from your heart. Disappointing her was not on your list, and you hoped it won't happen anytime soon. So you switched the topic of the conversation. "And how have you been?"
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bloodycherry22 · 1 year
Text
Your mine | Rick Grimes
Genre:smut.
Summary: Despite the large age gap, Rick can't help but want you, he holds back for months, until he grows tired of seeing younger men attempt to swoop you off your feet and he just needs you to know that you are his.
Warnings: Cussing, smut, age gap (legal, reader is in her 20s), rough sex, degrading, but also praise, crying. Season 3. Prison.
A/n: This requested by a lovely anon, apologies for the long wait. <3 Not proofread
Holy shit. He looked so good, down in the field, digging away at god knows what, sweating, sleeves rolled up to his forearms and hair falling messily over his forehead, dirt covering his hands as he tightly gripped at the metal shovel. He paused his digging and shoved the tool into the ground, leaning on it for a moment as he brushed over her forehead with his other forearm, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. He looked worn, but good. Sure he was, what, early 40's? Who cares?
With a huff, you walked downstairs, being on watch, you stepped out of the watch tower and heard the door slam behind you, not extremely loud but loud enough for Rick to hear. When he turned to face you, you shot him a smile and he nodded, smiling back.
"You alright?" He asked, his southern drawl sending a shiver down your spine as you nodded happily. "Mhm, just gonna switch with Maggie" You said and he nodded, again, averting his gaze from your tight, long sleeve shirt and jeans. "Is the farm still growing well?" You asked and he chuckled lightly. "Why yes, yes it is" He stated, his hand combing through his light beard.
You laughed a little and nodded, walking away, feeling his gaze burn into you. He couldn't keep his eyes off you, god he barely got any work done just knowing you were in the watch tower, and when you spark random conversations with him, it reminds him just how much younger and full of life you are compared to him, he wanted you so bad but his morals just wouldn't let him have you and it drove him mad.
He watched you walk back into the prison, completely stared, gazed shamelessly, watched as some of the other men working took a glance as well, just enhancing his burning desire for you. The annoying things being, most of the men who had joined the group recently were your age, early to late 20's. He didn't realize that you had no issue at all with the age gap, if anything you liked that he was older. Either way, for months now, you had shot him signals and he just hadn't reacted.
Like the time you purposely sat with him at night in the prison when you first arrived, before cell blocks were cleared, and it was just the group. You chose to sit directly next to him multiple times, he would work at clearing the prison almost all day and his free time was spent talking to you, not even a meter away and he saw it as friendly.
Or like when you asked him to help you untangle your two necklaces, he stood inches away from you, your breath hitting his chest as you looked up at him with puppy dog eyes. His hands working with the fragile metal on your collarbone, his eyes focused on it as he licked his lips, his fingers occasionally brushing over your skin, making your skin prick in pure need for him yet, nothing. When he untangled them he stepped back and ruffled your hair gently before getting back to work.
Or, again, like the time when you were helping him plant some seeds, both of you kneeling in the dirt and sweaty. When Daryl made some dirty joke about the both of you that shouldn't be repeated, Rick laughed it off and said nothing about it while you were starstruck.
Yet to him, these moments were torture, he loved spending time with you yet the more he did the harder it was to not kiss you right there and then. Fuck, how badly he wanted to kiss you when he was untangling them stupid necklaces, silly little ploy for attention, he wasn't dumb but he also didn't mind.
However, something was different today, he wanted to see you more than usual, enough to make him want to take a break from work which was a near impossible thing to happen, but he didn't know why. That was until he stepped into the prison building and couldn't see you anywhere. He raised a brow and walked towards a busier area, where more people gathered to eat and drink, various families and people around, he could see Daryl, leaning on the wall and talking to Carol, he could see a couple of the new people talking to Glenn, and then you.
He saw you, sat at a table with two other men and a girl he recognized enough to know he let them in but not enough to know their names. The man sat beside you appeared to be your age, and confident, he was leaning towards you and smiling a lot, he couldn't tell how you felt about the situation.
You didn't look uncomfortable? But he sure as hell didn't want some random guy having his way with you. Who is he to act like he owns you? Are you waving him over? Yes you are.
"Rick!" You smiled and waved your hand towards yourself, he clicked after a minute and began to walk over, making sure to hold himself high. He looked down at you and the others, sharing a small smile.
"Rick, i dunno if you met Jane, Tommy and Scott" You introduced the people at the table and he nodded at them. Scott. Scott spoke up "Sit down! We brought scotch, come on" He offered and you instantly sent him an apologetic look, usually he would instantly decline, but he didn't want this Scott guy to have you.
A little while passed, both you and Rick still held the same glasses of scotch, barely drinking, while Scott and Tommy had dank at least three each, Jane having left not long ago, making Rick even more sure he wasn't going to be leaving you alone anytime soon with two drunk men. He noticed that Scott had began to rest his hand on your shoulder and lean over you, his hands gripping the skin of your arm gently, hard enough to make ricks hand squeeze tightly around his glass.
You noticed the way Rick's knuckles turned white from the tense grip at the sight of you being touched and you wondered if this may finally be enough to break him. It was obvious he wasn't listening to a thing the other men were saying and neither were you, he was just staring at the hand on your arm, even when he took a swig of his drink, he didn't let it out of his sight.
Not until the men called him into the conversation, and he looked at Scott, his face showing no clear emotion behind it, but he still looked amazing, you didn't care that you were staring at him, who wouldn't. The sun had began to set and he had a perfect golden sheer over him, he looked older, but in the best way possible, in a way that made you have to lick your lips as they had gone dry in the time you had been thinking about him. He seemed to engage in some of the conversation, but he didn't seem as amused by it as they did.
Suddenly you were knocked out of your train of thought, a hand resting just above your knee, a feeling that was so rare nowadays it made you jolt just a little, only enough for Rick to notice. He raised a brow, looking at you in slight worry, his eyes gleaming with protection. Scott's hand sat on your thigh, not at an uncomfortable level, you could tell he wasn't trying to be weird, he was just making a move, the only problem being, you didn't wan't him too.
Rick's eyes traveled over you before landing on Scott's arm and putting the pieces together, he cleared his throat. "well, it's getting late..we both have early shifts tomorrow, right y/n?" He began and smiled at you, hoping the men would take the hint. Yet they protested and encouraged more drinking, Scott's hand squeezing your thigh a little in a way that had began to make you extremely uncomfortable, a way that made you subtly nudge Rick under the table and look at him, with the same, soft eyes as earlier.
He stared deeply at you for a moment, ignoring the males chattering before nodding and standing up, pulling you up and away from the man beside you as quick as he could. He muttered some excuse and with various disagreeing statements from the men and a few "Oh but we were having so much fun" you were able to leave.
Rick walked around he corner with you, heading to another cell block, his hand on your lower back, spread out so largely it made you suck in a breath. He stopped and looked around, it was the cellblock that shared most of the original groups cells, you smiled and looked at him "Thanks Rick, i mean he wasn't a creep but-"
"No, he was being creepy darlin', whether you admit or not" He snickered and looked down at you, his hand still on you, the nickname making your mind wander. You stared up at him, eyes flickering over his face, wandering from feature to feature, noticing the furrowing of his brows and the blue in his eyes, the shades of grey painting his beard. He pursed his lips and averted his gaze from you, you wanted him so bad, and he wanted you but he was holding back.
You placed your hand flat against his chest and he quickly looked back at you, a little shocked and confused. "Rick, I can't keep going like this"
"What do y-"
"You know what i mean, i want you too Rick, stop holding back" You complained, leaning closer and he stood in shock, his lips parted as he thought about what you were saying and how badly he wanted to take you right then and there. "Cmon Rick, I've been hinting for months, give me what i want Rick, make me yours" You whined and with a groan he kissed you, lucky that the area was empty. His hands landed on your waist and tugged you against his chest, your hands falling around his neck as he deeply kissed you, his lips stimulating your own as if they were ravening for you. The kiss was sultry and absent minded, your head was cloudy.
He hummed in pleasure before pulling back to look at you, faces inches away "you really want this? I don't think I'll ever want to stop" He stated, breathlessly and you nodded, lips feeling swollen as you bit down on them desperately. He was quick to pull you into his cell, instantly nudging you onto the bed as his knees hit the edge, he leaned over you, his arm resting to the side of you as his other hand trailed down your waist. He kissed you again, his large hand spreading over your ribcage and messing with the fabric of your shirt as he pressed his hips against yours.
He pulled back from the kiss just enough to leave small kisses don your jaw and neck until he reached the hemline of your shirt, tugging the material down enough with his fingers so he could reach enough skin to suck a light mark into it, humming a short "Scott can't do this" as he did so. A small whimpering laugh escaped you as your hips lifted to meet his desperately, you didn't give a shit about that guy, you wanted Rick.
He sat up slightly and looked at you, his fingers reaching under your shirt and carefully pulling it over your head, he seemed to pause as he looked over your body, thinking about how wrong it was for him to fuck you, but he really didn't care. His large hands splayed over your chest as peppered kisses down your collarbone, a quiet moan emitting from you in response. The sound honestly sending him crazy.
You gently slipped your hands down his chest, landing at the bottom of his shirt and tugging at it, smirking a little as he sat up once again to pull it off. Fuck he looked good, your hands trailed over his body, fingers fiddling with his belt buckle before he finished the job and pulled it off, smirking at you.
He took your hands in his, gently kissing your knuckles and the back of your palms before letting go to tug your jeans down. His hands spread over your thighs and rubbed over the skin with his thumbs, sending a shiver straight to your core as his calloused thumb brushed over your clothed heat. "Look s'good for me baby" He cooed and you pursed your lips, trying to keep composure.
His hand worked at pushing your underwear to the side as he grinned a little "So wet sweetheart" He teased, his thumb circling your clit ever so slowly, making you gasp lightly. He pulled back his hand and made quick work of pulling down your underwear and the rest of his clothing. Not wanting to give you too much.
"You sure you want this baby? Ain't gonna regret sleeping with someone your dads age?" He joked, leaning down to kiss at your neck. You nodded and bucked your hips against his again, noticing the way he closed his eyes, as if he as having to control himself.
"I'm sure Rick, i mean it, have your way with me, i don't care" You whimpered and he muttered a string of curse words before nodding and lining himself up carefully. Slowly, he pushed into you, the feeling of him filling you was painful but pleasurable, it wasn't unbearable but he sure as hell wasn't small.
A choked groan left his mouth as he stopped, leaning his head into the crook of your neck, his hands squeezing at your hips to keep his composure. The second he felt your nod of approval, he began to gently move, and the pain completely subsided for pleasure, feeling yourself be completely overtaken by Rick, him being the only thing on your mind, and how amazing he felt inside of you.
Low whines and moans began to fall out of you as he sped up his movements, your hands around his neck, tugging gently at the loose ends of his hair causing a few grunts to escape him. He leaned his head up to kiss you deliriously, muttering curse words into your mouth.
After he was sure you were comfy, he began to pound into you, your head tipping back into the pillows, breaking the kiss as his hands squeezed at your waist and hips, the both of you moaning out, no care in the world as he rutted his hips against your own, your hands finding his back and meaninglessly scratching as a tear or two ran down your cheek in pleasure. Your moans heightening and cracking the coil in your stomach began to tighten, hands moving to grip his biceps.
His movements lost rhythm and began to grow sporadic as his hips sputtered. "Rick- I'm so close.."
"Me too baby-" He nodded quickly, groaning lightly and fucking into you passionately, his fingertips digging into your skin as you let out a high pitched, choked out moan, coming undone onto him. He rode out your high, thrusting up into your sweet spot a few more times as he came inside of you, muttering praise.
Panting, you fell back against the pillow and he carefully pulled out of you, laying beside you. "I can't believe i just did that" He stated, accent thick and voice a little hoarse. "Well, I'm sure glad you did" You smiled and rested your head on his chest, enjoying the way his arm fell on your waist. "You realize everyone probably heard though, right?" He asked and you groaned.
--
This was like, filthy i dunno what was different but at times i had to like pause and be like, can i say that? Anyway, sorry the plot at the start is soooo slow, i had no ideas and tbh wanted the smut, i hope it's ok!
614 notes · View notes
bit-papper · 1 month
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Hi im gonna overanalyze and yell about Nimona now. no im not drunk anymore. spoilers below
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In the opening exposition Gloreth hits Nimona right in the heart. ouch. Both betrayal & foreshadowing.
Also on the second watch you notice that Nimona is reading the exposition with a completely seething tone. Literally thru her teeth. Bestie is mad
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in this frame Ballister is already holding the sword in the position that kills the Queen later. fucking wow
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pride flags are 2 minutes 6 seconds into the movie btw. including the opening netflix title animation
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this moment is interesting to me for multiple reasons. 1) they really do be brainwashing kids into striving to swing swords around from a very young age huh. 2) in this world with FLYING CARS they have a TV that is a BOX apparently with manual buttons? not sure, like maybe that's a dvd player from this angle it's kinda hard to understand but like still. this is a box. like even Ballister on the run in a rundown tower had a bunch of tech that notified him about Ambrosius's message with a fucking hologram. Is this to show that their commoners are like super fucking poor actually or is it just this unfortunate family
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Hi Mr "im not brooding this is my thinking face" i sure hope im not the only one who caught him saying that "knights don't mop, we brood. I was brooding"
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dude's ears are so red here. as someone who also blushes incredibly strong when they're nervous i relate
Also the director's first words on screen are "Cadets. There is no greater calling than protecting this kingdom from evil" like sure lady foreshadowing. and then she comes up to Ballister and says "Today the kingdom will see you for who you really are" i literally gasped
Also the whatever-tv-translation-thing falls very metaphorically between Ballister and Ambrosius. anyway
NIMONA WOOOO
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first interaction Nimona has with anyone on screen - she gets called a freak by this asshole literally for nothing at all
Nimona herself is unscreenshottable btw. She got that cryptid curse on her, to look way better when she's moving
Skip forward to Ballister again and holy shit how did i not notice the flashing lights when i was first watching lol. was too invested i guess?
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jjjjjjesus
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this is extremely interesting to me but i can't fucking read half of it
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Ballister's reflexes are really good
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And that makes this moment very interesting to me. He could've sliced her if he didn't lean back far enough. So like what saved Nimona from losing an eye here: Ballister's perfect reflexive calculation of where the sound is vs how far he needs to lean away with a fully extended arm to not immediately kill someone. or just him being too frightened and leaning back. or Nimona's perfect calculation of exactly what would go down.
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the fact that this is the excited limp wrist nimoment
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excited about the job application nimoment. by the way. can she write.
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this frame is my fucking favorite in the entire movie comedically-wise. it's got that wes anderson's fantastic mr. fox vibe which i fucking l o v e
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......i need to adopt her immediately
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What the heck is this blueprint-esque poster??? Who (in-universe) made that????? Like i can see it's picturing a kinda destroyed version on the sword but it's fixed afterwards isn't it... who fixed it
Fastforward a bit!
*dreamy sigh* i fucking love the transition of "Have fun getting arrested" "I AM NOT GONNA GET ARRESTED!!!!!" -> slide cut into him being locked in the jail cell. Fucking. peak cinematography and video montage. I could smoke it if i tried hard enough
Fastforward a bit! When Ballister is talking with the director from his cell you can see Nimona running from the open door as a rat
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compression killed it a lot but here
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She stuffed one of the guards into a vending machine. Call that ren faire or something
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Sweet child got eyebags from all of Ballister's brooding
Not related to me absolutely loving this movie but i hate that trope when someone says a complicated/weird sounding word and the other responds with "Bless you" or in this case Gesundheit. Anyway back to our scheduled love for the movie
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Love hos Nimona is breaking the 4th wall with the "i understand the plot"
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shining.
Also the metaphor of Nimona first transforming for Ballister while they're stuck and "gonna die in this closet". other people said this, but i will too. On the spot 10/10
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*sobs* sweet summer child
Unfortunately this is the part where i have to go to bed because it is 2:14 am and i am only 19 minutes into the movie and yeah. to be continued maybe
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tessatales · 4 months
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The Sins of the Winter Soldier Chapter 2
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Pairing: Bucky x Female reader
Warning: Non really, Nightmares still?
Notes: slow burn romance, find the first chapter here.
A/n: Hey! Thank you everyone who read the first chapter! Here’s the second with several more backed up ready to go :)
Tags: @scott-loki-barnes @kandis-mom @identity2212
Chapter 2
It took exactly one week for you to break your promise. You never intended too, but something about that night had drawn you to exactly where you shouldn’t be.
You’d woken up from another nightmare, your alarm clock clutched in your hand like a weapon as you scrambled to ground yourself. Once the demons had run away and your heart rate had calmed, you’d decided to go for a walk, the shadows in your room looking more and more like bad memories the longer you stared into the dark. Padding through the halls, you’d picked up a bag of cookies you kept for bad night’s as you passed the kitchen; your feet silent as you wondered the dark corridors.
You’d been wondering for a while before you realised where you were, the normal halls and doors being replaced with the reinforced scaffoldings and deadlock entrances.
Shit
You were stood in the doorway of the Pit then. Panic rising in your throat as you wondered if you’d already messed everything up.
Does he know? Can he sense me? I’ll have to leave again. Shit shit shit
Placing your hand on the door, you took several deep breaths, imagining the square technique Natasha had told you about. The memory of her hand on your back from the first time you’d experienced an attack at the tower throwing itself to the forefront of your mind as it battled against itself. When your breathing finally steadied, you watched as the subtle glow from your powers faded from your skin. With the room around you no longer spinning, you steeled yourself for something stupid.
With a final deep breath, you engaged the lock on the Pit deck. Striding into the quarters before you had chance to bottle it.
The room was dark, the only light coming from the edges of the cell itself. Since your first visit, the Winter Soldiers cell had been furnished with a simple bed. Or at least it looked like a bed. The remains of it were scattered about the cell floor like they’d been imploded from the inside. The only thing intact being the thin army style blanket that must of once covered the frame.
He wasn’t stood this time. Instead he sat amongst the chaos, legs crossed and eyes closed as he seemed to sleep. You knew he was awake though. You knew it in the slight hitching of his arm as he heard you approach.
“Hello” You said to the dark, your voice loud in the empty observation deck. The Winter Solider didn’t move.
“I know you’re awake.” You carry on, taking a step closer till you stood at the very edge of the main cell deck. He opened his eyes then. You couldn’t see him properly in the dim light, but you felt the chill of his gaze as it settled.
“Are you comfortable?” Your hands fiddled with the bag of cookie clutched in front of you as your voice echoed around the room. He said nothing.
Unsure what to do, you took a seat on the top step, opening the cookies and taking one out.
“These are my favourite. When I was younger, I had a terribly good imagination. Still do really.” You began to ramble, needing to fill the silence.
“My issue was my imagination was very good at taking bad things I’d see on tv and such and making them worse. So I’d have a lot of nightmares” You continue, taking a small bite of the cookie.
“So when I’d wake up after a nightmare, my mom would scoop me up and take me down to the kitchen. We’d bake any cookie or cake I wanted, then stay up eating them with milk until I was so full I’d fall asleep” You finish, taking the final bite. The Winter Soldier remained motionless, nothing in his posture showing that he was even listening.
“I don’t know why I’m telling you this. I shouldn’t even be here. Your handlers want me for my powers. Though I’m sure you already know that. You’ve probably been plotting how to get out and take me to Hydra since I was stupid enough to wander in here.” You say, your voice becoming fragile as you thought out loud.
“But I’ll tell you a secret. I’ve decided I’m not going to fear you. You know why?” You ask the motionless man before you.
“Steve doesn’t shut up about you. You’re his best friend. And if he believes the old you is in there somewhere. I’ll believe it too.” You finish, brushing the crumbs off your legs as you got up.
“Goodnight” you say over your shoulder, never looking back at the man in the cell as you left.
A/n: Chapter 3 can be found here
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he-goes-down · 6 months
Text
0. There Was A Time
fic chapters/warnings/disclaimers/ect
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:DISCLAIMER:
Mentions of drugs/ sex ect.
English is not my first language
POV changes
x reader
inconsistent updates
time line is not perfect or accurate
Character may also not be accurate
I'll also be posting this on wattpad and maybe ao3
So if you see it wasn't stolen<3
Also i dont know how tumblr works and how to link chapters together(someone send help)
ALSO THIS NOT EDITED IN ANYWAY SO SORRY IF THERE ARE SPELLING MISTAKES
THANK YOU FOR READING MWUAH MWUAH
LEAVE COMMENTS <3
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The studio was warm in the coldest night of this Autumn, warm yellowish light and the red carpeted floor made it feel like a cosy log cabin. A full drum set with a few too many ride cymbals and windchimes sat close to the middle of the fat bare bricked wall, with a small metal bucket that had the remains of broken splinter drumsticks. A rack of guitars and two bass holders stood next to the right wall where an old armchair sits, a few different sized amps scattered round the square room. Right in front of the glass that separates the control room from the studio three mic stand in a line with noise cancelling boxes surrounding each of them.
In the control room there is a strong smell of weed and other smokeable herbs, "No! You can't take Runaway Blues off the album!" A man with short shoulder length brown hair and a moustache protested as he puffed on his cigarette as he lied back on the couch, his dark glasses fell back on his face as he tilted his head back. "I agree with Jake. It shows how good we are even when we're shit faced." The man with long curly hair, a gorgeous ethnic nose, stood up – towering over the other 4 people in the sesh – and began to roll another blunt on one of the control panels. The one that started this debated piped in, "Thanks Dan for taking my side." He said sarcastically, his curly mullet was like a solid cloud on his head, and he has a moustache like Jake. "We'll our wonderful manager and producer here," A man that looked like Jesus pointed to a woman that sat next to Jake on the couch. "Was the one that wasn't shit faced, I think that's why it was actually good, Joshua." He finished. "Hey, hey, I'm not saying it's shit because of you, please believe me y/n!" Josh dramatically pleaded to y/n. She was looking up at the ceiling. Pupils dilated. Blunt in hand. "Just, make it shorter." She said confidently, waving her hand a bit. Still not looking at anyone and head craned back. "You have the answer to everything." Danny said his mouth slightly gaped that such a simple solution didn't register in any of their minds. Or he's just on a psychedelic trip and can't spark up a brain cell.
The following week the band had dates in LA since they were still doing there 'Dreams in Gold' Tour. The band was already at the venue setting up, some still sleeping in the bus. Y/n had some business to attend to in their studio in New York before going down to LA. She decided to walk down the infamous Sunset Strip, as a historic music place like this could not go untrekked when having the chance. Wearing a black turtleneck, dark blue flare jeans with dark brown boots and a satchel bag hanging from her shoulder, a small suitcase's handle in the other hand while the silver case dragged its wheels on the floor. As she caught the sight of the colourful sign of The Rainbow, a voice called to her. "Y/n?" A older man, short blondish hair, leather jacket, sunglasses.
Axl Rose.
And like the trigger of a gun being pulled,
A life was lost.
(or misplaced)
Y/n's POV:
Everything stood still,
I stood still.
Then it all went dark. It was a black lifeless void.
Falling backwards but being physically still.
Time was reversing.
A previous life. My life?
Memories rolling past like an old film.
My head spiralled.
I can't comprehend this. What is happening to me?
My first years of school, late 60's early 70's. That's not right. It was the early 2000's.
Falling in love with music, Queen, Elton John.
Highschool was trip. My parents being stricter than anyone else's, they didn't believe I could have a job as in the music industry.
Studying music in college then going on the Uni and taking a science course to get my folks off my back.
One of my most successful record deals was Mötley Crüe and Bon Jovi.
Before they even started writing lyrics for their songs, I knew it off by heart and helped them gain success with it and recording went like dream.
Now I was searching the East Coast for a new band to sign.
March 1985, The City of Angels.
A flash of light, and my eyes flickered open.
It a cold night, dark but the city light was somewhat comforting.
It was the Sunset Strip, but something was...
Off.
------------
OMG SORRY IF IT'S SHIT
THIS WAS LIKE THE INTRODUCTION, FIRST PART IS COMING OUT SOON 
IM SO EXCITED
(Band at the beginning is greta van fleet )
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thus-spoke-lo · 2 years
Text
A Dark and Winding Road || Travis Hackett x f!reader || NSFW [minors DNI]
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Summary: A late night on a long, dark road in the middle of nowhere. An exhausted, small-town cop itching to give you a speeding ticket. Surely a little flirting would go a long way to get you out of trouble, wouldn't it?
CW: dubcon, vaginal fingering, blowjobs, f!reader, use of "ma'am" to refer to reader
Word Count: 4.6k
AO3 Link ---
You took one hand off the steering wheel and shook your arm, trying to loosen your tightly-wound muscles, feeling your fingers locked into a semi-permanent grip. You couldn’t remember how long you’d been driving anymore--had it been hours? Perhaps weeks? It was all hyperbole of course, but that’s where your mind went after being stuck in your car for so long, all in the name of trying to make it to your cousin’s wedding that you weren’t even sure you wanted to attend. You glanced down at the clock—just a little before midnight.
“Ugh. Eight hours in this fuckin’ car,” you mumbled aloud to no one in particular. “I’m gonna pass out if I don’t stop soon.”
It had been since a little after sundown since you’d been able to find a rest stop where you could get out and stretch your aching legs, with no apparent relief in sight; your phone had lost signal long ago, and the crisp paper map you’d picked up before leaving town was no help in finding any local landmarks. Even if you’d a gas station along this godforsaken long and winding road that felt like it stretched on forever, you got the impression that this wasn’t the best place to stop—you were in the middle of fucking nowhere, and even stepping a foot outside the car felt like it could be the last thing you did. What if there were feral vampires? Or a murderous family who’d chase you through the woods and skin you alive? Or worse yet—what if there was a kind-hearted but lonely local who hadn’t seen a soul for hours and wanted to engage in small talk about the weather when all you wanted to do was buy some chips and borrow the bathroom key?
“Okay, okay,” you whispered to yourself, exhaling slowly, “this isn’t a horror movie. Get it together.”
You inhaled deeply, promising yourself you could make it a while longer—you weren’t tired or sore at all, you clearly just needed a little fresh, woodsy air to revive you. You rolled down your window and let the cool night air rush against your face, hoping it would keep you awake along enough to reach civilization, or at least somewhere that had cell phone towers. You blinked hard to clear your vision, but the road seemed to grow longer and longer as you rounded every curve, the forest closing in on you from both sides, encroaching on the road and nipping at the edges of your fragile sanity. Between the loud rush of wind whipping through the car and your laser-like focus on the highway, you hadn’t even noticed the fact that your foot had slowly pressed further and further down onto the accelerator—you were too busy squinting at the darkened, narrowing road ahead of you to pay much attention to your speed.
Unfortunately for you, however, the cop car that suddenly appeared behind you had definitely been paying attention to how fast you’d been going, as blue and red lights began cycling and lighting up the inside of your car.
“Shit, shit, shit!” you exclaimed through gritted teeth as you slowed to a crawl and pulled off to the side of the road. You shut the engine off, your headlights still shining off into the black void in front of you, and let your hands rest on the steering wheel. This was the last thing you needed—a dark and winding road in the middle of nowhere, no signal on your phone, and now some backwoods cop who was probably wanting to play big and tough to scare the out-of-towner. Your heart raced in your chest, panic settling in, as you peered into your side mirror to watch the cop slowly get out of his car, lingering for a moment as he looked around before he started towards you.
As he got closer, you caught a glance at him—he had dark hair, and seemed a bit older than you expected. He looked tired, but in a charming sort of way, the way people look when their internal tuning fork has been struck just a few too many times and they’re on the verge of a breakdown. Something about him was unsettling but attractive, and as you tried to slow your breathing, you supposed, in a sick way, that there were worse-looking people to be pulled over by if you had to be pulled over at all. He approached your car, looking as though he were already exhausted of your interaction, and knocked on your window; you hurriedly rolled it down, fingers shaking.
“Evening, officer,” you croaked, a saccharine smile plastered across your weary, anxious face. “How can I help you?”
He glared at you a moment, his dark eyes intense and unnerving, before abruptly asking, “Do you know how fast you were going?”
You cringed, expecting perhaps a little bit of polite, small-town small-talk before getting right into the matter at hand. “Um, well, I dunno, I wanna say maybe… 60? 65?”
“Try 72,” he condescended. “Do you know what the speed limit is around here?”
“Ah well, I’m not too sure, it’s pretty dark and I didn’t see any signs.”
He chuckled derisively. “Probably because you blew right past the sign. And for the record, it’s 55.”
“Oh, I see.” You lowered your eyes, trying to consider your next move. “I can’t even believe I did that, officer. Look, I am so sorry. It won’t happen again.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’re sorry?”
You offered him a grin as you placed your hands on the window frame—time to turn on your patented charm and hope for the best. “Yeah, I’m really sorry I even bothered you, officer—” you squinted at the nameplate on his chest pocket “—Officer Hackett. It’s just so late, and I’m really tired. I’m just trying to get upstate for a wedding, and it’s so dark—I was focused on the road, and clearly I wasn’t paying attention.”
“That’s an understatement,” he snipped. “You could have killed someone going that fast.”
“I mean, there’s not exactly anyone out here except for you and me, is there?” you asked suggestively.
He shifted, seeming a little surprised by your forwardness. “Well… there can be folks out here sometimes. Animals too.”
“I’ve had to avoid a few squirrels in my day, I think I’d probably survive.”
“These ain’t exactly squirrels,” he scoffed.
You looked up at him, wide-eyed. “What, are there bears?”
He looked off into the dark of the road ahead of you, seemingly distracted. “Yeah. Bears.”
“Sounds dangerous. Good thing you’re out here to protect drivers like me, officer,” you flirted. You saw a flush start to creep across his face, and his eyes darted around; it seemed like your charms were having an effect on him after all. “So… can I go?”
“W-what? No, of course not, you were speeding.”
“Aw, come on, officer. It’s late, I’ve got that wedding to get to tomorrow evening, and I’m sure you have a wife to get home to?”
“No, ma’am, I do not,” he huffed, seeming a little rattled.
You rested your chin in your hand as you looked up at him, blinking softly. “Oh. Then a girlfriend, perhaps?”
“No, I—look, what is your point?” he said, refusing to allow his eyes to meet yours for more than a moment.
“I’m just saying, I have somewhere else to be, and I’m just assuming a handsome gentleman like you must too, so I’ll agree to be more careful and we can call it good. What do you say, officer? Do a good citizen a favor and let me keep passing through the middle of… well, where are we exactly?”
“You’re in North Kill, ma’am.”
“North Kill? That’s certainly ominous, isn’t it?” you chuckled.
He sighed, finally returning his gaze to you, his dark eyes boring a hole right through you. He placed his wide hands on the window frame on either side of yours and leaned in, his voice low. “You think you’re being real cute, don’t you?”
“Maybe? You tell me officer,” you smirked, as you titled your head towards him.
“Okay, that’s enough,” he said, sounding rattled, as he took a few hasty steps backwards away from you. “Step out of the car, ma’am.” Your mouth hung open. “What? But I didn’t—” “I said step out of the car.” He was more forceful this time, a sternness in his tone that both frightened you and—strangely, secretly—excited you.
“Fine, fine, I’ll get out of the car.” You threw up your hands and flung the car door open. Your legs felt like columns of jelly as you planted them on the concrete; you told yourself it must be from the extended hours you’d been stuck in the driver’s seat and the adrenaline rush of being pulled over, but you knew, deep in the recesses of your mind, that it was the situation—the isolated setting, the way you seem to have flustered the handsome cop with your charms, the fact that he seemed to be reaching his breaking point with you and had suddenly turned from annoyed to authoritarian—that had an unexpected heat building between your trembling legs.
Officer Hackett looked you up and down as you stood next to your car. “Have you been drinking tonight?”
“What?” You shook your head. “No, of course not.”
He folded his arms across his chest, his stance widening as he looked at you like prey. “Then walk a straight line for me. Heel to toe.”
You composed yourself, took a breath, preparing to turn the charm back on; you were the one who had initiated flirtation, you weren’t going to allow him to have the upper hand. You smiled demurely, and gave a wink. “Why? You wanna watch me walk away, officer?”
He stared at you with half-lidded eyes. “Ma’am, just do as I say.”
“Yes, sir,” you said with a lilt. As you walked slowly in front of your car, the headlights illuminating you, you made a show of swinging your hips with each step, your thin cotton shorts (the ones that were perfect for sitting comfortably in your car but not much else) crept up your thighs, exposing more and more of your legs as you walked heel-to-toe as instructed.
“O-okay, I think that’s enough,” he choked, after you’d completed a few paces.
“Well?” you asked, hands on your hips, an eyebrow raised questioningly as you strutted back to your car. “Am I drunk or not?”
He looked you up and down and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Finally he sputtered, “You think you’re hot stuff, don’t you?”
“I’ll let you be the judge of that, Officer Hackett.”
He smirked, running his tongue across his lower lip. “You know, I gotta say, for such a lovely thing, you’ve got a real smart mouth on you.”
“Do you say that to everyone you pull over or am I just special?”
The look on his face, the way his dark eyes seemed to turn coal-black, told you that you had finally pushed him as far as you possibly could. “You know what? Just… alright. You’re gonna be like that? Put your hands on the hood of the car and spread your legs.”
“A little forward, don’t you think?” you said mockingly, mouth agape, as you strolled towards the front of your car.
“Don’t make me tell you twice.” He walked behind you and placed a hand on your upper back; you gasped as he pushed you forward, forcing your open palms onto the still-warm steel of the hood of the car.
You stood there, utterly still, your heart drumming away in your ribcage, as you stared ahead into your empty SUV. You heard him pacing slowly behind you; it sounded like he was a few steps away. You expected him to say something, anything, but moments passed without him uttering a word. What was he doing? Was he just trying to unnerve you, get back at you for toying with him? Was he going to do something to you? You felt heat rising in your face, your ears beginning to burn, as you took one shaky breath after another while you waited.
And waited.
And waited.
The world grew noiseless around you, the sounds of your own pulse and the occasional rustle of leaves in the distance the only things you could hear; the night was deathly still and you felt like you were the only two people in the world left alive. If he was trying to frighten you, it was working.
Suddenly, you heard him approach you, his shoes grinding into the gravel, and you could feel the heat of his body bearing down on you. He stood next to you as he slid one hand—warm, firm, trembling just the slightest bit—up your bare arm, onto your shoulder, and onto the back of your neck. He gripped you slightly as he grew closer, his face hovering next to you yours, his lips nearly brushing your ear as he whispered, “Now what am I going to do with you?”
You inhaled sharply and stammered, tripping on your words as you tried to come up with an answer, your brain suddenly filled with a haze of arousal as your mind started to wander. He had you trapped here, alone and vulnerable, without another soul for miles it seemed—what could he do to you? “I—I don’t know, officer… w-what are you going to do with me?”
“This.” He loosened his grip on the back of your neck and let his hand glide down your spine as he positioned himself behind you. He wrapped one arm around your waist, pulling you firmly against him, as he placed his other hand on your hip and slowly, painstakingly, slid it around to the front of you, pausing as his palm landed at the apex of your thighs, his fingertips lightly brushing against your warmth, barely clothed in your thin shorts and panties. He pressed his fingers down, rubbing firm circles over your sensitive clit; you let out a groan as you felt a rush of heat between your thighs and a painful ache begin to build.
“Is this, um—is this standard procedure, officer?” you choked out as your whole body shivered at his touch.
“It is if I say it is.” He slid his hand down the front of your shorts and let his fingers snake their way into your panties. He ran two fingers along your slit, taking his time to explore every bit of your slick, swollen lips. “Goddamn it, you’re so wet. You wanted this, didn’t you?”
“I guess so,” you mumbled as your eyes fluttered shut.
“You guess so? Come on now. Shaking your ass at me while you walked, asking me if I had a wife, the way you cooed and blinked those pretty eyes at me… that feels like a little more than ‘I guess so.’” He parted your lips and pressed two fingers against your entrance, teasing your quivering hole as you whined, desperate for him to enter you. He finally obliged, sliding two thick fingers into your waiting cunt, dipping them in and out slowly.
“Fuck,” you hissed as you felt yourself clench around him, any resolve or sense of dignity you had in you quickly unraveling, as you leaned into the pleasure washing over you.
“Mmm, not just trying to get out of a ticket, then?” he teased as he twisted his hand and pressed his thumb on your swollen clit.
“N-no,” you whimpered as you started to grind your ass against him, rocking your hips in the same motions as his fingers.
“That’s right. You were working too hard to get me riled up just for that, huh?” He continued sliding his fingers in and out of you, pushing them in as far as he could, his hand quickly becoming drenched in your wetness. “I think you wanted me to take you like this,” he growled in your ear before he dragged his tongue up your neck, tasting the saltiness of your skin.
You couldn’t respond, your mind rendered empty as you felt your legs start to tense and your pussy quiver and quake around him. It was too much—you could only let out a string of sharp cries and moans as his fingers caressed your most tender spots, his thumb still dancing over your clit.
“Mm, finally got you speechless, huh? Too distracted to run that pretty little mouth.”
You had nothing left you could say except for a few exclamations of “Fuck!” as your legs started to wobble under you; he gripped you more firmly around your waist to hold you steady as he began making frantic motions over your clit and pushed his fingers as deep into you as he could, his knuckles pressing against your tender flesh. With a few last thrusts, you felt yourself clamp down around him as your whole body tensed and air was forced out of your lungs; you came with such a sudden jolt that you knew you would have crumbled to the ground if it weren’t for his arm wrapped around you. It was deliciously overwhelming, the feeling of him pressed against you as you cried out into the still air of the night, his fingers still deep within you as you spasmed and convulsed; you had never felt as defenseless and exposed as you did at this moment, your body quaking uncontrollably as you were detained by the side of the road, your bodies wreathed in the ambient light from your headlights and the sliver of moon hanging in the inky sky.
He slowly removed his hand from your shorts, his fingers deliberately dragging over your wet slit, the overstimulation causing a last few shocks to rocket through your body. Your mind was a mess of flurried thoughts—you wanted to ask him why, wanted to run, wanted to collapse, wanted to cry for more, wanted to lay down in the backseat of his squad car and beg him to fuck you in the cool stillness of the night. You opened your mouth but couldn’t sort through enough of your jumbled thoughts to come up with anything other than a garbled “Thank you” that hitched in your throat.  
“My pleasure, ma’am,” he rasped. He walked around to the side of you, leaning against the car hood and diligently wiping off his hand before tucking his handkerchief back into his pocket. “Think you can walk okay?”
“Uh-huh,” you replied as you gained your footing, dragging your feet closer together, leaning your weight on your palms.
“Then c’mere.” Before you could protest, he grabbed you by the wrist and yanked you around to the side of your car that faced away from the road; you stumbled as you trailed behind, your legs still unsteady and practically useless. He pulled you towards him as he leaned back against your car door, gripping your arm tighter and pulling your hand down to the front of his slacks; you could feel his erection straining against the stiff fabric.
“Feel what you did to me with all that teasing?” he groaned as he pressed himself into your palm. “I’d like you to do a little something for me now. Get on your knees.”
You wordlessly complied, dropping onto the ground below, the gravel and dirt immediately grinding into the tender flesh of your bare knees.
He breathed heavily as he reached down and stroked the top of your head, his fingers drifting down to stroke your cheek. “You’re so pretty like this,” he murmured as he unbuckled his belt, unzipped and unbuttoned his pants. “Now why don’t you put that smart mouth of yours to good use, hm?”
He slid himself out of the fly of his boxers, and you took a moment to admire his cock; it was thick, with a light upward curve, the head swollen and pink, waiting for your touch. You gripped him with one hand, teasing the tip with your tongue, causing him to quietly gasp. You traced your eager tongue down his length, winding it around the shaft, before taking him in your lips. He let out a sharp hiss as your warm mouth enveloped him, and his hands grasped at your hair to anchor himself. He swelled and pulsed as you slowly drew him in and out of your warm, wet mouth, hollowing your cheeks as you reached the tip; with every pull, his breaths grew quicker and more ragged, his groans deeper and longer. As you reached up and placed your palms on his thighs to steady yourself, it was clear that your teasing had stirred something deep within him—just the same as he had had done to you—and the shallow thrusts of his hips as you greedily took him deeper in your mouth told you it wouldn’t be long before his frenzy would reach a fever pitch.
He slid one hand down to the back of your head and held you in place as he pushed himself down your throat, forcing rivulets of spit to dribble out of your mouth and drip onto the dirt under you. He fucked your willing mouth in ragged, uneven strokes, as his moans grew even louder and his movements frantic. Before long, you felt his hips begin to shudder and the muscles of his thighs tense under your palms; he slowed down and gave a shivering inhale, and hot ropes of salty cum shot down your throat. You held him still in the warmth of your mouth, slowly lapping him with your tongue, pulling every last spasm you could out of him, taking every last drop of him that you could, before slowly, torturously, pulling away, releasing the head of his cock with a wet pop. He stood for a moment, panting, his breath harsh and ragged, as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back against your car.
You stayed still on your knees in front of him, suddenly reminded of the gravel and dirt pressing into your flesh now that you were without distraction, and winced a little.
“That was… that was something,” he finally uttered between unsteady breaths.
“I aim to please, officer,” you grinned as he shakily reassembled himself, sloppily tucking his shirt back into his pants and fumbling a bit with the buckle.
He retrieved his handkerchief from his pocket and leaned down to you, wiping the errant drool from your chin and the corner of your mouth before extending a hand to you to help you up from the ground. Your aching legs crumbled as you put weight on them, pitching you forward into him; you shared an awkward moment of unintended intimacy as your hands gripped his chest and your face came close to his, your lips almost touching, before you quickly gained your footing again and took a few hasty steps backwards. You felt a deep heat rising in your cheeks as you looked away from him; would it have been that awful to kiss him? you thought to yourself, before deeming yourself silly for even entertaining the thought at all.
You glanced down at your knees, covered in dirt, small pebbles ground into your inflamed flesh, pinpricks of blood starting to drip in spots. You saw the officer glancing down at them as well—he leaned down and brushed them off with his wide hands. You mustered an unsteady smile. “Good thing I’m wearing a long dress to the wedding. People might get ideas about what I’ve been up to recently.”
“Would they be wrong?” he asked, his voice still heavy with lust.
“I suppose not,” you shrugged. You crossed your arms, hugging yourself a little as the night air started to chill you to your car, goosebumps forming on your exposed limbs. You dug the toe of your sneaker into the dirt. “So, does this mean I’m free to go, officer?”
He chuckled softly. “I think I can let things slide, just this once. But don’t let me catch you speeding like that again around here.”
“Or what?” you taunted.
He walked back over to where you stood, and gripped your chin with his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to meet his gaze, his face hovering close, his lips nearly brushing yours as he spoke. “You don’t want to know.”
“If you say so,” you uttered, sucking in a sharp breath.
He ran his hands down your arms, giving your wrists a squeeze, before he started to walk away. He paused as he reached the rear of your car. “You know,” he said, placing one hand on the back of his neck, “there’s a motel not too far from here. Harbinger Motel. Just keep driving for about fifteen minutes and take the first road you see on the right. Follow it for a little while, and the motel will be on the left. Can’t miss it. Probably be better off staying the night there and getting back on the road in the morning.”
You leaned against the side of your car, one hand on your hip, head tilted to one side. “You know, I gotta say, it’s more than just a little creepy out here; I’d feel a lot safer if I had a member of law enforcement with me this evening. Care to escort me?”
A sudden redness spread across his face as he offered you a bashful grin before turning away. “Have a good night, ma’am. Stay safe.”
“You too, officer.”
You climbed back into your car and turned the key, the familiar purr of the engine and the vibration under your feet grounding you, returning you back to reality. You looked in your rearview mirror, half-expecting to see nothing but darkness, wondering in your haze if everything had just been some fever dream and you were really just pulled off into a ditch, passed out from the hours of driving. Instead, the weakened legs, the wetness between your thighs, and sore jaw were confirmed as real when you saw the patrol vehicle still parked behind you, its lights dimmed, Officer Hackett standing by his open car door. You offered a wave out your window as you carefully drove off back into the night, still struggling to make out the road ahead and hoping you wouldn’t miss your turn.
You continued on the road as instructed, keeping your eyes as wide as you could, making sure you didn’t overlook the hotel; you were exhausted, your head empty, your only thoughts being how much you couldn’t wait to wash the dirt off your sore knees and collapse into bed. As you focused your eyes on the cracked grey pavement before you, you wondered if you’d ever be able to tell anyone about the night’s events, if anyone would ever believe something as cliché as the corrupt cop taking advantage of the willing out-of-towner on the side of a desolate road in the middle of nowhere; if it weren’t for the fact you could almost still feel his wide fingers inside you, still taste his cock on your tongue, still hear his low, quiet groans echoing in your ears, you wouldn’t even believe it yourself.
You sighed with relief as you finally saw the Harbinger Motel up ahead, its looming, glowing red sign hard to miss even in the foggy night. As you approached, you glanced up into your rearview mirror, and just for a moment, you could’ve sworn you saw the glint of a car following behind you in the blackness.
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starfruit-green · 12 days
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Watching this before getting any sleep is the worst decision I’ve made in years, people I am AWAKE!!!!
Shout out to @thosewildcharms -you’ll know why when you see it.
Notes behind a cut. Incoherent notes, obvs.
- The music, holy shit !
- Whoever designed this place, I hope you made bank sweetheart, you deserve it.
- Michonne knows exactly what she’s doing from the go, and holy shit she’s taking zero prisoners. Be afraid man, be very afraid (he is!!)
- For your children! Minute 7 of this shit. Michonne is taking no prisoners, and Danai wasn’t either.
- A direct line runs from I tried...but I failed, to they won a long time ago, but friends it is too early for me to trace it. IT ISN’T DAYLIGHT YET
- Do you still love me? Fuck you omg
- “No” ahahahaha fuck you some more
- Jesus Christ the callback to ma’am yes ma’am. Vindication(dot)gif
- And Jesus Christ her taking apart the fallacy of one man v institution - I have literally written essays on this. The entire trump administration was an essay on this. I will probably write another essay on this but just for these fuckers
- That long shot on the hallway
- Aaaaaaandyyyyyy
- Who and what is rotten - another essay
- Danai omg that fucking letter
- Also thank you for spelling this shit out for the audience. I will not be taking questions at this point
- CRM out here being afraid of Rick, when Michonne is the one they should be hauling into the nearest cell lol fools
- This man’s terror is so hard to watch you guys
- Sit, Rick. Christ almighty
- Christ. Al-migh-ty
- It’s too early for me to be sobbing.
- I know how to be dead and live now. Haha this is fine, but also the topic of a very accurate post on this tumbler dot com. See pre-cut mentions.
- Aaaaaaaandddyyyyyyyy
- Shout out to Danai because this shit is so intense, I’m hiding under my pillow sometimes? And it’s hard to support a performance like that I think, but the trust between these two…god bless.
- We know what Carl would say about the CRM too, my guy, let’s not pretend
- Oh god if these two die they better die together
- shit is about to go DOWN. I’m so confused! And excited! And afraid! 2 to go?
Completely out of left field but y’all: when I first read the lord of the rings, I hit the two towers at full throttle and by the time I got to helms deep i barely made it out alive. I haven’t felt that sense of rollercoaster ride exhilaration with a tv show, let alone since the age of streaming dawned, in a loooong time. However this ends, it has been such a gift -to the fans AND the medium. What a time to be alive.
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2stepadmiral · 12 days
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Something I love about Luke, Leia, and Han is that before the Skywalker twins reached their mid twenties, the trio shared about three braincells.
I mean, before the Death Star, Leia and Han probably had a respectable amount each (Leia needed to be smart as an up and coming Rebellion leader and Han definitely was clever as a smuggler and conman), but after that first argument in the detention hall in the middle of a desperate firefight that culminated in a dive into the trash compactor, some cosmic alignment of their inner natures mixed with the will of the Force resulted in both of them being brought down to Luke’s level.
Now, over the years, they all became much smarter and better at working together, but right from the death star onwards for the first few years, they shared about three brain cells. Individually, each of the three were in possession of maybe one at all times, and were decently competent on their own. Luke was a great pilot and field commander, Leia was a fine strategist and mission planner and inspirational leader, and Han, of course, was a very competent smooth talker and mechanic, as well as a brilliant pilot. But put them together in a room, or on a mission together, and usually one of them is going to end up with all three brain cells while the others are up on their shit.
Luke usually ends up with the brain cells when Han and Leia are bickering. The slightest thing sets them off, and suddenly Luke is the voice of reason, which she is very much not used to being.
“I thought you said this was a shortcut, not the front doorstep to an Imperial station for the sector.”
“Hey, I’ve slipped through this way a dozen times before, and never had any trouble. You were supposed to be monitoring the base.”
“Oh, sure, captain, blame me for you forgetting there is an imperial outpost over here.”
“ < exasperated sigh> Alright, Chewie, let’s power up the guns, and hope that these two don’t crash into a Star Destroyer.”
When Leia has all three, it’s usually because Han is on some reckless Corellian daredevil kick, and Luke is in adventure crazed teenager living his dream mode and is too focused on his x-wing or his squadron to see the big picture. Both mindsets are often at least indirectly because of the influence of Wedge Antilles and Tycho Celchu.
“Luke, stop fiddling with your X-wing, we have a scouting mission.
“One second land, I’ve almost got the inertial dampeners just where I need them. Wedge and I were talking, and I think if we have these in sync during our next mission, we should be able to reduce drag by 1.56%.”
“You can finish when we get back.”
“ Wait, we’re not taking Rogue Squadron?”
“<sigh> what part of scouting mission did you miss? and where is Han?”
“I think he’s with Wedge and Tycho.“
“Oh no. What laser brain stunt did they dare him to try this time?“
“…Well, they might’ve said something about flying the falcon through the gap of an imperial two communication tower?”
“Kriffing Corellians. And you didn’t think to order Wedge and Tycho to stay away from Han?”
“…Han is good for squadron morale.”
“<sigh>”
And on the disturbingly, frequent occasions were Han is in possession of the brain cells, it is, without fail, because Leia is in full devotion to the cause of the rebellion mode, and Luke is in strange-mystic-Jedi-shit-is-calling-me-and-I-must-answer-the-call mode.
“Hey, princess, are you still on that Agamar campaign?”
“The people of Agamar need our help, Han. I need to figure out a way to neutralize these Golan batteries.”
“Um, sure, OK, but we’re currently on a completely different mission, and I kind of need you to be ready to mail the guns when we get there.”
“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be just fine when we get to Ord Mantell.”
“Ord Mantell? Uh, this is a mission to Taris.”
“What? oh, you’re right, sorry. I’ve just planned so many of our next few missions, I kind of forgot, which one we’re on.”
“… When’s the last time you ate?”
“I’ll eat once I figured out how to bring down these Golan shields.”
“…Hey, Luke? Any chance you could talk her worshipfulness into having some rations? …Kid?”
“ what? oh, sorry, hon, I was reading this account on spirituality by Plo Koon, and I thought I might’ve heard Ben’s voice coming from the engine room.”
“…Ben Kenobi is dead, Luke.”
“I know, Han, but sometimes, I can hear his voice through the Force, guiding me, helping me. I’ve been trying to research why and have been reading these journals Ben had in his home on Tatooine, and…”
“Kid, when’s the last time you ate anything?”
“…, now that you mention it, I’m not sure.”
“…”
Moments like these are frequent until maybe half, and after Endor, these moments become very occasional and much more casual as the trio becomes closer and more accustomed to each other’s quirks.
“I thought you fixed the deflector oscillator before we left!”
“I did! Don’t blame me if the Alliance stuck me with substandard parts.”
“Save it for later, you two, or you’d better let me and Chewie take over while you sort it out. I have a Star Destroyers coming up on our bow, and Zsinj would love to hear that the Falcon was shot down.”
“Fair point, kid. Will discuss this later, princess.”
“Fine by me. I’ll try and get those shields dialed in.”
Or,
“Luke, I need you to come with us. I’m meeting with the Queen of Naboo, and I need you as an escort.”
“Sure, Leia. Let me just finish these adjustments and I’ll be ready to fly. Oh, no X-wing?”
“Not this time. Have you seen Han?”
“I think that he went to help Wedge and Tycho perform reflex tests on the new rogue squadron recruits. They should be down at the gorge.”
“With speed bikes, I presume?”
“I think so, but Han told me to tell you he would be careful. And wear a helmet.”
“Well, I guess that’s something.”
Or,
“Han, give me my data pad, I need to prepare for the meeting with the delegation from Ryloth.”
“The Twi’lek research can wait until you finish your supper, Leia. It’s in the gallery, I made plenty, and don’t come back until you’ve had at least two portions. You need to keep your strength up while you’re helping to build the New Republic. Mon Mothma can’t expect you to do everything without even having a proper meal every now and again.”
“… Can I continue while I eat?”
“Not until you’ve had at least one full plate. <sound of grabbing a holocron> You too, kid. You need to stop making me be the responsible one around here.”
“Han, you know that I can just grab that back from you with the Force?”
“Yeah, and what kind of message would that send to the galaxy about the new Jedi? They go around stealing holocrons instead of just eating their dinner like a normal person? Go on, have some food. I made some Karkan ribenes with tomo-spice.”
And right around the time they start figuring this dynamic out, they start to notice that Chewie is less irritated with the three of them. Little do they know, because, again, three brain cells shared between the three of them, that Chewbacca has been actively trying to loan them any of the hundreds of brain cells he’s accumulated over the course of his 200 year long Wookie life and has been furious with how unresponsive to his wisdom they have been.
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highqueenofelfhame · 11 months
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a/n: okay so chapter three of this might be up before ten of ciwyw simply because i'm excited about it and it's already like halfway done. i'm sorry if this is disappointing news BUT i promise it's a really really good chapter with delicious content. love u, thank you for reading <3
rowaelin // 5.6k words // skoh masterlist // masterlist
“I wish I could tell you guys about this bullshit, but it’s fucking classified,” Aelin hissed into the cell phone she had sandwiched between her ear and shoulder. To their credit, Elide and Lysandra tried to disguise their laughter on the other end, but it came back muffled all the same. The two were drunk on a beach somewhere in Ellywe, and it showed.
 Everyone knew that Aelin joining the Cadre would be a disaster one way or another. When the idea was proposed to her, she turned it down. Three different times. The bad blood with Rowan flowed so deep that she didn’t care about an increase in pay or the less boring missions that came along with it. Truthfully, she would rather be lost in the Staghorns somewhere with Aedion’s unit or back in the desert with the one that showed up to take over for the Cadre. 
 Yet when Darrow approached her with the idea a fourth time, stressing how much they needed an extra person, she caved. The claims that she was the only person fit for the job had gone to her head a little bit, and it was biting her in the ass. He had even brought in her Uncle Gavriel to talk to her about going. The bastard knew that it would sway her, and it had worked. Now that this mission required them to be married, she was pretty sure it had been in the works for a little longer than they knew, and convincing Aelin to join them was the final piece of the puzzle. 
 Currently, she was quickly washing her hands in a bathroom at the Rifthold International Airport. The flight had been sixteen hours, and she was desperate for a bath that didn’t require body wipes to make her smell decent. The boys were probably waiting for her, but she didn’t care. Rare was it that she could use her personal phone to call her friends, and godsdammit, she was going to take advantage.
 “Is he still an ass?” Lysandra asked as Aelin ripped a few paper towels from the dispenser to dry her hands.
 “Of course he is. He has the nerve to act like he’s the one that was scorned! As if I didn’t fight tooth and nail for our relationship to work until the physical and emotional distance was too much to deal with.” She huffed as she poked her bags with her boot, fingers pulling her braid over her shoulder just to have something to do with her hands.
“I mean, you have to come to some sort of truce to make it work,” Elide piped in, crunching sounds filling the space between words while she snacked. 
 “I know. Gods, I know. It’s just harder than I thought it would be.” Aelin sighed, her chest decompressing as several women scurried into and out of stalls around her. “I should go.”
 “Where are you, anyway?” Lys asked.
 “I can’t say, but I can allude that I’m closer to home.”
 “Can you get a normal job? You coming on vacations would be fun.” Elide’s sad-drunk tendencies were starting to peek through, making Aelin smile.
“If Rowan doesn’t kill me first, I might end my active-duty career as soon as possible after this shit is done.” It was only half a joke. Being this close to Rowan was already far more taxing than she imagined. If anything, she thought they might ignore each other and carry on with their jobs like responsible adults. Sure, she knew her old wounds were tender at best, but the explosive tension was slightly unexpected. 
 The three muttered their goodbyes as she hefted her bags onto her shoulders and filed out of the bathroom, immediately spotting Lorcan and Rowan’s heads towering over everyone else near the exit to baggage claim. Aelin forced her shoulders back and stood straight as she could. 
 Approaching Rowan was a battle of its own sort. She had to be ready for a fight constantly. There was just no way of telling if she was walking straight into the line of fire or not.
 ~*~
 The house they would be living in was beautiful. It was a large estate sitting on the cleaner side of the Avery River, nestled back in a little grove of oak trees. A large iron gate kept any outsiders from easily getting onto the property, but it was so far off any main road that they didn’t anticipate trespassers being much of a problem. 
 Not that it really mattered– every inch of the land surrounding the house was under twenty-four-seven surveillance that they could watch from inside. The day before, a tech team had come in to set up all the equipment they would need for quick and secure communication with their superiors. Though the equipment they used was always the best the Terrasen government had to offer, it was always a little more fun to use when stationed in a big city. 
 Though the house had six bedrooms, they quickly learned during the initial walk-through that three were being used for mission-related activities. One room comprised a large desk and about a dozen monitors for surveillance; another had enough desk space for all six of them with room to spare, and the third was primarily for communication. It was filled with phones and computers connected to a highly secure network that, in theory, was breach-proof. 
 That left three rooms for the six of them to divvy into, and Aelin tried to cut the corners of arguing with who was sleeping where by quickly voicing her own option. 
 “I’ll room with Fenrys. Lorcan and Rowan can share and–”
“No.” Rowan’s response was immediate and flat. A single eyebrow quirked up as she slowly pivoted on one heel to look at him. His eyes, however, were on Fenrys. It had been years, and apparently, their casual affection was still grating on his nerves like soft cheese. 
“No?” She questioned, arms folding over her chest. Rowan slid his gaze to her face as the others took a few casual steps away as if they would rather be anywhere but in the middle of their divorced parent’s fight.
“No.” The word was harder, more final this time. 
“Fine, you and me then?” She threw a hand in the air for sarcastic flair and laughed sardonically.  Surely he would drop his weapons and retreat with arms raised, but he didn’t. It surprised everyone in the room, herself more than the rest. 
“Fine.” Shock washed over her in a static wave, running across her body like an electrical current. Everything buzzed from her fingers to her toes as he told no one in particular, “We get the master.”
Nobody was going to disagree with his claim. The two of them needed as much space between them as possible. With all the tension and white-hot energy, they could hardly share a room for meetings, much less a bed. Mala must have boiled his brain to sludge during their stay in the desert. He clearly wasn’t thinking things through.
She was further surprised when he yanked both their bags off the floor where they’d dumped them upon entry and headed toward the north wing of the house. Aelin glanced at Lorcan, hoping he would have something to say on the matter, but he shrugged and grabbed his own bags, shouting that Vaughan was with him as he did. Fenrys, at least, looked as confused as she felt.
 “Have fun with… whatever the fuck that was,” Connall told her, the three remaining men collecting their bags from the floor. 
“You really put your foot in your mouth this time, didn’t you, babe?” Fen drawled, ruffling her hair and following his brother.
“You’re all traitors!” She called as they dispersed, leaving her to begrudgingly march toward the room Rowan had claimed for them. Their low chuckles followed her down the hall, and she was pretty fucking sure she even heard Lorcan laughing with them. 
 When she reached the master bedroom, she was pleasantly surprised at the size of it. A king-size bed was centered against one wall, each side with its own lamps and nightstands. The large bay window on the right side had a bench perfect for reading in if she ever found herself with downtime. There were two doors to the left of the bed. One led to a large bathroom with a shower and a huge bathtub that she would most definitely be soaking in soon. The other was a walk-in closet that rivaled the one she had at home. 
 It was also where she found Rowan.
 Each side of the closet had plenty of drawers and space for hanging clothes and a dozen or so cubbies scattered about. Rowan stood to one side, unpacking his clothes and placing them into drawers. She pretended she didn’t notice that he had chosen the left side– the same as when they lived together.
 Aelin followed suit, kneeling on the floor by her bag and dividing things amongst her drawers. Since they were in need of civilian attire for the mission, she would be going out to purchase new things sometime tomorrow before the real work began. For now, she just wanted a shower and a nap. 
Rowan had slipped out moments before she was finished. Once satisfied with her portion of the closet, she entered the bedroom to find him peering through the curtains, eyes scanning the backyard. He didn’t seem to notice her, or if he did, he chose to say nothing. Taking a deep breath, she wrapped her arms around her body and steeled herself for another fight.
 “Is it okay if I shower first?”
 “Yep.” His fingers released the curtain, and it slipped shut, the sheer fabric not doing much to shield them from the outside world. Aelin made a mental note to get some blackout curtains tomorrow, both for safety and to keep the early morning sun out when she had the luxury of sleeping past five am. 
 “Are you sure?” For once, she wasn’t pushing to get on his nerves. If he wanted the bathroom to himself first, she would allow it if it meant no verbal sparring.
 “I already said yes, Aelin.” The edge of his words was sharp and short as a brand-new dagger. So much for not fighting.
 “You don’t get to do this.” She blurted, fingers gripping her shirt tightly.
 “I don’t get to do what, exactly?” Rowan looked at her then, eyebrows slightly raised and shoulders tense. At his sides, his hands were rolling up into fists. 
“Be pissy about our sleeping arrangements when you’re the one that booted out my perfectly good option.”
 “You were doing it to fuck with me, and I’m not giving you the satisfaction,” he said calmly, taking up a casual fighting stance: feet shoulder-width apart, arms folded over his chest, muscles coiled and ready to strike.
 “I was doing it because I highly doubt the other three would want to catch me in any state of undress accidentally, and only me and Connall can handle Fenrys full time,” she shot back. Her fingernails dug into the skin beneath her shirt like they would sew her up if she fell apart. The tendons in Rowan’s neck were visible, hard lines. If she were closer, she would probably be able to see his pulse pounding against his skin.  “I don’t know why you think I’m just here to fuck up your life. I didn’t even want this job to begin with.”
 Hating that she was the first to retreat, she walked to the closet to gather what she would need for her shower. Footsteps followed her, stopping in the doorway as Rowan asked, “What is that supposed to mean?”
 “Which part?” Aelin plucked a pair of boring cotton underwear from the drawer. 
“That you didn’t want this job.” Selecting a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, she turned to face him with her facial expression calling him ten kinds of stupid.
“It means that I didn’t want this fucking job.” Maybe she drew out every word a little more slowly on purpose to needle beneath his skin. The feathering of his jaw said it worked.
“I understood that part.” He sounded frustrated, his fingernails white where they pressed into his biceps. “You didn’t ask for the transfer?”
 “I turned it down three times. In the last few weeks, Darrow was up my ass about it. Even had Uncle Gav try to convince me, so I caved. Did you think I asked for this to come rain a special kind of hell down on your head?” 
“I wouldn’t put past you,” he retorted, and something in her broke. Just a little bit. 
“Contrary to whatever bullshit you’ve made up about me to craft me into your villain, I was perfectly content to never see you again. I don’t want to work with you, I don’t want to share a single molecule of oxygen with you, and I don’t want to constantly be ready to fight with you at the drop of a hat. This isn’t what I wanted for my career or my personal life. I’m here because I took an oath to protect my country, and despite my multiple refusals, they wanted me here with this unit.” Aelin shoved past him, her shoulder ramming into his arms as she did. “Do us both a favor and get over yourself, Rowan. This self-centered bullshit is exactly why I fucking left you.”
Though she hadn’t meant to be quite so dramatic, the bathroom door slammed in his face when she closed it. The sickly feeling of guilt washed over her at the look on his face. That last hateful sentence wasn’t even supposed to be said out loud. Did she even mean it?
Aelin didn’t realize she was holding her breath until she finally heard his footsteps retreat from the room and a heavy exhale whooshed from her lungs.
~*~
“Aelin, I–” His hands reached for her, but she smacked them away hard enough that it stung his palms.
 “No, no, no. I told you a thousand times if you took another deployment, I was done. And there is just no–” Aelin let out a gasping sob, one hand on her heart and the other wrapped around her torso. Unable to stop himself, he tried to pull her to him. If he could just calm her down, it would be okay.
Before his fingers could even graze her skin, she stumbled backward. A gust of wind had rain blowing at him from behind. He wasn’t sure if his face was wet with tears from his eyes or the sky. 
 “Baby–” The back of Aelin’s wrist pressed to her mouth and did nothing to muffle the sob. Knowing he was the source of her pain had him wishing for a lightning strike. 
 “There is no coming back from this.” The words were almost carried away in the storm. Not once had he ever heard her speak so softly, so broken. Tears streamed down her cheeks and neck, soaking the collar of her t-shirt while she shook her head and pointed for him to leave with a shaky finger. Her other hand was still pushing her heart back into her chest. “There is no coming back.”
The front door slammed in his face and triggered a final fissure in his heart that had his heart and soul shattering into a million jagged pieces on the rain-soaked ground. 
A firm hand on his shoulder made him jerk forward, twisting on his heel. A soldier through and through, he started to go on the defensive. Just as he reached for his attacker, he realized it was Lorcan and dropped his hands, shaking his head to clear his mind of the memory.
 Lorcan’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as he said, “I said your name twice.” 
 “Sorry. What’s up?” Rowan hadn’t meant to be so wrapped up in his thoughts as he stood on the back porch. A mirror image of the gloomy gray sky reflected on the surface of the swimming pool. The sound of the door slamming in his face still echoed in his ears, but he didn’t know if it was the past or present that haunted him. Probably both. 
 “I want to go over what needs to be done this week,” Lorcan told him, nodding toward the house. Through the windows, he could see everyone lounging on the couches and chairs that made up the formal living room. Each of them held a folder; Aelin’s was in her lap, where she curled up in the corner of the couch. Deft fingers twined her damp hair into a braid over her shoulder. Lorcan’s eyes followed his gaze as he braced his hands on his hips. “Do you need to talk about it before we go in?” 
“I don’t know what there is to say.”
 “Look, I am by no means any sort of authority on relationships, but the fact that you two can barely be in the same room without starting a fight shows how deep it all goes. You sure as fuck aren’t over it–” Lorcan gave him a stern look when he opened his mouth to object, then continued, “And neither is she. You can both act like you don’t care, but you do. At some point, an olive branch needs to be extended one way or the other. Otherwise, it will stack up to messy mistakes in the field and you’ll both drag everyone else down with you. I can’t allow that. So find a truce. Wave your white flag if you fucking have to. Talk about it. Fuck it out. I don’t care. But don’t let it compromise the job.” 
 Rowan nodded, hands sliding into his pockets as he took a deep breath. All of those things were easier said than done. If they were ever going to talk it out, they would both have to come to some peace with the past and present. Right now, he wasn’t sure how to do that. His behavior had clearly torn into her with a jagged blade, the same way her leaving him did. Both had raw, gaping wounds that were still bloody from the battle. The time apart had done nothing to heal either of them. If anything, it made it worse. 
 There wasn’t ever supposed to be so much distance, time, or emotion stretched between them, to begin with. Rowan could strut around like he didn’t care all he wanted to, but he did care. Looking at her made it hard to breathe. 
 “Did you ever, at any point in your relationship, tell her about what happened to Lyria?” Lorcan asked, just as Rowan took a step toward the house. His teeth snapped together so hard that it hurt, narrowly missing a bite of his tongue. “Maybe start there.”
“I don’t think it would matter at this point.”
 “Not that I don’t think she’s a swaggering asshole ninety-nine percent of the time or anything–” Rowan snorted, looking back at Aelin through the window. She was looking back. “– But she isn’t a bitch. Not all the time, anyway.”
 Part of him wanted to throttle Lorcan for talking about her that way, but their personalities had always been mixing oil and water. Even still, Lorcan would never hold his personal relationship against her. She was far too good of an asset. 
 “Can I ask something of you?” Rowan inquired, restlessly scratching the back of his neck. His eyes didn’t leave Aelin’s, and she tilted her head curiously. Almost as if, despite their fight, she was trying to inquire if he was okay. 
 “Of course.” Rowan sidestepped out of view, not wanting her to read his lips as he looked at his commander. Lorcan leaned against the table that decorated the patio, an open and caring demeanor slipping into place. 
“If anything on this mission goes sideways, if it ever comes down to a split second when it has to be her or me… I don’t care if it’s a temporary thing where you come back for me later or we’re both bleeding out somewhere, whatever the situation is. If shit goes down and it’s her or me, you take her.” Green eyes bore fiercely into onyx ones. Lorcan’s eyes widened in surprise and something that looked a little like fear.  
“Rowan…” He wasn’t one to leave a man behind, but Rowan knew all too well that sometimes it became a necessary call to make. When forced with a split-second decision about who lived or died, the luxury of time to juggle your choices didn’t always exist. This oath would take the struggle out of it. 
 “Promise me that you will get her out first.” He hated the way his voice cracked like the fissures in his heart. Hated that he was prepared to fall to his knees and beg if it might save her life at any point in the future. Yet he knew that he would if Lorcan refused. The bad terms he and Aelin were on didn’t matter. Rowan would never forgive himself or his comrades if he woke up and something had happened to her. “Promise me, Lorcan.”
 He wished he could tell himself it was for selfish reasons. That he was asking to clear his conscience should it ever become a reality. Deep down, he knew it had nothing to do with that, though. It had nothing to do with guilt and everything to do with her and the wildfire of unresolved feelings that haunted his waking and sleeping hours. 
 Rowan tried to get over her. Attempting to lose himself through sex with other women had been a fruitless endeavor. No amount of boiling showers had made him feel clean, like any level of intimacy with someone that wasn’t Aelin left behind an oily residue he couldn’t wash away. After the third time, he quit trying. It felt too much like cheating on her, like betraying her, even if she had been the one to leave him. 
 He had followed her career over the last two and a half years. Though she had passed on another deployment when she thought he would too, months after the breakup, he heard she was back in it. Lorcan had passed him details of her missions, and Rowan had a mental list of every injury she had ever received. Nothing had been remotely close to life-threatening, but he felt every one of those wounds like they’d happened to him. It had been difficult not to follow up with her directly to see if she was okay, but she was better off without him. Of that, he was certain. 
Being part of the same unit, he would do whatever he could to protect her. It hadn’t surprised Lorcan when Rowan declared he would always choose her first the morning she arrived. The commander made him swear that it wouldn’t compromise any missions, and it wouldn’t. But for Rowan, if the choice were anyone else or Aelin, he would save Aelin first. Now he needed to be sure someone else would choose her over him. 
“Okay. I promise,” Lorcan finally swore, his eyes saying that he hoped for all the world it never came down to it.
When they made their way inside, there were two seats available. One was smack dab between Aelin and Fenrys; the other was an overstuffed chair near the window. Rowan knew for a fact that the two blondes had been sitting side by side moments earlier and knew that one or both of them had done this on purpose. They lived in a constant state of scheming and had been driving Rowan insane from the moment their friendship began.
Lorcan hijacked the chair, which left Rowan to drop onto the sofa between Bonnie and Clyde. He swore the commander was fighting off his smirk while settling into the chair away from the drama. Bastards. All of them were bastards. It was starting to feel like everyone had been part of a private meeting on the best ways to drive Rowan insane with Aelin around. 
“Here,” Aelin said softly, nudging his arm with a folder. Nodding his thanks, he flipped it open and began skimming the pages while Lorcan got into what the next few days would look like. Every breath he took was more shallow than it needed to be, but he would lose his mind if he inhaled deep enough to smell her jasmine shampoo. 
He tried to focus on Lorcan’s words, but sitting beside Aelin was a distraction in itself. The promise their commander had just made soothed a small part of his chest, even if he thought she would throttle him if she ever found out about it. The woman beside him was more than capable of taking care of herself, yes, but Rowan needed that security blanket to fall back on if things went to hell.
 Aelin nudged him with her elbow, and he blinked, looking into her quizzical gaze. It was strange to find a hint of concern hidden behind the brilliant band of gold around her iris. With a shake of his head, he looked at the folder in his lap and tuned his ears to Lorcan’s voice. Right. Now was definitely not the time to think about this. 
 They would start by surveilling the notorious Glass Castle. It was imperative they find out how easily the outside guards could be distracted and bribed. While they had inside contacts close to the prince working with them under extremely delicate conditions, they needed to see if anyone was willing to waver. Finding the weak links could lead to it all being over before an assassination attempt began.
 The Prince’s closest and really only friend was his captain of the guard. Through their contacts, he agreed to work with them on the castle’s blueprints and help them however he could. If everything went smoothly, nobody would die, lose their jobs, or be accused of treason, and in the process, their president would be safe from the fallout.
“We need to take passport photos in the morning, and someone is coming by tomorrow afternoon to stage some pictures of our Duke and Duchess over here.” Rowan and Aelin’s heads both snapped up at neck-breaking speed.
“What?” Rowan said, eyes darting to Aelin. There was no way in hell she would be okay with this.
“All of the royals in Fenharrow have websites,” she answered for Lorcan. “Do I get to wear a pretty gown?”
“You’ll wear whatever shows up, and you won’t give anybody any shit about it,” was the commander’s flat response. Aelin’s smoldering gaze told him she would do as she pleased, but her eyes wandered back down to the pages in her lap. If the wardrobe weren’t to her taste, they would surely hear about it no matter what Lorcan said.
“Box dye is going to absolutely ruin our hair.” Rowan didn’t know anything about that. According to his passport, he had blonde hair and brown eyes. Curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned a little toward Aelin to see what hers said. With a flick of her wrist, it was turned toward him so he could see better. Red hair, green eyes. Rowan had a hard time imagining it.
“Are you going to complain the whole time?” Lorcan snapped. Aelin, to her credit, grinned.
 “Maybe. It’s fun getting under everyone’s skin so easily.” 
It felt like a jab with one of the daggers she favored. A quick stab into his back, the twist of the blade as it sunk deeper. Rowan sat up straight and tried to keep from crumpling the papers in his hands.
It might not be an outright bloody war, but every vaguely altruistic word that left her mouth made him tenser than any gunfight ever did.
 ~*~
A book lay open upon the pillow in her lap, eyes skimming the pages when Rowan soundlessly opened the door and slipped into their room. He was clearly hoping she would be asleep when he came to bed to avoid any awkward interactions or heated arguments. Aelin was too tired for anything beyond a few pulled punches tonight and closed her book. The t-shirt he wore was pulled over his head in a single, fluid motion, and he slipped between the sheets. After placing her nightly read on the bedside table, she snuggled under the blankets. Rowan was on his back staring at the fan when she turned her light off. Aelin lay on her side, facing him straight on.
“This is… weird,” he admitted as the air deflated from his lungs in a deep sigh.
“Sleeping together or, however fake it may be, being married to me when you never wanted it in the first place?” Aelin wasn’t sure why flames kept spewing out of her mouth every time they spoke. Closure was what she was after, yet she knew it wouldn’t come this way. It was more of a defense mechanism than anything else.
“We aren’t doing this tonight, Aelin. I’m tired.” Rowan rolled onto his side, facing away from her, hand smacking at his pillow before he settled against it. 
Through the dim moonlight slipping through those sheer curtains, she could make out the scars on his back. Some she knew, others she didn’t. Without thinking, she reached out and touched one she didn’t recognize. Rowan’s inhale was sharp, shoulders expanding and muscles tightening beneath her fingers. As tense as he was, his body betrayed him in the form of goose flesh over his skin. 
“Rowan?” Aelin must have been imagining his jagged breaths. It sounded too much like shredding self-control to be real. 
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry. For today, I’m sorry.” Doused in a burning tension, she traced her fingers over another pale scar on his back. Tears pricked her eyes over the featherlight touches she made, at the emotion that welled up in her throat. This sort of casual intimacy used to be second nature. Aelin hated that her fingers craved to touch more of him, all of him. They never thought about touching before; they just always were. It had once been necessary, vital even. Now he was a coiled asp ready to strike, waiting for the fighting words she couldn’t find. 
“Okay,” he finally whispered back on an exhale. 
“I didn’t mean to slam the door, either. I know you won’t believe me, but I–”
“I do believe you.” Her throat was suddenly tight as she swallowed, dropping her hand from his back. Sometime soon, she would ask how he got those new markings. Maybe Fenrys would have the answers if her cowardice won over and she couldn’t ask him herself.
“Okay,” she parroted, the word muffled by the blanket as she pulled it up and tucked her face into it. 
Seconds stretched into minutes before he rolled onto his back, head turning to face her. With her eyes more adjusted to the dark, she could tell he was looking at her. They didn’t say anything, just took each other in. It was the first quiet moment they’d shared since her arrival. Somehow, the heaviness of this moment was far more abundant than the times they were yelling.
“Were you talking about me when you said it’s fun to get under our skin?”
“I’ve always liked getting under your skin,” she teased, but he didn’t smile. Aelin’s own faltered, mouth twisted to the side as she considered it. Yes, she had. “It is fun but… I didn’t mean it quite how it sounded. I haven’t been picking fights with you the last few days for shits and giggles. I’m sure you aren’t doing it for that reason either.”
It’s what she wanted to believe, anyway. Perhaps it made her naive, but she knew Rowan. Even if they hated each other, they didn’t like causing the other unnecessary pain.
 “Why are we fighting then?” The bald vulnerability he gave had her mouth parting in surprise. Of all the ways she saw this first night going, a calm discussion was nowhere on the list. Murder definitely was, but this? 
 “I don’t think we know how to be around each other like this,” she said slowly. “We had moments of bickering when we first met, sure, but…” 
The words she wanted to say would strip her a little more bare than she wanted to be, yet she wasn’t ready to let the moment go. Rowan saw her hesitation and waited patiently, eyes scanning her face as though he could sneak into her mind and steal the thoughts for himself. Tomorrow the fires would rage again but for tonight? Tonight she would settle close to the truth without laying it all at his feet.
“But?” Aelin sighed and shook her head.
“We’ve always been intense,” she shrugged a shoulder. “Now that we aren’t in love, I guess it’s just going to be in the form of verbal sparring and screaming matches. Maybe a few physical blows during training.”
Aelin averted her eyes, slipping her fingers out from beneath the blanket to inspect her nails. It probably looked as stupid as it felt, considering she could hardly see, but Rowan didn’t call her on it. Nor did he point out how unlike her it was to balk from a conversation, yet here she was, being a coward and avoiding his gaze. It was a half-truth wrapped up in a teasing taunt at best and clearly not the answer he sought.
It wasn’t fair that he still had her tied up in so many knots. For years she paraded around, pretending she was over it and it didn’t matter anymore. Not being in love with Rowan was one of the biggest lies she’d ever told, one she whispered to herself every time she found him looking at her. It was a foolish, stupid mask she wore to hide the pain of the ugly, bleeding truth of everything. 
Rowan handled it better than she did, and it hurt more than she would ever admit. 
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Pairing: AU!Prisoner Mark Briscoe x Fem!Reader
Warnings: +18, adult theme, smut, dirty talk, con non-con, dub-con, manipulation, coercion, cursing, degradation, mild power play.
Tag: @theworldofotps , @writtingrose , @aerynscrichton , @daddyhausen , @melissahausen , @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin , @sophiewolfheart-blog , @sultryfandoms , @new-zealand-chic , @crowleysqueenofhell , @thealliasylum , @legit9thlunaticwarrior , @adamjf , @josiewrites , @seeingstarks , @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch , @whenimakeitshine1234 , @moxkindagirl , @sunshinevirus , @im-just-a-mississippi-girl , @ripleyswhore
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This was your first time inside a prison and you were terrified. The cell was dark, moldy, lifeless, and smelt like piss and dirt. Since you were still waiting for a vacant cell in the nearest female facility, you were sent to a prison that currently accepted inmates for transfer. Your eyes roamed around the 6 by 8 feet gray cage, no doubt this would do wonders to your sleepless nights, the place seemed like something out of a horror movie set. From behind you, you heard the soft catcalling coming from the rusty steel bars and quickly turned around to face the man leaning against the gray bars.
“God damn, ain’t today my lucky day?” He took a handful of his crotch, squeezing his cock before he stepped inside the cell.
“Pardon me, sir. But you can’t stay here” You spoke as firmly as your anxiety allowed you to.
The man continued to walk towards you, his amused chuckle was wide enough for you to get a glimpse of his missing front teeth.
“Is that right, sweetheart?” He trapped you between the steel bunk bed and his body, “And why can’t I stay inside my own cell?”
The man towered over you, his disheveled beard tickled your forehead, deep brown eyes gleamed with amusement, and a smirk played on his full lips. His gaze traveled up and down your body, eyeing you up until you shifted in place, feeling completely vulnerable and uncomfortable under his burning stare.
“I didn’t know this was your cell. They just shoved me here, but I don’t want to bother you, so I’ll just ask the guard to put me in an empty cell”. With a disconcerting smile, you tried to step away from him but he just pushed his body against yours, precluding you to get away from him.
“Oh, no no no, baby. You gon’ stay right here with me” Mark’s fingers twirled around a loose strand of hair by your face, “We gon’ be cellmates, sweetheart. And we’ll have a lotta fun together”. His index finger began to trace random patterns on your exposed cleavage, and you could feel his cock beginning to harden against your lower belly.
“You see, you’ll have to be careful here though, sweetie. You’re a fish, and people will take advantage of you because of it”
“What’s a fish?” You mumbled quietly, watching as his finger slipped inside the collar of your tank top.
“See? That’s what I mean!” He chuckled, and the scent of fresh tobacco flooded your nostrils. “A fish is a newbie, someone who’s never been in prison before. They take advantage of the fresh fish and do all kinds of crazy shit to them. The minute they set eyes on you, they’ll fuck you up, sweetheart. They’ll have no mercy on your pussy” Mark laughed loudly before dipping his finger between your breasts and slowly moving it up and down your chest.
“Unless of course, you have an owner, then, depending on who your owner is and his reputation, they’ll leave you alone. But I’m presuming that pretty pussy is vacant?” He smirked, delight covering his features once he spotted the fear and despair settling in your face.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought” He cackled and suddenly stepped away from you “Well, I can only wish you luck tomorrow when the guard comes open our cell in the morning”. Shrugging, he settled in the bottom bed and while sitting on the thin mattress, Mark watched you desperately walk back and forth inside the cell. He mentally counted to 5 and that’s when you stopped to look at him.
“Could you maybe help me?” Your eyes screamed with fright “I don’t know, can you somehow defend me?”
“I could do that” Mark waited for the relieved smile to take over your lips so he could continue “BUT, my price is very high, sweetheart. Do you have anything good with you? Money? Cigarettes? Weed? Instant ramen noodles?” He saw you deflate like a hot air balloon while shaking your head in response to his options.
Mark held back his smirk and started “Then how am I supposed to help you, sweetie? This is a prison, not a church. There ain’t no charity happening in here”
“I…I’m sorry, but I don’t have those things with me. I can pay you when I leave, I promise you I’ll pay for everything the minute they grant me my parole!”
Now Mark had to laugh, he figured you were naive but not to the point of it being this ridiculous. “Oh, baby. You are out of your goddamn mind! That sweet talk ain’t gonna fly in here, you gotta give if want to receive”
“But I don’t have any-”
“You know what’s really valuable that you’ve got?”
“No” You answered meekly
“Come here” Mark crooked his finger, beckoning you closer. Once you were at arm's reach, he pulled you down to straddle him.
“What the fuck are yo-”
“Shhh, shut the fuck up” Mark’s hand covered your lips, preventing you from continuing to talk. His free hand dipped underneath your denim mini skirt, fingers brushing and tracing your outer lips. He groaned at the feeling of your warm core against his calloused fingers “This warm little pussy is the most valuable thing you’ll ever own inside this prison. If you want something, sweetheart, all you gotta do is offer this” Mark’s thumb traced lazy circles around your red lace-clothed clit. “And you’ll get anything you want”.
You abruptly pulled your lips away from his palm “I’m not going to fuck you if that’s what you’re implying!” You meant to move away from his lap, but the expertise of his touch on your bundle of nerves had your body melting.
“Oh no, baby. I’m not saying you should fuck me, you’re missing the point here. This is simply a business transaction! You want something I can give you and in return, you got something I’ve been dying to have ever since I got locked up”. His fingers swiftly pushed your lace thong to the side, allowing his middle and ring finger to slip inside your surprisingly wet entrance. “This ain’t two people meeting at a bar and going back to a hotel for a quick fuck, this is pure business, baby. I ain’t gonna be your boyfriend, I ain’t gonna bring you flowers, I’ll just prevent this pussy from being taken advantage of inside this prison, and in return, I’ll fuck you whenever I want”.
Mark’s fingers moved swiftly inside of you, stretching and caressing your walls most intimately. He was an explorer, you could tell from the way he crooked his fingers in different directions and used different speeds to test what would be more successful with you.
This very same scenario kept playing in your mind during the entire previous night, you knew sooner or later you’d see yourself in this very same position of having to sell your body in exchange for something, you just didn’t expect it to be on your first day inside this shithole.
“You’ll be smarter if you get me as your owner because trust me, sweetheart, you don’t want any of the guards using this pussy. You know why?”
“Why?” You shuddered when his tongue licked a stripe across your neck. You tried to fight back, but your body seemed to betray you ever since it was underneath the hillbilly’s expert touch.
“Because you see, I’m nice. I’m thoughtful enough to make this pussy nice and wet before I can play with it. Shit, I even want you to enjoy this too. But them? Oh darling, they’ll fuck you up! And not in a way that’ll have you begging for more” Mark chuckled “But me, I do care ‘bout all of that! I’m that nice” His free hand tosses your hair over your shoulder, his rough fingertips drawing lazy patterns across the skin of your collarbone.
“I’ll be the best friend you’ve ever had, baby” Mark huffed a laugh, his brown eyes stared at your face, reveling in the way you struggled to keep a straight face.
“Feels good to have a real man’s fingers inside that pussy, doesn’t it, sweetheart? You seem the type that goes for those preppy college boys. The ones who wear a sweater vest with a v-neck and everything. You know, the usual rich sissy bullshit”.
You felt your wetness dripping on his clothed crotch as he pulled his fingers out of you, Mark lifted his hand up and shoved both fingers in his mouth, loudly sucking your juices off his flesh before he placed the same fingers inside your mouth, deep enough to make your gag reflex come to life.
“I bet they only fuck you in missionary” He chuckled as you continued to choke “Oh, look at all of the pretty whore sounds you’re making for me right now, sweetheart. Do they ever fuck this pretty little mouth? I’m guessing not. But don’t worry, darling. We’ll have plenty of time to turn you into a professional slut before you get out of here, I’ll teach you everything you need to know, don't you worry now.”
Mark pushed you to the side on the steel bed, you clumsily fell on your hands and knees, and from behind you his laugh echoed “See? You’re a fast learner”. The grip on your hips was deadly, you could feel his trimmed fingernails sinking into your flesh as he pushed your hips back.
Mark lifted your mini skirt up, his satisfied moan upon seeing your core covered with a damp red lace had you squirming underneath him. “Just look at you” He speak when your gaze met his over your shoulder, “Such a fucking pretty sight. Fuck, you gon’ keep looking at me when I slid my cock in that wet pussy, do hear me? I wanna see those beautiful eyes going wide when fuck you nice and deep”.
You couldn’t force yourself to pull your eyes away from him. There was something so primal, so raw about him that had the most hidden part of your being begging for him to fuck you the minute you caught a glimpse of his orange pants being pushed down to his knees.
“Just like that” Mark snapped your red thong in half and tossed it over his shoulder, he grabbed his length, and gave the tip a firm squeeze before rubbing it across your wet folds, “Just stay still and be a good little fuck hole for me, Bambi”.
Your hands closed around the thin bed sheet once the pressure of his crown sliding into your opening brought a slight discomfort.
“Oh, this pussy is so motherfucking tight” He hissed “It’s like fucking a virgin pussy all over again”.
Mark’s words pulled a moan you couldn’t hold back anymore. As more of his cock settled into you, the volume of your moans began to grow louder, “Oh my poor Bambi, they just fuck you like a lady, don’t they? They’ve never fucked you like a dirty whore before?”
A high-pitched scream escaped your lips once Mark was buried inside of you, “It hurts so good” You mumbled to yourself.
Mark leaned forward and whispered in your ear “That’s because a real man is fucking the princess out of you, sweetheart”, his hand pushed your hair away from your face, “Look at that beautiful cock whore face”. His lips gave open mouth kisses on your cheek while praising how good you felt around him.
The sound of heavy boots echoed down the cell’s corridor and Mark instantly covered your mouth with his hand, “Shhh shut the fuck up! Don’t you fucking make a sound!”. He listened carefully as the guard whistled and laughed at the other end of the corridor.
“That’s a good little toy, keep quiet for me” Mark slowly began to move his hips again, you could still hear the guard’s voice but it was getting distant with each minute. A brief moment of sanity crossed your mind, and you instantly tried to move away from the man behind you, but Mark used his body weight to keep you in place. He pinned your hands above your head as you screamed against the old mattress.
“Stop whimpering, bitch! You’re getting a pretty good fucking deal here!” Mark sank his cock deeper into your void, making you moan and scream, “No, please. I don’t want to do this anymore…I changed my mind”.
“Well, that’s too fucking bad for you, slut. Because I’m enjoying this tight pussy too much to stop” He chuckled.
His words made your walls clench around his hard cock, the added grip making him grunt “I knew you’d like that, you dirty little bitch”. Mark’s free hand traveled down your body until it stopped at your mound. You tried to close your legs to prevent him from touching you but he only laughed “Go ahead, bitch. Make that pussy extra tight for me”.
You whimpered and held back a moan when Mark’s fingers began to circle your clit. His beard tickled your nape and his tobacco breath warmed the skin of your cheek. You soon found yourself pushing your body to meet his thrusts, yearning for that release you haven’t had in a long time. “Oh, fuck yes. Use that cock, baby. Fuck yourself with it” Mark moaned, his words earned a needy whimper from your lips.
In between his rough thrusts and hair-pulling, you felt yourself drowning in a sea of overwhelming emotions: fear, need, hate, desire, lust, panic…it all flooded you like a tsunami. And in between your weak moans and Mark’s vigorous moves, you only managed to hear a distant “Better get used to this, Bambi. I’m going to be having you every day from now on” between heavy pants.
57 notes · View notes
zepskies · 9 months
Text
Break Me Down - Part 15
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Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader
Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.
Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…
💚 Break Me Down Masterlist
Word Count: 4,500 Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smuttish. Angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, peril, and a cliffhanger…
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Part 15: The Tower
You dreamed of Medellin. 
Of being back in that mansion on the cliffside, during a Colombian summer. Sometimes it was sipping a vodka cranberry by the pool. 
Other times, it was getting poker lessons from Loco and Saul while Frank smoked a cigarette. Or reading by yourself in the garden, surrounded by yellow flowers, as the salty wind from the nearby waterfall kissed your cheeks and rustled your sundress.
And once, it was getting caught by Ben on your way back to your new, bigger room. Pretending to be coy, fully aware of him following you, feeling his stare on your ass.
Then when you got to the door, you paused and turned in the doorway, boldly meeting his gaze. 
And you pulled him inside your room by his shirt, just like you had the first time. He pawed at your dress, those heavy hands dragging underneath, probing between your thighs.
You held him to you, reveled in the scrape of his beard against your neck, sighed shakily in his ear as he walked you back, your ass bumping into the dresser.
Ben turned you around. You allowed his manhandling as those hands wrapped around you and found your breasts, kneading every curve before he bent you over on the dresser. 
You braced yourself on the hard wood when those nimble fingers of his teased you through your underwear. Soon enough you sucked in a sharp breath, felt the burn of the lace ripping off, sliding from between your already slippery folds. 
But before he gave you what you wanted, what you were begging him for without words, he reached around and took your face in his hand, encouraging you to lift your head. 
Your gaze found his in the mirror, scorching lust and naked desire. And yet, you still wondered what he saw when he looked at you.
You just couldn’t know that he was wondering the same thing. 
But he forced you to watch him, to watch yourself as he entered you. Your mouth opened on a gasp. 
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You woke in bed with a jolt as your cell phone rang and vibrated on the nightstand. You pressed a hand to your rapidly beating heart and sighed. 
You didn’t quite remember the dream, but your skin was tingling all the way down to your toes. Not to mention the suspect heat between your legs…
You grabbed your phone, frowning in annoyance at the caller ID. 
Fucking Butcher again. But you answered, and he had unexpected news for you. 
When you eventually hung up with him, you got ready for the day. Ben must’ve already been awake, as his side of the bed was empty when you woke up. You later found him sitting on the porch outside in an old wooden chair, smoking a cigar.
How can he smoke so early in the morning? you thought with a shake of your head. He looked up at you, his lips lifting around his cigar. 
“Morning,” he said, puffing away. 
“You shouldn’t be hanging out here in the open,” you reminded him. 
He shrugged and reached out a hand to you. Sighing, you took it, and he tugged you over to sit in his lap. You waved the smoke out of your face, giving him a look of amusement and disbelief.
“Where the hell did you find a cigar?”
“Had it ordered in,” he said with a smirk. “That French fuck knows his shit.”
You shook your head at him with a small smile. You assumed he meant Frenchie. 
“We gotta go,” you told him. “Butcher just called.”
“Churchill can calm his tits for ten more minutes,” he said. He offered you a puff of his cigar when he caught you eyeing it. “Want to try it out?”
You grimaced, but part of you was curious, as you had never smoked one of these before. You took the cigar and inhaled a bit, and immediately started dying. This was nothing like smoking a joint.
“Shit,” you coughed out smoke. Ben rumbled with laughter, and you playfully hit his arm. 
“Here, take this thing back,” you said, still coughing. He rubbed your back and took the cigar from you. He continued to puff away. 
“Lightweight,” he teased you. 
“Old man,” you countered. “Out here in the heat with your day slippers.”
He glanced down at said slippers with a slight raise of his brows. Then he rolled his eyes. 
“Eh, fuck off.”
“Mhmm,” you said wryly. And you took the cigar from his mouth.
“Hey!”
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Ben didn’t appreciate being dragged all the way back to Supe Affairs, just to be told they couldn’t nail down Stan fucking Edgar.
“I got you Neuman. So what’s the damn problem?” he groused. 
“We haven’t been able to find anything concrete to pin him with, legally speaking,” said Hughie. 
You, Ben, Grace, and the rest of the team had gathered in a large conference room near Grace’s office. You sat while Ben stood to your right, his arms crossed grumpily. 
“What the hell does that matter?” Ben said. “We know what he’s guilty of. I’ve been ready and waiting to take out that fucking weasel.”
“He’s got a bit of a point, actually,” Butcher said. Annie raised an incredulous brow at both of them. 
“Because we can’t go around assassinating people,” she said. “That’s not what this group is about.”
“You’re a late comer to this fucking group, to be fair,” Butcher pointed out, crossing his arms as well. M.M. shot Butcher a look that said, really?
“We do have Victoria,” you spoke up. “Even if she isn’t holding anything else back, she can still help us.”
Grace considered you. “Yes. She can get through his network and give him a call, try to set up a time to meet.”
“And what then?” Annie asked, gesturing at Butcher and Ben. “These two assholes vaporize him?”
“We know they cloned Black Noir,” Hughie jumped in. “Along with a lot of other experiments that are so not fucking legal. We just need to find evidence in the lab.”
“And in the meantime, we get ahold of the slippery bastard,” Frenchie added. You nodded in agreement. 
“The sooner he’s behind bars and Vought is dismantled, the sooner I can bring my family out of protective custody,” you said. 
Grace then turned to M.M. “Marvin, what do you think?” 
All eyes turned to the man, who took in the various stares with a resigned sigh. 
“Let’s get this shit over with,” he said.
With a plan made, Grace, M.M., and Butcher went to visit Victoria upstairs in her holding cell. They coached her through her call to Stan. 
Meanwhile, Ben could care less about how the others eyed him with mistrust. (Well, Hughie tried to “buddy buddy” himself by offering up a cup of joe, but Ben mostly ignored that cum-guzzling moron.) 
No, he’d expected that. He noticed more how they treated you, still with polite distance and awkwardness, making glances between him and you. 
“You don’t seem to understand just how much shit I’m in for trying to help you right now,” you’d said to him once. 
Ben understood a bit of what you meant now. 
You later led him out of the conference room and to the cafeteria with your head held high, but he could see that you were hiding it. How people’s stares and whispers were affecting you as the two of you walked down the hall. 
He had plenty of practice with that, letting attention (wanted or otherwise) roll off his back. But Ben realized that he’d marked you now, in more ways than one. 
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You later picked at a caesar salad while Ben was busy inhaling his second Italian sub. He subtly watched you, wondered what the hell you were thinking. 
Before he might’ve bit the bullet and just asked you, your phone buzzed on the table.
You read the text from Butcher in the group chat:
Stan agreed to meet Neuman. Tomorrow night at her apartment.
“Good,” you breathed in relief. And you showed Ben the text. He nodded around a mouthful of salami and provolone. Though he had a bit of mustard at the corner of his mouth.  
You smiled a little. Grabbing a napkin, you reached over and wiped it away. Ben let you do it. His lips curved as he watched you while chewing.
“Okay, let’s meet up with them after this. There’s going to be a lot to set up,” you started to say. But your phone trilled once again in your hand, this time a call from an unknown number. Frowning, you answered the call.
“Hello?”
“He knows you’ve got her.”
Your expression slackened at whose voice was on the line. Ben noticed, and it actually made him pause on taking another bite of his sandwich. 
“You’ve got a lot of fucking nerve,” you said tersely. 
Your father sighed. “Listen. Stan has no intention of meeting with Victoria.”
You reluctantly perked up at that. Ben raised an expectant brow at you. Your lips pursed; you really wanted to hang up on principle, but you knew you couldn’t. You held up a finger at Ben that said, wait. 
“What do you mean?” you asked. 
“Exactly what I said. He knows you have her. He knows you’re trying to trap him,” said Jon.
You sighed, rubbing at the ache starting to form between your eyes. But then your hand fell back to the table. Your expression hardened.
“Did you order the fucking hit on me?” you asked. 
“Sweetheart—”
You closed your eyes. 
“No. No. You don’t get to sweetheart me after you broke my fucking ribs,” you snapped. “Did you know?” 
Ben’s frown darkened as he finally realized who you were talking to. His hand curled into a fist on the table. 
“…No, I didn’t know,” Jon replied. “Why do you think I’m calling you now?”
“I really don’t know,” you said. “Why the hell are you trying to help me? Isn’t this a conflict of interest?”
You heard a heavy sigh on the line, and you waited. Your patience was starting to thin. You could also see Ben’s mood darkening now that he knew you were talking to your father. You angled yourself slightly, so he couldn’t reach over and grab the phone from you. (You saw his fingers twitching.) 
“He crossed the line sending Black Noir after you and your sister…and your mother,” Jon said. “I can help you on this.”
“There’s no world in which I’d ever trust you again,” you said flatly. 
“You’ve just gotta think here,” said Jon. “Do you want Stan Edgar or not?”
Your lips pursed. But you listened to what he had to say.
When you eventually hung up, Ben walked with you back up the stairs to the conference room. He watched you explain to Butcher and the rest of the team what your father had said, and what he’d proposed as a solution to the problem of Stan Edgar. 
Stan was due to come into the office at Vought Tower for a meeting with presidential candidate, Robert Singer. With Jon’s help, they could squeeze through a gap in security and intercept Stan before the meeting. The idea was to arrest him, but if Black Noir made an appearance, then that was Soldier Boy’s cue. 
And all bets would be off then. 
After Ben sat through the more boring logistics, he was relieved when the meeting finally dispersed, with the goal of meeting back here bright and early tomorrow. 
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Even back at the safe house, you were antsy, pacing back and forth across the living room. Ben had changed out of his supe suit into some jeans and a shirt, and he now watched you from the kitchen with a beer. 
He wanted to ask you what you were planning on doing for dinner (and when, for that matter). But he was pretty sure you’d verbally bite his head off if he mentioned it. 
Not that he was afraid of that, by any means…but he’d just rather not get into it with you right now. Not when things had been going good for the past few days. 
So he went into the living room to sit on the couch. He was about to turn on the TV, before you sat down heavily in the lounge chair beside the couch. Your face looked so pensive, so troubled as you rested your chin in your hand, that Ben let out a breath. 
He set down his beer on the coffee table. Then he sat back and crossed his arms, glancing over at you. 
“If we’re going to do this, you need to get your head on straight,” Ben said. 
You looked over at him, not willing to admit you were upset (and that he was right), but unable to lie either. 
“Let me figure out dinner,” you said instead. You got up, but Ben’s voice stopped you.
“When you see him, don’t give him an opening,” he said. You turned to meet his eyes, and you knew full well who he meant by him. 
“You’re smarter than that,” Ben added, giving you a more reserved smile. 
You crossed your arms. Emotion rose high in your throat, and it threatened to choke you as your eyes started to burn. 
“Am I?” you asked. 
Ben’s attempt at a smile faded at the sight of your burgeoning tears. He sighed deeply, and he held out a hand to you. 
“Come ‘ere.”
Your head tilted in slight confusion, but you went to him. He took your hand, and once again guided you into his lap. He settled you across his thighs and soothed a hand over your hair. You grabbed a fistful of his shirt for support, and you sucked in a shaky breath. 
“Bet you wish I’d knocked him a bit harder against the fucking wall,” he quipped. 
You uttered a laugh at his dark humor, wiping at your eyes. “Heh. Maybe. It’d certainly make my life less complicated.”
You sighed and rested against his chest, leaning your head on his shoulder. A smile raised your lips when his arm slid around your waist and held you. His thumb soothed back and forth across your thigh. 
And it was then you knew that he really did care about you. 
You turned into him, and hid your face into his neck when your tears burned anew. This time for a different reason, as you realized what this meant to you. How this man had broken through your defenses and slipped his way under your skin.
You had a suspicious feeling that he was there to stay, no matter what happened after this mission was over.
“Want me to finish the job?” Ben offered, barely even half joking. 
“Ben, please,” you implored into his skin. You shook your head, and your fist curled tighter into his shirt. “Just…”
Ben hesitated, but he held you more securely. He soothed a hand up and down your back. 
“I gotcha, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “We had a deal didn’t we? Long as I’m around, you’ll be all right.”
You nodded with a sniffle, and Ben felt your tears against his skin.
His hands really itched to finish the job he started with your father—and rip out his throat next time. Matter of fact, as soon as he saw that limp-dick piece of shit, it was on sight.  
And with that bone-deep thought, Ben knew that this was different. What he was doing here with you meant something to him. Whether you knew it or not…
(And you will, he thought.)
You…were his. That was just how it was going to be. 
He decided this in his mind, after he pressed a kiss above the patch of bruising along your temple.   
You were his. 
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The following morning, Stan straightened the blazer of his navy suit as he got off the elevator. 
His office lied at the top floor of Vought Tower, and it was newly renovated after the battle that took place last week. His bodyguard opened the glass door for him before he stepped through. 
He reached his new desk and sat down at the plush leather office chair, took up a freshly brewed mug of coffee (cream, no sugar), and enjoyed a satisfying sip. 
Then his bodyguard was pulled away from the front of his door, thrown down the hall. Stan raised his head, but didn’t startle as the door was wrenched open. 
“What the fuck! Not yet—” Starlight’s voice in the hall. But the next guest in his office was a different former employee.  
Soldier Boy stepped through in his familiar green suit. 
Stan remembered when this version of the suit was commissioned, to replace the dull gray with a pop of military color for marketing purposes.
“Good morning,” Stan greeted, raising his mug. “Care for a cup? Perhaps a donut.”
“Still fucking smarmy,” Ben said. He stood in front of the man’s desk, flexing his half-gloved fingers. He glanced up at the walls of this office, this tower in the sky. “We’ve been doing this dance for a long time, you and I.”
“And yet, on entirely different tempos,” Stan replied. “How can I help you, Soldier Boy?”
Ben raised a finger. 
“See, that’s what I can’t fucking stand. A goddamn hypocrite,” he said. “When you came to me in ’84, you said partnering with the military on that Nicaragua mission would call back to my unveiling in ’44. Forty years of service in the making.” 
And forty more that would be stolen from him.
Ben’s hand clenched into a fist. “My mistake was believing you.” 
“And my mistake was replacing you with more of the same,” said Stan, with his usual bland stoicism. “For all that you’d claim otherwise, you and Homelander shared more than just chromosomes.”
Stan stood from his chair, but was discreet in pressing a small button under his desk. 
“In all this posturing, I see an insecure child, yearning for attention,” he continued with a mild shrug. “Your strength is…nothing but a mask for how truly empty you are.”    
Ben’s jaw tightened, but he resisted losing his temper. He knew that would only goad this little prick on. He watched as Stan rounded his desk, pulling his hands behind his back.
“The cold truth is, you sold your humanity so that someone in the world would deign to love you. And if not, to fear you,” he said simply. “I sell it to win.” 
Ben’s senses prickled just in time to raise his shield against a metal spike aimed at his head. It ricocheted and speared into the ground. 
Stan frowned; this tile had just been replaced. But he stepped to the side as Black Noir burst into the office and went for Soldier Boy. He carefully avoided the fight as his bodyguards came to pull him out of the fray. 
Stan’s eyes only widened when the first two guards were shot dead by Billy Butcher and his team. 
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While a fight brewed in Stan Edgar’s office, you were in the familiar bowels of the tower, back in the Security & Surveillance command center…with your father. 
The two of you had taken control of the room, dismissing the on-site personnel, and now were in the process of evacuating the tower. At this point, who knew what could happen in the fight between Ben and Black Noir. You weren’t willing to abet any collateral damage, even here. 
Out of several monitors on the big screen, you kept one eye on the fight in Stan’s office. You and Jon noticed a breach in the hall.
“Butcher, you should be on your way out already,” Jon told him through the communicator in his ear. “The secondary team is also on its way up.”
“Right.” 
You watched with a measure of concern. Butcher seemed to be waning against a common security guard. He’d needed M.M. to grab the guy from behind and hurl him into Stan’s desk. Stan himself was plastered against the far corner of the wall, letting his security attempt to subdue Butcher and the rest of your friends. 
Your eyes moved to Black Noir. He’d also brought the same gun from last time—the one that had disrupted Ben’s powers. He was evading well enough so far…
“Soldier Boy is dangerous,” Jon said, breaking your attention from the screen. “However he’s managed to manipulate you into thinking he’s a good guy, there’s no hiding the fact that he can’t control that fucking A-bomb inside him.”
Your lips pursed in annoyance. 
“Oh, he is dangerous,” you agreed. “He wanted to finish what he started, caving in your skull as well as your chest. If I were you, I’d duck out quick when this is done.” 
Jon didn’t answer, but when you glanced at him, you saw the way he stilled, his jaw tensing. 
“Aren’t you glad I dropped him off at the lobby?” you quipped. Then you pressed a button on the control board and overrode the overhead speaker in the Administration office, where you saw people still milling about. 
“Evacuation was not a request,” you said into the speaker. “Put down the fucking chai tea latte and exit through the stairwell to the garage please.”
Jon turned to you while sitting in his chair. 
“After this is over, you’d be smart to start fresh…I could help you.”
You met him with a flat glare. “Now that’s just plain delusional.”
You had half a mind to get Ben on the comm to let Jon know exactly what he’d be in for if he tried to take you anywhere, but you didn’t want to distract Ben right now.
And maybe he didn’t know that you were alone with your father. 
Meanwhile, Jon’s mouth firmed into a line. A tendril of wariness (and maybe fear) laced down your spine. Your hand slowly moved to your belt…but he merely inclined his head. 
“All right. Maybe I deserve that,” he said. “But no matter my methods, I’ve always sought the best for you.”
“The best for—” You paused with a sharp sigh. And you steeled yourself before you replied. “I don’t know what fucked up fantasy world you’re living in, Jon. But after I left, I could finally see it clearly. You are the reason I hated myself.”
Jon didn’t show the true depths of his reaction. That wasn’t his way, but his steely eyes hardened as they held yours for a long moment. Then, he turned back to the screens. 
You released a subtle breath, though your hand stayed resting on your belt. 
Only Ben and Grace knew the truth about the injuries you’d sustained after being picked up at Vought. This time, you weren’t without a weapon. You had a gun on one hip and a taser on the other.
Ben had only agreed to your role in the mission because you’d called for backup. They should’ve been here by now, actually. In fact, they were supposed to meet you in the lobby, before you met up with your father.
Maybe they got stuck in traffic, you thought. You’d been checking your phone for the past ten minutes. 
But then a silent text came in: your backup team had just arrived. In fact, they strolled into the command center in full tactical gear, with guns drawn. Seeing the room was clear except for you and Jon, Frank nodded to Loco and stepped further inside.
“Hey, welcome to the party,” you said, greeting both men with a grateful smile. Jon glanced at you, then the men with a frown.
“Who the fuck are these two?” he asked. 
“My reinforcements,” you replied tartly. You felt better with them here as your spine untightened a bit. 
Frank nodded at you and remained standing to watch the door, while Loco grabbed a chair at your side. You gave him the lowdown of the control settings on the dashboard in front of you. 
“Oh shit,” Loco said when he glanced up at the screen. You followed suit, and a gasp fell from your mouth. 
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Ben managed to unmask Black Noir. 
The helmet hung from Ben’s gloved hand. It was Earving all right, but it also wasn’t. His eyes, normally a dark brown, were misted over with gray and almost lifeless. 
“Noir, destabilize him,” Stan commanded from his cowering corner. The supe seemed to hear him, and only that order.
Ben realized now what these fuckers had done. Not only did they create this Noir clone with Homelander scraps, but they’d made the perfect soldier. One that only took orders. 
Butcher noticed too, with widening eyes. Fucking hell.
But he had to brace a hand against the wall as a hacking cough rose unbidden from his chest, worsening the roiling pain in his stomach and the ache behind his eyes. Hughie grabbed his arm to support him, and his face was picture-perfect concern.
“What’s wrong?” Hughie asked. Butcher couldn’t answer him, because on the last cough, a spew of blood coated his hand (and the younger man’s shoes). Hughie’s eyes widened. 
“What the fuck’s going on with you?” he exclaimed. Butcher just grabbed his arm and pulled him a few feet over, so they wouldn’t get caught in the blast of Noir’s energy gun. 
Ben was grappling with him. He focused on summoning the nuclear power collecting in his chest. All he needed was one clear hit, and he’d be able to end this motherfucker for good. 
But before he could fully charge up, Black Noir aimed a well-placed kick to his sternum, sending him back a few feet. It gave Noir the opening he needed to shoot Ben right in the chest with his energy gun. 
An electrifying blue met pulsing red, and swallowed it up. It took Ben along with it. Luckily his shield was clipped onto his back, so it didn’t get eaten up in the initial blast.
Now, he fairly crackled with red and blue fractals, which coursed together into a violet haze. He felt dizzy and wrong, knowing that all this power had to come out. But if that happened, he knew he couldn’t contain it. He didn’t know what would happen. 
Part of him knew it would solve his problem, killing Noir, Stan, Butcher, and the rest of those assholes in one powerful swoop. 
No collateral damage. 
It was your voice in his mind. And he remembered you were here too, somewhere in the Tower. He closed his eyes, a strained yell erupting from his throat.
He couldn’t stop it. The sheer force brought him to his knees before he could angle it up into the sky. Instead, it released into the ground below. 
The nuclear blast tore through concrete like a drill, and it didn’t stop until it reached the very foundations of the tower, deep into the earth.
Afterwards, everything was still. Ben could only stare into the chasm below him while he caught his breath. 
Until the ground, the walls, everything began to tremor and shake. 
“Oh shit,” said M.M. 
During the blast, he’d held onto the far wall with Annie, Kimiko, and Frenchie. But now, he grabbed Annie’s arm to pull her up. The shaking grew worse with every second. 
“What the hell was that?” you commed in. No one could answer you yet, but at least it let Ben and the rest of them know that you were alive.
Annie reached out to Hughie, who grabbed onto her hand in relief. He also helped Butcher straighten, putting his arm across Hughie’s shoulders. Butcher glanced up at Black Noir, who was heading towards Stan. Meanwhile, Ben was stumbling to his feet. 
“It’s gonna come down like the fucking Eye of Sauron!” Hughie shouted. 
Butcher shared a grim look with M.M. “Like the bloody Twin Towers.”
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AN: 🫨 The Tower's falling! But how'd you like Ben contemplating getting his hands on Jon? 😏
We're heading into the real action here, folks!
Next Time:
You pressed a shaking finger to the comm in your ear. 
“Ben, where are you?” you asked. Maybe he heard the tremor in your voice, because you certainly read the concern in his.
“You’re not on the second floor. Where are you?”
You closed your eyes for a beat. “On the first floor. The garage is blocked and Noir has us bottlenecked.”
“I’m almost there. Just stay put,” Ben said. His tone was firm, and it reassured you. You nodded, despite the fact that he couldn’t see you. 
“Yeah, not going anywhere in a hurry,” you whispered.
Keep Reading: PART 16
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Soldier Boy Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Series Tag List:
@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @mrsjenniferwinchester @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @syrma-sensei @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @muhahaha303 @123passwort
@xoxovienna @katherineann83 @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @emily-winchester @shelh93 @sl33pylilbunny @spoonmynoodle @chernayawidow
@buckybarnes-1917 @asgardprincess97 @sometimes-i-sing @itsyellow @karnellius @kimberleymjw @is-this-a-febreze-commercial @iamsapphine @sanscas @se-fucking-hun @lassie-bird @jessjad @yepimthatperson @fromcaintodean @stoneyggirl2
@spnfamily-j2 @im-a-slut-for-fluff @lacilou @venicesem @mimaria420 @beautiful-life-coded @tearsfortheyouth @agalliasi @chriszgirl92
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bullet-prooflove · 10 months
Text
The Water Tower - EZ Reyes x Reader
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Tagging: @infinity-mars @danzer8705 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @est1887 @the-wandering-lunatic @alwaysachorusgirl @anime-weeb-4-life @vannabanana1995 @multifandomloversworld @lilvampirina @princessghost-24 @genius2050 @mortal--soul @buddinglinguist @spookyboogyuniverse @spaghettificationandpretzels @sclitvdes @oureternalbond  @baybaybear1
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It’s still dark when you and EZ climb the ladder to the water tower. It’s just gone past four in the morning and sunrise isn’t for another half an hour. EZ swears he can hear the rusted rungs creak beneath his feet. You’re already halfway up towards the platform on the top so he decides to haul ass before the damn thing gives way underneath him. It feels like the most daring thing he’s ever done despite all the shit he’s been a part of with the club. Taking a risk with his life is one thing, but taking a risk with his heart is another.
It’s silent when he reaches the top, the noise of the city dropping away as you shrug out of your backpack and remove a picnic blanket to spread over the cold metal surface. The two of you end up sitting side by side, backs against the podium the water vessel sits on as you survey the view.
You can see lights flickering in the distance, people getting up for the early shift, or night owls watching TV. Tiny pockets of insight into the population of Santo Padre. You shiver in the breeze, pulling your jacket even tighter around your shoulders, you’d forgotten how cold it can get up here without anything to buffer the wind.
EZ wraps his arm around your shoulders, drawing you into the warmth of his body. He runs hot, he always has, and you feel the heat flood your system as he holds you close. There’s a comfort in the proximity, you haven’t let yourself get close to anybody in a long time.
“It’s quiet.” He remarks, his cheek coming to rest upon the top of your head as he looks out across the skyline.
It feels like another world, one where EZ Reyes the Prospect doesn’t exist, where the burden of KJ and the DEA doesn’t weight down upon his shoulders, threatening to suffocate him. He feels like himself again, like he’s just a man admiring a view, with the woman he’s fallen so ridiculously in love with.
“I come up here when I need to get out of my head.” You tell him, closing your eyes for a brief moment and revelling in the sensation of being with this man. “It helps me step back, take a breath.”
“Do you need to do that a lot?” he asks you softly, his palm squeezing your shoulder through the thin material of your jacket. It’s a reassuring gesture, one that steadies you as you think about the turns your life has taken, the burdens that you carry. You don’t answer him in the end, you’re not sure how to. You’ve been alone, dealing with the shit your father left you for years, discussing it has never seemed like an option. The pressure it swells in your chest, but you can’t seem to force the words leave your throat.
EZ seems to sense your inability to vocalise, he sighs softly into your hair before he breaks the silence.
“I didn’t know how to adjust once I got out of prison.” He whispers, his lips bushing over the top of your head.  “Everything was so noisy in there, there wasn’t a lot of space. I could touch the sides of my cell with both of my hands. When I got out, everything felt too big, too expansive…” He pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he searches for the right words. “That’s why I live in a trailer, or part of it. I don’t feel safe sleeping in open spaces, there are too many variables. I have to sleep with my back to the wall.” He swallows hard against the ache in his throat. “It’s stupid I know.”
You are the only person he has ever told about this, how he’s struggled in the aftermath of his incarceration. He thinks that Angel doesn’t want to hear it and that his father already carries too much of his baggage. There’s no one else he can trust with these feelings. The memories of his time in prison haunt his dreams, he still wakes up in the night thinking he’s back there.
“It’s not stupid.” You tell him, inclining your head so you can study his features. He looks back at you with such vulnerability in his eyes it makes your heart hurt. You look away, back at the orange blossoming over the skyline before you clear your throat to speak.
“My dad, he used to gamble. Football, baseball, basketball, there wasn’t a sport he didn’t like.” You smile bitterly as you think back over the last few years. The jaundice pallor of your father’s flesh as he watched the TV, hunched forward in his seat, his features scrunched together in apprehension in the final innings of a game. “It got bad before he died, when his liver was packing up. I think it was his way of dealing with what the cirrhosis.”  
“I’m sorry…” EZ begins and you shake your head to cut him off because there’s more and you feel if you don’t get it out now that it’ll stay sealed up inside of you, the toxicity leaking into your bloodstream until it finally kills you.
“He put the bar up as leverage and when he died, all of those debts they transferred over to me. If I want to keep the bar, I have to pay them.” You tell him, drawing your knees up to your chest and resting your chin on them. “That’s why I come up here, because when I’m up here, there’s nobody making demands on me. I don’t owe anybody anything, I’m not a failed dancer or someone trying to keep their head above water, I’m free from all of that. I’m just me.”
“Shit.” EZ says finally, his lips brushing over your temple.
“Yea,” You whisper into the receding darkness. “Shit.”
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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee
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