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laurensprentiss · 3 years

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Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 14:

Gif credit: @dudeitiskarev

Warnings: None really, minor mentions of injuries, major trauma bonding, Emily and reader are true soulmates, Hotch drops a bombshell.

———

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” - Laurell K. Hamilton

———

Relief is a strange thing.

Hotch has been by your bedside for the two days you’ve been in the hospital recovering from your injuries. He switches periodically between your room and Emily’s, checking in, grabbing a stale cup of coffee and stuffing himself into a chair that’s much too small. He’d met Ambassador Prentiss on the night you’d been brought into the hospital, all hard lines and pointy corners packed into her petite, perfectly postured frame.

Emily looks unsettlingly like her, he thinks. Just warmer.

It was Elizabeth who’d finally managed to get a hold of your father in the early hours after you’d been brought in, after which he’d ordered the plane to be turned around immediately. He’d narrowly escaped his fate too. Unbeknownst to him, Jordan had arranged for somebody to have him taken care of as well.

He was debriefed on his way to the hospital, convoy in tow and had taken the time to handle his emotions en route. A few stray tears had rolled down his cheek when he’d seen you, the angry bruising on your face piercing his chest.

He’d spoken with Elizabeth then, hushed voices that agreed to finally take care of this.

“It’s the Fitzgerald boy?” He’d asked Hotch.

“Yes, Sir. He’s in our custody at HQ. Senator Fitzgerald is waiting to see him.”

“I think maybe we should pay them both a visit.” Your father had said evenly.

It’s the most stoic Hotch had ever seen him and it was entirely unsettling. Hotch had always known him as a powerful man, but he was kind, affable, humble. He could see now the side to him that he hadn’t before, the side that controlled DC, pulled strings and cashed in favours and had a powerful, reputational political standing.

He’d take care of it.

And he had.

Calls had been made to law firms - now any lawyer who valued their career refused to take on the case, despite Senator Fitzgerald’s own old-money influence. A public defender would try to get him out on bail the following day but a well-placed call to Chief Justice Archibald and the DA would ensure that wouldn’t happen.

A seething threat delivered in your father’s expert, neutral and unwavering tone had been made to the Senator himself when he’d tried to cash in his own favours. That had sealed the fate for the Senator, his son and his legacy.

“Try something like that again, Senator, and I won’t need my security to take care of you. After you let your dog off his leash, after what your boy did to my daughter - I’ll make sure you’re done here. Forever.”

———

In the meanwhile, Hotch studies the marbling bruises on your face, the stitches above your eyebrow, remnants of your harrowing ordeal. He watches you exhale in short shallow breaths, slipping in and out of sleep but frowns when a stray strand of hair obscures your face. He reaches out and moves it gently, his finger brushing the jagged skin of your cheek.

His breath hitches.

He’s now developed a sort of tic, runs his fingers over the cool gold of your pendant that he still has a hold of, finds it’s the only thing that’ll fight off thoughts of a very possible different ending. He keeps reminding himself he needs to return it to you as soon as he can - can’t promise he’ll want to part with it, though.

Relief is a strange thing.

You’re alive and recovering but would anything alleviate the guilt that’s settled in his chest? He doesn’t think so.

Guilt that he’d allowed for Jordan to get close enough, that he hadn’t worked it out sooner. Guilt that his increasing involvement with you was what drove Jordan’s obsession to such a point. He still has to fight the thoughts in his head, all what ifs and imagine ifs, the only thing that grounds him now is the fact that you’re here.

Safe and sound.

He succumbs to his sleep with the intention of telling you that.

You eventually wake up in the sterile hospital room, the sounds of the various machines you’re hooked up to annoyingly monotonous. As you blink your eyes open, you slowly become accustomed to the daylight outside, the reality of the past however many days settling in.

Your eyes fall to the 6’2 man curled into a chair next to your bed. His arm rests on his forehead, small breaths escaping his mouth. You stir just slightly, exceedingly careful not to wake him but he jolts awake at the sound of the sheets rustling anyway.

“You’re awake.” He whispers, blinking his eyes open. He immediately places a gentle, reassuring hand over yours.

You chuckle, wincing a little from the pain in your ribs. “Hi.” You whisper with a smile.

“Hi.” He replies with glassy eyes. “It’s good to have you back.” He says, fondly. “How do you feel?”

“Sore.” Your voice is hoarse. “How long’s it been?”

“Two days. They sedated you to make sure there was no swelling in your brain from the accident after you passed out. You’ve got some bruised ribs and your face needed some stitches, but you’re going to be okay.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Listen, I have some news.” He pauses, not sure how to phrase the rest.

You feel like you’re missing a limb, a sore pull at your chest when you remember Jordan’s words. He’d killed the two most important people in your life.

“Yeah. They’re dead.” You whisper.

His eyes widen in alarm and he takes a seat on the bed next to your legs, a reassuring hand on your shin. “What? Who?”

You fight the tears pricking your eyes and the heaviness in your chest. “My father. Emily.”

“What? No. No, no! They’re both alive.” He cups your face gently.

“-But he told me…”

“He tried to kill Emily after the accident. Your dad… he had the plane turned around before he got to Paris. Emily was in pretty bad shape after the accident, but she’s in recovery - they’re absolutely fine. The rest I’ll tell you another day.”

It’s like the feeling returns to your chest. Your tears spill over. “They’re really okay?” You reach for his hand that cups your cheek.

He nods. “And so are you.” He delicately wipes a stray tear off your cheek, a small chuckle escaping his lips. He soothes you quietly but his face lights up, an idea seemingly occurring to him.

He shoots up from his chair to head outside. He holds out a finger, “I’ll be right back.” He says from the door.

He returns around ten minutes later, with McCall in tow and the tension and turmoil of the last week all but melts away when he wheels in Emily, your dad following behind. Two security guards stand watch at the doors.

You immediately sit up in your bed, letting out a shaky laugh, in disbelief that you’re all really okay. The state of Emily’s face throws you off first, angry hues of blue, purple and red bleed into each other, stitches and scars adorn her face and she’s sporting a neck stabiliser. A nasty gash on her lip and cheek make it hard for her to smile fully but she still squeals when she sees you.

Your father almost crushes you in his embrace, quickly retreating when you wince but you laugh them both off, reaching for their hands. Your desire to hold them close is just as much affection as it is to make sure they wouldn’t dissipate as a figment of your imagination.

The sure enough contact is something that you would’ve ordinarily taken for granted, but this time, it almost reduces you to tears. You silently thank Hotch who gives you some privacy and waits outside. He does keep you in his eye line though, watching you fondly from the glass on the other side.

McCall pointedly clears his throat next to Hotch causing him to snap out of his stupor. “You know we can see you?”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re staring, Aaron.”

Hotch rolls his eyes in response and wanders over to the coffee machine at the end of the hall, McCall trailing behind him. He hands McCall a piping styrofoam cup, taking one for himself, immersing himself in trying to cool the hot liquid but McCall sees right through him.

“Aaron. You remember what I told you the day we went to the Fitzgerald house?”

“Ben-”

“If it wasn’t clear to you then, it must be now. You don’t spend two days squashed into a stiff chair for an assignment. I saw the look on your face when you saw the wreck, I see the way you hold her.”

Hotch says nothing, just stares into his reflection in the black coffee.

He places a sturdy hand on his shoulder. “Everyone can.”

It’s true.

Everybody can.

While Hotch had spent the best part of the last two days by your bedside, McCall had been by Emily’s side, striking up an unlikely friendship. Topics change, things are said, speculations are made, and within it all, the topic of you and Hotch has come up several times.

Emily had never been one to sugarcoat things, neither had McCall. Both of them had a degree of distance, and could see what neither of you could.

“It’s now or never, man.” McCall tells him with a pat on his shoulder.

———

You’d waved your dad out of the room after 45 minutes, his incessant yawning revealing his fatigue. He’d objected, of course, but after some persuasion from you and Emily, he’d said goodbye with a kiss atop both of your heads.

Your father isn’t even out of earshot before Emily wheels herself in closer to you, a wry grin spreading on her face in spite of her split lip.

“So,” she whispers, rubbing her hands together. “Tell me!”

You frown in confusion. “Tell you what?”

She rolls her eyes. “You! And Hotch. Did you guys talk?”

You use your hands to sign between the two of you. “Well, I don’t really know if you noticed, but I haven’t really had a lot of time to figure out crushes.”

“So you admit it? You have a crush on him?” She cackles.

“Emily, for God’s sake. Stop. You’re incorrigible. Shouldn’t you be focused on yourself, didn't you, like, break your neck?”

“No, it’s a soft tissue injury-”

“For now.” You warn her.

“You’re not funny. But seriously, have you given any more thought to what we talked about?”

“Emily, I will wheel you out of this room myself.”

“Answer the question!”

Yes.

You had.

It was one of the only things that had occupied your brain when you were stuck in that cabin. You still feel the effects of the grief you’d felt when you’d thought you’d lost him deep in your chest. Like a lingering ache. The regret was all-consuming, regret that you’d never been able to figure out what you felt for him while he was still around. Regret that you’d never been able to tell him.

You’ve been given a second chance, you’d be an idiot not to take it, right? The feeling had been so chilling, you’d sworn in that moment you’d never put yourself in a position like that again. But fear and vulnerability still play a part in your decision.

“Hey!” She snaps her fingers in your face with her good arm. Her eyes soften though, when she sees the faraway look on your face. “Oh, honey.” She takes your hand and takes a cursory glance around the room before turning back to you. “For what it’s worth - I think it’s a really good idea. You. Hotch.”

You shake your head dismissively but she grips your hand tighter in spite of her injuries.

“Really. I know you don’t see it, but he’d do anything for you, he killed that dirty cop y’know? You should’ve seen what a wreck he was after the crash, I made him promise he’d find you.” Her voice turns thick.

“You did?”

“Yeah. It wasn't fair to him at all, I never should’ve put him in that position. But he stayed with me when they brought me in, he thought I was asleep but I was watching him. He was distraught when he thought he’d lost you.”

That sparks something in you, a kind of warmth that spreads. It’s heady.

“I don’t know, Em. What do I even say?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just matters that you say it. And quick. You need to tell him before he leaves for good.”

That stings. You hadn’t even thought about that. You’d been so used to having him around and him being a part of your daily routine, you hadn’t really thought about him not being a part of your life anymore.

This was an assignment and it was over. You could just as easily part ways with the hope that you’ll forget him and the effect he had on you. That you’ll eventually stop thinking about him but there’s something in you that tells you he’ll linger deep in your soul long after you part ways.

“I’ll think about it.” You whisper.

———

“Red or green?” He holds up two Jell-O pots, one red and one green.

“Red.” You sigh.

“Damn.” He mutters under his breath with a laugh. He takes his assigned seat next to you, handing you a spoon and pulling your table out in the process. He winces when he sits, digging two fingers into his back, just under his ribs.

“What’s wrong?”

“Ah it’s nothing, I think I’m a little sore.”

Shit. You’d been so caught up in your own thoughts you hadn’t even realised he’d been sitting there in that tiny seat, squashed together for the past two days.

“I’m sorry. You have to squash yourself into that seat for me.”

“I’m not.” He says, almost instinctively. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

You both sit in silence for a moment, contemplating both of your earlier revelations.

He breaks the silence first. “Well, I guess I should probably debrief you on the details-” He turns to catch you staring at him, a faraway look on your face. He frowns, “Hey. You okay?”

“What? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, continue.”

And that’s when he takes you through the night you were taken. He recalls how he came home after visiting Jordan when McCall called him to give him the news. He tells you that two of the cops that were on duty were killed in the crash and that Lawrence was Jordan’s inside man. He takes you through every harrowing detail from finding Emily barely conscious to being shot at, to finally finding you.

Emily was right, the anxiety is etched on his face as though he’s reliving it.

But there’s still something you don’t understand.

“How did you know it was Jordan?” You ask him.

He sucks in a breath, eyes darkening for just a moment. “It’s complicated.”

“I think I deserve to know. Don’t you?”

He clenches his jaw, the anger still fresh. It’s the strangest thing though, he’s not as angry about being cheated on as he is about the fact that it put you in danger.

He inhales sharply. “Haley.”

“Ah.”

“You know?” He asks, alarmed.

“He told me when I was in that place. That he’d used her for information.”

He averts his gaze, running a hand over his beard. “Yeah. Remember a couple of months ago when I told you we were having problems - the day I took you to the firing range for the first time?” You nod. “Well, that was the day she decided that she’d had enough, and she left. For two weeks.”

The same two weeks he’d avoided you for.

You disguise your hurt when you recall that period and he goes on, “I guess in those two weeks, she found somebody else to help her through her issues. Not that I blame her, I think it was a long time coming, we hadn’t been happy for a while. I admit I checked out of that relationship king before she did.” He swallows thickly before he reveals too much. “She didn’t know who Jordan was, but he knew she was my girlfriend - he took advantage of that, I guess.” He shakes his head. I’m sorry.”

You frown. “Sorry? For what?”

“For putting you in danger. If I’d just kept my distance or given Haley more attention, maybe none of this would’ve happened.”

Your heart sinks when you see the wounded expression on his face and you place a hand over his. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” You whisper. He scoffs, but you press on with a squeeze of his hand, “He still would’ve found a way to get to me. Haley, you - it doesn’t matter - he wouldn’t have stopped until he got to me. So I need you to listen to me when I say it isn’t your fault, it isn’t Haley’s fault. Nobody is to blame. Okay?”

You need him to know that you don’t blame him, far from it, in fact. You revere him, you rely on him, you’re falling for him.

You’re falling for him.

He shakes his head, standing up. He refuses to allow you to make him feel better about the situation.

He stands at the window now, gazing out at the parking lot. You drag yourself out of your bed for the first time that day, IV in tow and place a reassuring hand on his built shoulder.

“Hey. Can you look at me?” He steels for a moment before finally turning after a minute. You close the distance between you. “Really. Hotch, you saved my life. The things you taught me, the self-defence, the weapons training? I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.”

Your proximity to one another drives you dangerously close to losing your willpower and spilling the secrets that lie on the tip of your tongue.

He hates to admit it, but your words lighten the load on his shoulders exponentially. He was ready to fight this guilt for a long time to come, a fitting punishment for taking his eye off the ball. But your words seem to wash the blood on his hands away.

He says nothing but smiles gently, watching you. He marvels at your heart, doesn’t understand how somebody could be so gracious even after everything that had happened. Your closeness, your warmth, it takes everything in him to not reach out and show you what you mean to him.

He knows as well as you do that after this, he may never see you again. There’s no reason for him to. He didn’t want to give you the impression that he was using his leverage as an FBI agent to pursue something more with you, especially after everything you’d been through.

It didn’t matter what his true intentions were.

It didn’t matter that he was falling for you.

———

You’re discharged three days and a deep shower later, and despite your dad pleading with you to return back to his estate, you’re adamant that you want to go home. Besides, you have a pit stop to make on the way.

“No way.” Hotch’s voice wavers when you make the request. “I won’t allow it. Your father would kill me.”

“You’re not in a position to allow anything.” You reply defiantly. “I’m not asking. You can either take me now, or you can take me home and I’ll go later. Either way - I’m going.”

“Why? Give me one good reason you want to see him and I’ll take you.”

“I don’t need to give you a reason!” But he doesn’t budge. You sigh. “I want to show him that I won. I want him to see that I’m going to be okay and he’s not. I just need to speak to him.”

He just grips the steering wheel tighter, the leather squeaking under his grip. He inhales sharply, taking some time to weigh your words. “Fine.” He says after a pause. “But I’m going in with you. He’s behind bars, but I’m still not letting you go in alone.”

“I can handle myself.”

“Damnit.” He mutters. “I know you can, but for God’s sake - I’m not letting him anywhere near you without someone else present.”

“Fine.”

———

The guard leads you and Hotch to an interview room, and the telltale hue of an orange jumpsuit catches your eyes through the tiny window of the door. He has a sling on one arm, the other kept secure by handcuffs to the table, yellowing bruises on his face.

You’re completely safe and secure, yet you shiver. You feel Hotch’s warm, large hand slink into yours, squeezing reassuringly.

“Are you sure you want to do this? You say the word, I’ll take you home.”

You take a steadying breath, your hand flexing in Hotch’s. “Thanks. But I’m okay. I’m ready.”

You nod to the guard to let you in, taking the last few seconds to brace yourself.

The door creaks open, Jordan’s eyes fall to you. The atmosphere is thick enough to choke on and the air is heavy, lingering with unfinished business. Your mind fills with cracked memories of a dark dingy cabin, the smell of his breath on your skin - you swear you can still feel his hands around your throat.

You steady yourself.

He shifts in his chair when you take a seat opposite him, nostrils flaring. “Well, well, well. Hey, Princess,” he scoffs. You shudder at his pet name, his jarring words abrasive against your skin. The reaction doesn’t go amiss by him, so he takes the moment of weakness to reel you in, snare you back into his trap. “Miss me already?” He look wounded when he sees Hotch follow behind you. “You brought him with you? This-” he lifts his cuffed hand as far as it’ll go without pulling on his arm, “Wasn’t bad enough? You had to bring the fed?”

You don’t dignify his words with a reply. You opt instead to just watch him with narrow eyes, a play straight out of your father’s handbook. He squirms under your gaze, visibly uncomfortable when he sees the look on your face, unwavering, focused.

“How’s jail?” You ask.

“Peachy. ’Course I’d much rather be with you.”

“Watch your mouth.” Hotch replies, anger simmering under his skin.

“Bail?” You ask him.

“No dice.”

“Wonder why.” You hum with a wry smile.

“No doubt you had your daddy pay off the tri-state area to keep me rotting in here. Always have been a pampered little bitch.” Hotch’s hands flex into fists but he continues. “What do you want? You’re not here to make small talk, I know that much.”

You observe him slowly, before answering. “How does it feel?”

“What?”

“How does it feel to be a failure, Jordan?” That stings, you can tell, because as soon as the words leave your mouth, he shifts positions, hunching his shoulders like a dog about to attack.

Except he’s handcuffed.

You continue, “You tried to kill me, you missed. You tried to kill Emily, you missed. You tried to have my father killed, you missed, you even tried to have Aaron killed. Still, nothing.”

“Aaron?” He hisses. “What, you guys are on a first name basis now?”

He’s deflecting.

“Answer me. You’ve done nothing but disappoint your father, he tolerates you. You had everything you could possibly need, you could’ve done so much with your life, Jordan - I actually pity you.”

He blinks rapidly, desperately thinking of a way to attack you.

“You think this is going to go away for you?” He snarls. “You don’t think I’m going to haunt your dreams? Everywhere you look, you’re going to think it’s me. Every time you get a letter, a package, your first reaction is going to be fear.” He chuckles. “I’m gonna stay with you, it doesn't matter if I’m doing life in here.”

“I can handle that. I will handle that. But you - you’re gonna spend the rest of your life in a 6x8, with nothing to do except to think about all the ways in which you’re a fucking disappointment. A coward.” You force your voice to remain steady despite your entire body shaking.

The chair scrapes against the floor when you go to get up, your hands clenched in fists, willing them not to shake. Hotch follows behind you and you’re already out of the door when Hotch is called back into the interview room by Jordan.

A cold smile makes his way onto his face, an attempt to deliver one last blow. “You know I fucked your girl, Aaron?” He delivers his line calmly, his tongue in his cheek.

What Hotch says will stay with him, long after he walks out of the doors. “Did you get what you wanted?” He nods over to the doors you’d just walked out of, a fond smile on his face. “Because I did.”

———

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timextoxhajima · 3 years

Text

Love Me A Little Less: Chapter 9 - Obligation

LOVE ME A LITTLE LESS CHAPTER MASTERLIST

Member: (3rd person pov) arranged marriage au with Lee Juyeon

Genre: angsty wangsty

Taglist: @hyunjaethereal @sunwoowuvbot @suzy-rainbow @miingxuxi

“It was like Se Kyung’s eyes had been surgically transferred into another body. ”

Hesitation stops Kim Jo-Pil for a few seconds. He parts his quivering lips and takes a deep breath, then says, just loud enough for Juyeon to hear, “I made a mistake. One too big for me to dig a hole and throw it in.”

Juyeon’s frown deepens, and he hears the sheets shuffling in the bedroom. He reaches forward, pulling Jang Won’s door shut.

It is only in Kim Jo-Pil’s home-made office (also known as Jang Won’s second guest room) that Juyeon is surprised by the number of mini and portrait-sized canvasses painted by his wife. Just for a split second, Juyeon buys it. Maybe Kim Jo-Pil isn’t as horrid of a person Kim Jang Won thinks he is.

But it’s the picture of their family sitting on his desk that ironically turns Juyeon’s head around.

“What is all this? For show? For when Jang Won storms in and you’ll think she’ll go soft, seeing all this?”

Kim Jo-Pil lands himself in the sofa seat next to the bed, piled with files and documents and boxes, leaving Juyeon to stand awkwardly by the end of the bed, eyes scanning the mess in the room.

“You sound like her... after her mother passed and before I did.”

Juyeon’s nostrils flare. “If you don’t want to tell me why you decided to come back and ruin her life, so be it. I don’t need to stand here and listen to all your-”

“Younghoon wasn’t Se Kyung’s first child.”

Silence.

Juyeon’s heart halts in his chest.

Kim Jo-Pil looks out the window, eyes looking in the distance where the city’s skyscrapers were kissing the sun. “Se Kyung had a child born out of wedlock before she married me. But they made her choose. The child’s life or her freedom.”

“Back then, The Board already had administrations favouring arranged marriages between families under the conglomerate. It was an easy system to keep the number of royalties under control. The cycle repeats itself. Two families become one, and a new family joins. Superpowers are reduced from two to one overnight, and The Board would never have to be worried about being overthrown because the supers would simply be too busy outdoing each other and seeking validation from the administration.”

“Did you know?” Juyeon whispers. “That she already had a child?”

“I knew... not because I was meant to, but because I wanted to. It was The Board’s annual Christmas Charity Event in the early 1990s and Se Kyung had gone with her parents, and I had gone with mine. She was sweeter than a daisy in a meadow full of flowers. She was polite, kind, and had a reputation for being the most stubborn creature on the planet, even then. It was one of the many things that Jang Won had inherited from her.”

“She spent her early twenties away from home, supposedly in another country working her way through foreign industries and making a name for herself. I didn’t know she had returned until my father told me that the Yoo family had chosen to merge with another - mine - I couldn’t be happier. One night, I decided to sneak to into their property and propose to her formally, way before the arrangements were to be made public. And... I heard it. The crying. Fighting.”

Kim Jo-Pil’s eyes fall. “She had returned with a child in hopes to bond her to the Yoo family. The father was a coward and ran once he had heard she was from a reputable family. Too much politics, too much money.”

“But the baby. Oh, the baby. Sweetest little thing I’ve ever seen in my life. My poor, poor Se Kyung... She was given the options: Marry into the Kim family and give the baby away, or her parents will have it dispensed like it had never been born.”

By now, Kim Jo-Pil has tears in his eyes.

“After we had Younghoon, something in Se Kyung clicked back to life. I remember the night she delivered him. The sparkle in her eyes that I fell in love with the day I met her had returned... but I knew for a fact that I needed to find her first-born, no matter the implications. It was the least I could do for her. By then, the child had to be a few years older than Younghoon and so, I spent the time that I should’ve spent with Se Kyung and my own children looking for her - the baby.”

“Se Kyung lost her parents in an accident the night Jang Won was born. She lost the worst nightmares of her life in exchange for a beautiful baby girl... so, what more could she ask for?”

Kim Jo-Pil sucks a deep breath. “I couldn’t find the child. I went to all the orphanages and the foster homes and by then Se Kyung had already fallen ill. Brain cancer - inherited. All I wanted was to return Se Kyung was her first-born and yet I did not deliver. When Jang Won was 16, Se Kyung passed. The last foster home that had taken care of the child said that she had reached a legal age to take care of herself. She could’ve gone under the radar if she wanted, changed her name if she wanted, and I’ll never be able to find her. Little did I know that she had grown to become much more of a person than I ever expected her to be, and she had been practicing advanced medicine throughout her college life.”

Juyeon is giddy from the influx of information, and so he braces himself when his own neurons piece the puzzle together.

“She was the one who revived you. The child.”

The elder shuts his eyes and lets the tears dribble over his lids.

It felt like a dream. The ache in his chest. The rough texture of gravel under his cheek when he collapsed. But Kim Jo-Pil opens his eyes, in thorough shock, when he realises he’s not in the hospital, but in some worn-down warehouse with a bunch of illegal medication that shouldn’t even be legally available outside of the hospital.

He had remembered the lights in the operating theatre, and even the sound of his slowing heartbeat in the drums of his ears.

So how is it possible that he’s-

“Ah, you’re awake! I was starting to worry that it didn’t work, Goddamn Narcan.”

Kim Jo-Pil tries to move, but he can’t. He couldn’t move a single muscle in his body besides his eyes.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

The lights above him had been preventing him from seeing her face, and when he did, he swore he could’ve been snapped into two when he recognised her eyes.

She pushes away the lights and turns to remove her surgical equipment, the sound of latex snapping away from her fingers echo through the dismay of the room. She returns her attention to Kim Jo-Pil.

It was like Se Kyung’s eyes had been surgically transferred into another body.

“I’m Yoo Hye In, and I heard you’ve been searching for me.”

Exasperated and in disbelief, Juyeon runs his hands through his hair, turning to make sure the door of the room was shut.

“Why are you even telling me this? How do I know I can trust you to tell me the truth?”

“Yes, because I have all the damn time in the world to be cooking up this story!” He gets up and pulls up his shirt, revealing a stitched scar right over where his heart was. “I trust you because you have no reason to backstab her.”

He releases his shirt.

“Other than Younghoon, I don’t know if anybody else in this system can offer her any kind of security.”

“How do you know I’m not gonna run off after getting half of HERA & ARTEMIS?”

“Because if you wanted to, you wouldn’t have been such a jerk to her over your wedding.”

Juyeon presses his fingers over his closed lids. His vision is blurred when he opens them.

“Why don’t you just tell Jang Won about this? She can protect you. She can sieve out this... Yoo Hye In, give her what she wants-”

“Jang Won will never give Hye In what she wants.”

Juyeon can feel the edges of his lips curl downwards and his lids getting heavier from mental exhaustion. “...Hye In wants HERA & ARTEMIS?”

Kim Jo-Pil’s eyes can’t seem to leave the floor. He can’t help the dreaded feeling of failure drowning his conscience as a father, as someone who was rightfully supposed to protect her.

“So, what’s your plan? Hye In wants HERA & ARTEMIS, and you know for a fact that Jang Won won’t give that up... like, ever. What happens if Hye In doesn’t get HERA & ARTEMIS?”

“Hye In will go to the press. Her existence being Yoo Se Kyung’s first-born out of wedlock will destroy everything this family has built. Hera’s Manor, HERA & ARTEMIS, Artemis...” He shakes his head. “Either gone or hers. She’s playing saint by not doing that directly.”

“But what does Yoo Se Kyung’s mistake have anything to do with Jang Won?” Juyeon seethes, inhaling such a deep breath that his chest hurt. “This is unfair. She should not have to go through this-”

“And you think I don’t know that?” Kim Jo-Pil’s lower lip trembles, a hardening gaze plastered to Juyeon.

Heaviness blankets the room. Juyeon’s frown feels cemented into his forehead as he sits at the edge of the crowded bed, fingers on his temple.

“Juyeon.”

The younger side-eyes the elder, cautious.

“Once you’ve acquired Apple-Korea, I want you to buy all of HERA & ARTEMIS, then acquire Artemis Entertainment as well.”

“You know Jang Won won’t allow that.”

“Try. You’ll have the power to and she can’t exactly stop you,” He huffs, chest rising. “She doesn’t need to know yet. I will tell her the truth when it blows over.”

“’Blows over’? How is this going to ‘blow over’? You just said Hye In won’t give in until she gets HERA & ARTEMIS.”

“But she can’t fight for ownership if it’s the owner is not of Yoo’s descent. Which means once you acquire all of HERA & ARTEMIS-”

“Then she’s no longer a threat.”

Kim Jo-Pil nods. “But you will need Jang Won’s trust to acquire all of HERA & ARTEMIS, and she cannot know about Hye In before that happens. Once the order is out of place, Jang Won will stop at nothing to fight for HERA & ARTEMIS, not knowing that she’ll be fighting a lost war.”

“Jang Won doesn’t even trust Younghoon. How do you expect her to trust me?”

“Look at where you’re standing,” Her father turns, but doesn’t look at Juyeon directly. The sun kisses a single side of his face as his eyes scan the room. “You’re standing in Hera’s Manor, and you’re her first overnight guest in five years. I’d say you have a pretty good chance at earning the rest of her trust.”

Juyeon winces slightly, shutting his lids to process the information. There’s a grave sense of responsibility perched on his shoulders now, and the dread that lingers in the back of his skull when he thinks of Yoo Hye In strutting around in public makes him uneasy.

Juyeon finds himself mindlessly heading for the dining hall, where Mr Ro was finishing up the preparation of the wide array of food on the side table. The butler bows, but it goes unnoticed. He pulls the chair back for Juyeon to sit, and eventually calls him a cup of coffee when he notices Juyeon’s lack of attention.

“Mr Ro.”

“Hmm?” The chocolate-brown shade of coffee glitters under the light from outside.

“How long do you think it’ll take Jang Won to trust me?”

Mr Ro pulls away, handing the pot of coffee to another staff. “Well, Mr Lee... that depends on what circumstance we’re envisioning.”

“Her life. Maybe something she loves, something she can’t live without.”

“So, a prized possession.”

“Mm.”

Mr Ro pauses for a thought.

“Long, but play your cards right, and she will eventually trust you.”

Juyeon offers a strained curve of his lips when Mr Ro bows and returns to the kitchen, leaving him with a bunch of pastries that should be sold in some five-star hotel instead.

Jang Won strolls into the dining hall dawned in a gorgeous full-fitted set, make-up and hair done like she was going for her own press conference. Juyeon remains quiet at the table, only looking up once when she first enters, then he returns to spreading Nutella on his croissant.

“Jesus, do we not have anything from Younghoon or my father to let him wear besides those pajamas?”

“You lent me these pajamas, don’t make it sound like it was my bad choice to make. Besides, they are comfortable and cute,” Juyeon looks down at himself.

Jang Won gruffly scoffs. “Of course it’s comfortable. It’s made from Supima cotton. What do you think we are, savages?”

“Mrs Lee, I-”

“Call me that again and I will fire you,” She abruptly instructs, glaring at her butler.

“Ms Kim,” He corrects himself. “We have already called Younghoon’s fitters to bring by some wardrobe for Mr Lee before he joins you for the itinerary meeting.”

“Itinerary meeting?” She whips her head from Mr Ro to Juyeon, who was busy licking the Nutella off the knife he was using. “Don’t you have to be in the office or something?”

“And do what? Put myself in a situation where my parents can come to kidnap me home? No thanks.”

Jang Won leans back in her seat as the staff places a cup of tea in front of her, surprised at Juyeon’s enthusiasm with something that he didn’t need to worry about.

“Well, I have a doctor’s appointment after, so, you can come back home after unless you want to hang around old, dying people.”

“What?” Juyeon sneers. “What for? You look perfectly fine to me.”

“That’s because I have been going for these medical checkups, dumbass. I’m not gonna stand around and then what if I magically die of a heart attack- then what? Give you all of HERA & ARTEMIS and Artemis Entertainment? Pshht!”

Juyeon purses his lips - a terrible attempt at hiding his smile.

Young Jin Seol [12.13pm]: Your father just dropped by this morning. He knows you’re at Hera’s Manor.

Young Jin Seol [12.14pm]: He’s requesting for a meal, for him and Mrs Lee as well as you and Kim Jang Won after you return from your honeymoon.

He quietly locks the device, attention drifting from the messages to Jang Won, who was busy strolling about the office. The ride here had been quiet, for Juyeon had chosen to drive and Jang Won sent two guards to Kim Sunwoo’s residence to get her Mercedes back.

Heavy and thoughtful, Juyeon thought. The atmosphere in the car was strange, and he can’t help but to wonder of Jang Won was even aware she had a nightmare (or a trauma relapse, or whatever you called one of those) earlier in the morning. Maybe it was the accustomed sight of Jang Won being as cold and rigid as a statue that makes it harder to bear. Juyeon fails, when he tries to restrain the ache that devours his chest, unable to remove the image of her crying and holding on to that mini canvas like it were her life.

The door of the office clicks open and it steals both his and her attention, the tour agency officer bowing to the two tycoons with files in her arms. Juyeon stands, patting down his pants.

“Mr Lee!” She holds out a hand. “Pleasure to meet you. Mrs Lee didn’t make your attendance known.”

Juyeon smiles politely at her, shaking her hand whilst admiring the distasteful grimace on Jang Won’s face at the address.

“Please, just call me Juyeon, and my wife, Jang Won. We’re still not used to the new... salutations.”

The officer offers a low chuckle, turning to Jang Won and raising a cheeky brow. Juyeon’s left brow twitches when Jang Won’s grimace remains cemented into her lips, and yet the officer was still grinning like an idiot.

“Do you two know each other?”

“Call me ‘Mrs Lee’ one more time, and I will murder you,” Jang Won seethes, opening her arms and pulling her into a tight hug. An exhale gets punched out of Juyeon, feeling somewhat at ease with the change in atmosphere.

“I knew that would totally get you on edge,” The officer laughs, patting Jang Won on her back between her shoulder blades. Pulling away, she turns to Juyeon and bows, this time more candidly. “I’m Ki Hae Ri, your tour officer for your honeymoon next week.”

Watching Jang Won talk to Hae Ri was almost like watching her get possessed by a 13-year-old teenager. More than amused, Juyeon wasn’t even paying attention to the actual content Hae Ri was talking about regarding the itinerary - all he could see was the bright smile on Jang Won’s face.

And for once, since the day he first met her, this smile was genuine. Her eyes are folded into crescents when she laughs and chortles and berates Hae Ri for every little detail she puts in the conversation to tease Jang Won.

“And for you, Mr Lee,” Hae Ri’s voice snaps him out of his mindless admiration. “Jang Won here has told me that you like diving and so I must tell you that she suggested of doing Belize.”

The folder slides across the table, and Jang Won shoots Hae Ri a look of betrayal. Automatically darting his attention to Jang Won, Juyeon’s fingers trail the edges of the folder, a picture of the Belize Blue Hole printed on the cover page.

Clearing her throat, Jang Won looks afar, refusing to even face him. “So it’s an 8-hour drive, or a 1.5 hour flight from Guatemala to Belize. It was a suggestion in one of the itinerary sets anyway.”

Juyeon looks up from the 3-day Belize stay itinerary, noticing Hae Ri’s prideful, cheeky grin stretched up her lips.

Back in the car, Juyeon’s hands are on the steering wheel, engine already churning and the air-conditioner blasting the coolness into their faces. Jang Won waits for some moments, before realising the amount of movement in the car - or rather, the lack thereof.

“Hello? Doctor’s appointment?” The edge in her voice is back and Juyeon can’t help but wonder just how she does it - being so cold and caring at the same time. “If you’re not interested, then you can just get the fuck out and I’ll call Mr Ro to come pick you up.”

Juyeon pauses for a moment, collecting the vocabulary in his head.

“My parents want to meet us for a meal after we return from our honeymoon.”

The whir of the air-conditioner suddenly sounds a little louder.

“What for?” Jang Won snorts. “Is your mom planning on baking cupcakes and apologising for making this the worst decision of your life, even though it wasn’t even yours to make?”

“I don’t know, but we’ll have to go. They are still my parents.”

“What?” She criticises, her upper lip hooked upwards. “You ran away! From home! And now you want to just... bring a basket of fruits to a picnic with them just ‘cause they’re your parents? Ha!”

“Look, I don’t like it either, but if we don’t do this then they’ll just be bugging me forever and if that happens then I can’t do what you want me to do with HERA & ARTEMIS peacefully. If anything, they might just fuck shit up if they don’t have this meal with us.”

“‘Fuck shit up’? I’ll fuck them up-”

“We’ll go, and that’ll be the end of it, okay? Trust me, you don’t want them dipping their noses into our shit once we start with all the ownership administration.”

“’Dipping their noses’? Just who the Hell do your parents think they are? They don’t even own any of the companies related to the-”

“I know, God damn it,” Juyeon finally rebuts, patience running thin. “But they have power. According to The Board’s conglomerate, my family is on the same tier as yours.”

Jang Won huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and looking out the window.

“Just... just this once, and they’ll go easy. It’s not worth picking a fight with them, I promise you. Okay?”

Jang Won struggles to remove the frown off her forehead. She knows it’s not his fault. She knows his parents are shitty people.

And yet, for some reason, she’s jealous that Juyeon even has parents to feel obligated towards.

Destiny, prophecy, fate. You name it. Just what is it that makes things so complicated in life? Circumstances can be created, changed, altered. Jang Won can question God about how she ended up right in this very spot every day, but she won’t get an answer, ever. Juyeon can wonder why she had to be the one responsible for her mother’s mistake, and he’ll never know why either.

Juyeon trails carefully behind Jang Won, slightly surprised that she wasn’t visiting the area’s best hospital for her medical checkups. Not that this was one was bad, but it was... affordable. Taking in the sights and sounds as he enters the main hall, Jang Won advances towards the registration counter and pulls off her sunglasses.

“Here,” She slides a clipboard to the side. “Fill this visitor registration form up.”

Juyeon picks up the pen, watching her pull out her wallet and hand it over to the administration staff.

“Hi, I have an appointment with Ms Yoo Hye In.”

Juyeon’s eyes dart upwards from the visitor registration sheet, pupils flitting between the administrator and Jang Won, who was calmly signing into some check in registry. He can feel his breath grow shaky and unstable and all of a sudden, Jang Won’s looking at him like he was the crazy person in the room.

“What? Are you okay?”

He parts his lips to deny the question, wishing to brush it off and simultaneously, maybe convince himself that it was just someone with the same name.

“Jang Won! I was wondering if you were going MIA today again.”

Ironically, his heart stops. Jang Won puts on her service smile and provides her doctor a subtle wave as the two close the distance between them.

“Of course not. Gotta make my check-up down-payment worth it. I can’t run around the city working my work if I’m unwell, can I?”

“Well, I see you brought the future director of Apple-Korea with you,” Yoo Hye In turns to Juyeon, eyes bright and her smile convincingly kind. Her hair was short, well trimmed, and Juyeon was almost in shock that he could see the similarities between her and Jang Won.

The tycoon whips her head upon the silence, almost shifting to nudge him. “Juyeon.”

“No, no, it’s okay! No need to rush him,” Yoo Hye In grins widely, offering a hand to him. “I’m Jang Won’s personal doctor, Yoo Hye In. You can call me Hye In.”

#multifandomnet #destinyverse #ficscafe #juyeon scenarios #juyeon imagines #juyeon fic #the boyz scenarios #the boyz imagines #the boyz fanfic #tbz scenarios #tbz fanfic #tbz imagines #lee juyeon scenario #juyeon fanfic #the boyz #the boyz juyeon #tbz #tbz juyeon #love me a little less

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draconic-ichor · 3 years

Text

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 23: Desperate Passions

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, oral sex, penetrative sex, nipple play, nipple piercings, scars/stitches, fingering

Summary: Juniper is fully healed and ready to get back to one of their favorite hobbies!

Feedback appreciated. 18+. This is a smut heavy chapter

“What are we having tonight, love?” Heisenberg asked, sitting back in the wooden chair. He had returned from working to find her over the stove, a simmering pot filling the apartment with a delicate fragrance.

“Pilaf.” She answered sweetly.

“Ah…alright.” Heisenberg nodded, her answer not making anything more clear to him.

He cut open a cigar, lighting it and bringing it to his lips as he watched her.

She pulled two deep plates out of the cabinet, looking towards him, “Get anything exciting made today?”

He made a prideful rumble, speaking through the cigar, “Mhm. The Soldat Zwei is almost finished. Give the bastard one, maybe two, good days of work and he should be up.”

“They are the ones with two drills right?”

“Correct. Moved the reactor core to the back as well.”

“When are you starting the….the Pan..pan?” She couldn’t find the words, placing a glass of water and silverware on the table.

“The Panzer?”

“Yea that one! They looked big.”

“Oh, sweetheart, it will be.” He gave a devilish smile, “Gotta wait till I get a bastard built like a shit brick house for that one.”

“Like Sturm?” She scooped food into the deep plates.

“Unfortunately…yes.” He frowned, that creature still brought him nothing but grief.

Juniper placed a plate before him, before taking a seat with her own.

Fuck me…what is this?

Heisenberg gulped looking at the meal. It was a pile of rice with chicken, carrots, mushrooms and herbs mixed in. It smelled normal and appetizing but left much to be desired to the eyes.

Juniper took a bite, looking at him through narrow eyes.

“Love, did you make bread as well?” He asked hopefully.

“No, there’s rice in here.” She pointed her fork at him, “And vegetables. Eat it.”

He made a little grumble, tucking into his food. It tasted good, the rice made with the broth from the chicken and the herbs giving it a homely taste.

…Thank god.

Heisenberg thought, mercifully, as he started eating with more gusto. Juniper loved to cook, and loved seeing him eat what she made even more. But her passion for the craft was almost matched with her desire to strive to make each meal healthy. Even if it meant throwing in things that tasted like death to pack more nutrients into every meal.

Heisenberg didn’t know if it was her trying to curb his lack of anything healthy or some Devine force punishing him for his terrible daily diet for decades. In any case, it was a small price to pay for her happiness.

He finished his plate, even going back for a second. On the way back to his seat he paused, giving Juniper a soft pat on top of her head with his free hand. She beamed up at him.

They spoke more of his upcoming Soldat plans over dinner. Heisenberg explained how the Panzers should be immune to most types of damage, save for heavier explosions. They would be risky to produce and time consuming but a good last line of defense.

“Will all the armor put stress on the core?” Juniper asked.

He nodded, “I’ll have to use the bigger exhaust port like on Sturm but take in the energy production per energy draw to the multiple drills.”

“So they don’t overheat?”

“Precisely. I don’t want them spitting fire like the big boy.” Heisenberg pointed out.

After Juniper cleaned up the mess from dinner, Heisenberg ushered her into the bathroom. She followed him, used to this routine, she pulled her dress off and sat on the sink. Heisenberg leaned on his palms against the counter on either side of her, dipping in to give her a kiss. She deepened the contact, hands finding the sleeves of his button up shirt.

He gave a happy little rumble, pulling away enough to inspect her incision. She sat still, waiting as he looked her over with a critical eye. The infection was completely gone, the tissue a healthy healing pink.

“I can probably remove the stitches, if you’d like.” He concluded.

“Please.” She almost begged, “They itch.”

He stood, chuckling, “Itching is good, means it’s healing.”

He retrieved a sharp pair of scissors, pouring a bit of peroxide over the blades before kneeling before her once more. With careful cuts he snipped through the stitches, pulling them free with deft fingers.

He tossed them away one by one into the trash can. Juniper watched him with big eyes.

“Will it scar?” Juniper asked quietly.

“Afraid so, Darling.” Heisenberg frowned.

Her eyes looked glassy, glancing over the pinkish new tissue.

Heisenberg took her face in his hands, lifting her chin up to meet his gaze. She wilted a bit.

"What's up?" He asked, concern in his gaze.

"Hmm…" She almost didn't answer, looking away, "I don’t want you to think I’m ugly…I have really bad scars…”

“Are you fucking serious.” Heisenberg’s lips were a fine line, “Look at me.”

She met his eyes, him correcting her, “No look at all of me. Look at all the shit my body has been through.”

Her eyes wavered, scanning him over. He was covered in scars, his skin was a patchwork of pearlescent lattice, even his face sporting a few.

“I am a scarred, fucked up old man.” He said plainly, “You are so fucking beautiful. A few scars can’t change that.”

Her eyes watered, cheeks growing rosey.

His face split with a grin, “Have I ever hesitated to bend your ass over every flat surface in this factory?”

“…no.” She mumbled.

“Don’t you even start to think I don’t find you sexy as all hell, ok love?”

“Mmmm.”

“What?”

“You haven’t bent me over anything in months.” Juniper pouted in his hands.

Heisenberg looked at her a moment before throwing back his head and barking out with laughter.

“You were healing!” He bared his teeth playfully, “But you’re all fixed up now, how about I show you how much you drive me fucking wild?”

Juniper smiled, nuzzling into his cupped hands, “Please, master?”

“Oh Honey.” He almost purred, “Keep that up and you’ll be bedridden again.”

They made their way back to the bedroom, Heisenberg catching her up in a messy kiss. While she was distracted he removed the rest of her clothing, backing her up until her calves touched the bed.

He lightly pushed her back, Juniper making a little ‘oof’ as she hit the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows, smiling as Heisenberg fell to his knees before her.

He didn’t dive straight into her heat like she expected, instead pulling her by the ankles closer to the edge.

His eyes were dark and hungry as he dipped his head in to drop rough kisses up the length of her leg. Juniper shivered at the heat of his mouth as he trailed ever closer to the place she wanted him desperately.

His lips lingered on the softness of her inner thigh, sucking a dark blotch there. He pulled free with a wet pop, meeting her gaze. She was already flushed.

“I’m going to have to re-mark my claim on you.” He almost purred the words.

“Make me yours in every way.” She spoke sweetly.

“I plan to.” He promised, kissing upwards.

He dropped a kiss just above her clit, smiling when her breath hitched. She made a little sound of want when he pulled away, thrusting her hips up in an effort to urge him back. Heisenberg growled as his large hands found her legs, pushing her down against the bed.

Juniper whimpered, watching him move higher.

He kissed along her scar, eyes flicking up to meet hers. The new tissue was sensitive under his lips, his beard making her skin prickle.

“Fucking perfect.” He concluded when he covered its length, his hands forcing her thighs more apart, “Every part.”

“…stop.” Juniper’s cheeks reddened further.

“Oh no.” He gave a devilish smile, “No mercy for you my little wifey.”

She gave a little mewl at his tone, her core clenching air.

“I was looking forward to dessert all night.” His face split with a mirthful grin.

“Then come get it!” She bared her teeth a bit playfully

Heisenberg dove into her sex, eating her like a starving man. He was messy and forceful, causing her to melt in seconds. He growled into her flesh, already feeling her tighten under him. He pulled away, scoring his thumb over her clit as he licked slick from his lips, “Already such a damn mess for me.”

“It’s…it’s been a w-while.” She spoke between pants.

“Too long.” He agreed, going back in.

He made sure to pull multiple orgasms from her with only his mouth and hands, stopping every so often to trail kisses up her abdomen. She was breathy and blissed out, completely forgetting her earlier self-consciousness.

He stood, giving her a moment of mercy. Juniper watched him, breasts quaking as she regained her breath. Her skin was already glistening with a light sheen of sweat, stray onyx curls stuck to her forehead. Heisenberg slowly removed each layer of clothing, almost making a show of it under her hungry gaze.

Finally kicking off his boxers he crawled onto the bed. The bed creaked under their combined weight as he loomed over her.

Juniper eager hands found him quickly, squeezing the thick ropes of muscle that made his arms.

“Pretty impressive eh?” He smirked cockily.

Her fingers slid upwards, fanning over his chest. She gave him a little devilish look as she found his only nipple piercing.

His breath hitched a bit as she toyed with it; coming almost unglued entirely when her head quickly dipped in to take the metal into her mouth.

The movement was almost too fast for him to react before the sensation rippled through his body. Juniper was spurred on when she saw how his body shivered in response, deepening the contact.

Heisenberg pushed her away, holding her down against the bed with strong hands. He swallowed, “That’s enough of that.”

Juniper licked her lips, the taste of metal and skin on her tongue, “Seemed to like it.”

He ground his teeth a bit, aware of his hard cock. He caught her lips up with his own before she could continue.

He kept her occupied, grouping down her body as he lined himself up. She gasped into his mouth when she felt the weeping tip bump her folds. He pulled away to brace himself over her.

“Fuck, I missed you.” His voice was low and almost wavering as he pushed into her. Juniper’s back arched, moaning as his cock stretched her out deliciously.

Her core was tight from the months without him.

He started pumping into her almost desperately, lifting her legs to hook around his waist. With the better angle he was able to reach deeper, rubbing against her g-spot with every thrust.

She clawed down his back, crying out every time their hips sloppily met together.

The sex was messy and raw, both needing to feel the release of pent up passions. Heisenberg groaned out breathily, hands finding purchase in the mattress to buck into her harder.

He felt her tense under him. “F-Fuck! Come for me Doll. Come on my cock!” He grunted out, moving a hand to her clit. His thumb scored quick circles into the sensitive bundle of nerves.

Juniper buckled under him, sobbing out her release. A surge of slick coated his cock as her cunt clamped down on him.

She felt divine, like liquid velvet around him. Heisenberg became a mess of sounds himself, balls slapping into her ass roughly as he chased his own release.

His hips jolted, bottoming out in her. She felt him pulse as her insides were flooded with hot ropes of come.

She felt extremely full, bits of his release oozing out around his cock.

He settled over her, wanting to stay slotted within her walls. Catching her breath she pulled his face closer, peppering his jaw with kisses.

He gave a little rumble of amusement, letting her fawn over him.

They tangled into one another, the darkness filled with the sounds of their heavy breathes and soft moans. A hunger of the flesh deep in their minds. Words weren’t needed. Their touches, tinged with desperation for an act both had feared would be lost to them, was everything in that moment.

Skin to skin, a heartbeat felt under fingertips. The world outside the bed didn’t exist, the nightmares couldn’t reach them.

Heisenberg pressed his body against Juniper’s, his cock never leaving her. In the soft lulls between rounds of sex he held her close, wanting to feel over every inch of her. She thankfully held onto him, losing track of the hours. He nipped into the soft flesh of her throat, huffing out hotly when he heard her mewl.

He felt her tense under him as he rocked into her afresh. Juniper didn’t know how many rounds or orgasms they shared, the night becoming a blur of pleasure and overstimulation.

Eventually exhaustion overtook her and Juniper fell asleep against his chest. Heisenberg stayed fully inserted inside of her, softly tracing her spinal scar. Their bodies were stuck together with sweat, he could feel every breath and heartbeat of hers.

He let his mind wander to work. With the spring thaw here it would make collecting bodies from the grave easier, but also he would have to be much more on top of watching the village for casualties.

Juniper was his favorite distraction but she was a distraction nonetheless. He wouldn’t force her away, no, she gave him more purpose to strive to escape. She made his hunger to explore the world deeper, he wanted to give her a better life than the factory.

And he would give it to her.

#resident evil village #karl heisenberg #heisenberg x oc #re8 oc #heisenberg #in the steel steeds heart #resident evil #heisenberg smut

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millysaurusrex · 3 years

Text

Oath

Ash falls from the sky and Arya can’t help but think of how it looks like snow. White and pure as it coats all around her. If she wanted, she could imagine she is in Winterfell, in the summer snows, laughing with her brothers as they tossed snowballs at a scandalized Sansa, with mother and father laughing. But, she is not in the north and mother and father and Rickon and Robb are gone. She is in King’s Landing, or perhaps one of the seven hells, and she leans against the stone wall as smoke and ash blanket the city streets around her.

How had she gotten here? She wasn’t quite sure she remembered. Sandor. She remembered the Hound marching with her into the Red Keep. Remembers him stopping her, begging her. Live. Live. Choosing to live.

Then chaos.

Screams of men, women and children burning alive echo in the air, still warm from dragonfire. Swords. She can still hear swords. Men shouting. Death. She thought the House of Black and White had shown her death, but here in King’s Landing is the temple of death. Where father died. Where her sister’s innocence died. Where all men died.

Valar morghulis.

But, like this? If this was the God of Death’s plan, well -

She yelps as she’s pulled from the alleyway. A chainmail fist knocks into her her face splitting her lip, and thrusts her against the corner of the wall. More blood rushes down her face, but she grabs Needle, swings it around to meet the Lannister soldier’s sword. He looks manic. Primal, like an animal. He’s screaming at her, slamming his sword down over and over.

He is not particularly strong and any other day, Arya could have easily overpowered him. But she’s lost so much blood already, and her lungs hurt with the taste of ash and smoke. Anger - or fear - have strengthened the Lannister man, and he catches her with his sword, ripping into her side. It stings as sweat and dirt seep into the wound, but she doesn’t stop. She isn’t going to die here in King’s Landing. Not when she promised the Hound she’d chose life. Not today.

Her muscles ache but she meets each of his blows, counters them, hits him with all her strength. He kicks her hard in the chest and she stumbles back. Needle slips from her hand. She’s quick though, and she reaches for her discarded sword. But then there is a sudden sickening crunch of bone, and the Lannister soldier falls dead to the ground. His skull is mush in his helmet, blood pooling into the dirt below.

Arya glances up and her breath catches in her throat, because she did not expect this. He’s as tall and as broad as he’s always been, but he looks different, and she isn’t sure if it’s because he’s covered in dirt, blood and ash, or if its because of the stag sigil stitched into much finer leather armor than he’s ever worn.

He knocks his war hammer into his left hand and offers her his right, pulling her up with ease. She opens her mouth to thank him, to maybe quip sardonically that she had the guy, the way she might have when they were two children on the run. But, the words die in her throat because he’s pulled her to him, embracing her in a one armed hug.

It feels good which is ridiculous because they’re standing in the middle of a massacre, but she allows herself, just for a second, to revel in the feeling of his arm around her.

The moment is over as quickly as it began, as a voice calls, “Lord Gendry.”

She notices them then, a small circle of soldiers circle them, on guard for another Lannister or maybe a dragon. They bear the same stag sigil Gendry wears. Stormlanders. His men.

The thought of Gendry with his own men is almost laughable, and if the world wasn’t ending right now she might have, but Gendry pulls away from her and nods. “They’re burning the city down. The dragon queen’s army, they’ve...” he visibly swallows and she ridiculously wants to reach out and touch that place on his throat. Perhaps she’s delirious from the blood loss, but his words snap her to. She saw what the dragon queen’s army did. Saw what the northmen did. Did he -

“No one is massacring anyone on my watch,” Gendry says, as if reading her mind because of course he knows what she’s thinking. She smiles fondly and glances at his men.

“The gates of the city are blocked. We’ll have to find another way out.”

Gendry nods again, grips his hammer and says, “There is another way. Follow me.”

And his men don’t hesitate to follow. They follow him the way northmen followed father. The way they follow Jon. And Gendry is every bit a lord then. A storm lord. Perhaps, a rightful heir to the throne in another life.

You will marry a king and rule his castle...

She smiles at the memory. That’s not her. But, that’s also not him. He is Gendry, lord or not, and he’s followed her enough. She will follow him now.

Jon killed the dragon queen. Put a sword into her heart as they embraced. Or so she’s heard. It must be true, because the surviving dragon is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Jon.

She wanted to march into the dungeons where he was being held, dare her army captain to even try and stop her from rescuing her brother - cousin, but she doesn’t. Jon has chosen his fate. So has she.

She sits in the tent and cleans her sword. There is no need for battle right now, but she does it all the same. It calms her mind.

The city had nearly burnt to the ground with all it’s people in it. The dragon queen had taken the iron throne with fire and blood. Arya snorts. Old nan always said that history has a nasty way of repeating itself.

The tent pulls open then and Gendry makes his way in. He’s managed to clean his face a bit, but his leathers are still caked in ash and blood. In an odd way, it’s fitting. She wonders briefly if this was how his father might have looked, many moons ago. Tall, strong, dangerous. Handsome even.

“They’re looking for you,” he says, and she doesn’t need to ask. She’s in charge of what’s left of the Stark army now that Jon is incapacitated and Sansa’s in the north.

“They can wait,” she responds.

Gendry only nods and makes his way across the tent. She watches him as he rifles through a stack of letters on the makeshift desk and rolls her eyes. She didn’t realize he could read.

If he can, he must not understand what is in the scroll, because his face scrunches up the way it always does when he’s thinking hard, and it has her sighing and sheathing Needle before making her way over to him. She places out a hand and raises a brow.

Gendry rolls his eyes and huffs. “I’ve been a bloody lord for all of two moons. Haven’t really had time to learn the little things, now have I?”

Arya shakes her head, unimpressed. “You’ll have to do better than that, if you plan to rule a castle, Lord Baratheon.” It’s teasing, and it gets the proper response, because he’s smiling back at her, the first smile she’s seen since that freezing night in Winterfell.

“Yeah, Lord Baratheon. Can’t order me around now, can you, Lady Stark?”

“I never order you around.”

That earns a full chuckle form him. The sound is gentle, like music after all the screams and death.

“You’ve been a pain in my ass ever since we met. How’d you think I knew you were a rich girl? Always so bossy.”

She laughs, too, and it feels strange to be laughing in a place like this. After what they’ve just witnessed.

“Now you’re the one bossing around men.”

Gendry sighs. “Don’t bloody know why. I’m no war strategist. I’ve never lead anyone into anything before, much less a war. Felt like an idiot trying to convince a bunch of men I’d never met before follow me into battle under orders of a queen they didn’t acknowledge.”

“But they followed you,” She adds.

“Aye, some.” He runs a hand down his face and looks exhausted. She supposes they all are. “Not sure why they did it either.”

“I told you, you make a wonderful lord.”

He pauses and looks at her and she steels herself because this is it, this is when they’re going to discuss what happened in the Winterfell grain store what seems like ages ago.

“Aye, a wonderful lord. But, still an idiot.” He sighs again before falling heavily into a chair at the desk. “What I said that night...it was stupid. All these years, I’d like to fancy that I knew you better than I’d known anyone. You’re no lady, and you’d certainly never be mine.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t trust herself to say a word. She just kneels before him, touches his face the way she did that night. She studies him, taking in the new scars that litter his face. There’s one above his eyebrow, identical to hers, and dried blood crusts there. There’s another one on the left side of his jaw, deeper and still an angry red. She runs her finger along it gently, and he shivers beneath the touch.

“Arya,” its a whisper, almost a prayer, and she tilts her head up, kisses his sweetly. She won’t say it. She’s never been good at words. But, she tells him all the same, as she deepens the kiss, spilling all of the words and feelings that would never come out right if she tried. It is a confession. A proposal. An oath. But, he understands. He’s always understood.

He knows her better than anyone else.

#gendry x arya #gendrya #not sure where this came from #I need more gendrya in my life #sorry if this was crap

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cassiabaggins · 3 years

Text

First Born

A/N: Kiliel week has finally come to a close! I had a lot of fun writing these and I wanna say a special thank you to @anjhope1 for being an amazing beta reader and getting me out of more than one slump! I have a super short bonus story I might post as well if anyone is interested. Also, the character Minasel does not belong to me, she’s the creation of @deathlikessodaandpizza and I included her as a little treat. You can read her story here if you are interested! Again, thank you all for your help and comments! I hope you enjoy this final part!

First Masterlist

Wordcount: 3k

Tags: @anjhope1 @deathlikessodaandpizza @guardianofrivendell @myrin1234 @wettomatodude @lothloriien @annkdarar @artsywaterlily @hmmm-what-am-i-doing @drowingintheempty @estethell @claraofthepen @kilielweek

Warnings: pregnancy, implied smut

Summary: Kili and Tauriel prepare for the birth of their first child, only they can’t decide on a name!

"Kili," Tauriel says one evening. "I want a baby."

Kili, sitting on his desk across the room, immediately stiffens, his back going ramrod straight. Then, he slowly turns around and just… stares at her, his brown eyes as round as saucers. He doesn't say anything, just stares, and the resulting silence is almost suffocating.

Tauriel shifts awkwardly from foot to foot, waiting for him to say something. It seems like he might, a few times, opening his mouth, and then closing it, and then opening it again, but he never speaks. She bites her lip. Probably should have approached this more delicately. "Kili?" She asks. He starts, like her voice has snapped him back to reality.

"Sorry," he says, suddenly standing up, "I just… now?"

Tauriel nods determinedly. No backing down now. "Yes. Now. I'm ready now."

Kili blinks. Suddenly, he's closing the distance between them, throwing off his shirt, and kissing her all at once. Tauriel bursts out laughing and welcomes his enthusiasm- they know it will be a long night.

Upon waking the next morning, she immediately knows it worked. She can sense, somehow, a tiny life beginning to grow inside her. It's what Kili would call a 'spooky elf power', to just know, right away, but she just… does. She places her hand on her stomach and turns her head to look at her husband. Kili is a messy sleeper, as usual, all sprawled out, the blankets barely covering his naked body. He's matured past the young dwarf Tauriel met in Mirkwood, having grown into his body much more, thickening out from the gangly (for a dwarf) young idiot she fell in love with, a longer beard and several scars also being obvious indicators of the passage of time. Tauriel scoots closer to him and rests her head on his chest, the weight of it waking him. Kili tenses up in a stretch and a yawn, extending his arms above his head, and then wrapping them around her.

"G'mornin'," he mumbles, rubbing her bare shoulder with one large, rough hand and pressing a sleepy kiss to the top of her head.

"Good morning," she replies.

"Wha' time izzit?"

"Early. The sun has not yet risen."

"Amrâlimê," he groans, grabbing the edge of the blanket and yanking it up to his shoulder. "Why did you wake me up? I can sleep in today!"

Tauriel bites back a soft laugh, helping him by pulling the other edge of the cover up and gently rubbing his chest. "I did not mean to. I apologize."

He lets out a wordless grumble, rolling them both over so he's snuggled up against her front, face against her chest, arms around her middle, and legs tangled with hers. "You're lucky I love you. Any other dwarf would protest quite heartily to an elvish witch waking them up before the sunrise."

"Elvish witch?" She asks with fake indignation.

Kili has the audacity to giggle in reply and she tugs at one of the braids that was left in his hair from yesterday. He lets out a shaky breath at that.

"I'm trying to sleep, witch."

"Are you?" She asks cheekily.

"Yes!" He untangles from her and rolls away to the very edge of the mattress, but Tauriel follows him, pressing her body up against his back.

"Kili," she whispers. "It worked."

"What worked?" He grumbles, trying to hide under the blankets. She chuckles and slides her arm around his middle, worming her hand under his arm until he lifts it to let her in.

"I'm pregnant," she murmurs in his ear. Kili goes still again. Then, he snorts.

"You're teasing me. You have no idea if it worked. Not yet at least."

"Oh, don't I?"

"Of course not. That's impossible."

"Mhm. Well. We could always try again, I suppose, just to make sure."

The speed at which he rolls over and on top of her is honestly impressive and she finds herself laughing into his mouth.

“I was being serious,” she says as they fall apart on the mattress, sweaty and sated. Kili looks over at her, wiping his bangs off his brow.

“What?”

“I was being serious. About being pregnant.”

Kili gapes at her, his eyes as wide as saucers. Then he sits bolt upright. “You were?!”

“Of course I was! Why would I joke about that?!”

“I don’t know!”

Kili covers his face. “Sweet Mahal. I’m going to be a father. Already. Y’know, I thought we’d have to try a few times at least! I didn’t think we’d get it in one go-- wait, how do you even know?!”

Tauriel props herself up on her elbow, thinking. “I don’t know. I just... do.”

He nods. “Fair enough.” He takes his hands off his face and looks at her. “We better start thinking about names.”

“Oh, we have time, meleth nin, don’t fret. We’ve a whole year to plan and get ready.”

“That doesn’t seem like enough time,” Kili mumbles.

“We did have several years before this,” She teases.

…

They don’t start thinking about names until a few months in, nor do they tell others about the pregnancy. The reaction from family and friends is ecstatic and the two of them are practically overwhelmed with well wishes and gifts and birthing advice and baby care tips. Tauriel finds herself quite glad that many of the dwarves are still cautious around her, especially when Cassia informs her bluntly that she very well might have perfect strangers come up to her and try to touch her belly the instant she starts showing. And that does not sound fun. Neither does the cravings or aches or morning sickness… For the most part, though, Tauriel is truly enjoying the experience of it. Her body is growing a tiny life! There is a baby inside her, living and developing and moving! She thinks it is beyond amazing and never passes up an opportunity to gush about it.

As the pregnancy progresses, they start thinking more seriously about names in between preparations. Kili has been insistent on a dwarven name, while Tauriel quite likes the idea of an elvish one.

"What are you thinking about?" She asks her husband one evening before bed. Kili is smoking his pipe and Tauriel is trying her best to knit a baby blanket. He blows a smoke ring thoughtfully.

"Names for our baby," he says. "I think it'll be a girl, so I've been thinking of girl names."

"Oh have you?" Tauriel asks, smiling. In her brief distraction she drops a stitch and frowns. This is harder than Dis and Cassia make it look.

He nods. "It’s tradition for the Durin line to give lasses names that end in "-is". My mother is Dis, my sister is Rhís, my great aunt was called Frís, and so on." He takes another drag from his pipe, his eyebrows furrowed in a way that lets Tauriel know he's been thinking quite hard about this.

"What have you come up with?" She queries, carefully unravelling and fixing her mistake.

"Eydís," Kili says. "It means 'good fortune' and she'll be our little treasure. What do you think?"

Tauriel frowns and lowers her knitting into her lap. "Well..." she says but is interrupted as Kili points his pipe at her in a joking manner.

"You don't like it,” he declares.

Tauriel hems and haws, not wanting to hurt his feelings. It’s a nice enough name, but not exactly what she had in mind.

"It's not that I don't like it, I just… I've gotten rather attached to the name Minasel."

Kili squints. “Minasel? What does that even mean?”

“It means tower of stars. I was thinking, since I want her to rise above all opposition…” She trails off, seeing the unimpressed look on Kili’s face, feeling anger flare. “Well! It’s better than Eydis!”

The argument about names does halt for the entirety of the pregnancy, Tauriel will say how little Minasel is being especially active today, or Kili will rub her belly and ask how little Eydis is that day, and from there the same repetitive argument will begin again. Both parents are exceedingly stubborn, and if one would give in, the other would have to give in just on principle and argue that the other name was much better than their idea. “No, really, it's a lovely name!” One will say. And the other will reply, “Well, I like the name you picked better!” And then they'd be right back at square one.

"What if you never decide on a name?" Fili asks one evening. The two brothers and their families are having a day off together, gathered in the large sitting room in the royal apartments. Kili shrugs.

"Then we hope the baby is a boy," he replies.

"And if it's not?"

Kili frowns. "Uhm…"

"How did you come up with the names for your children?" Tauriel asks her brother in law. “Didn’t you two ever argue about that?” Fili, bouncing his middle child, a lad named Kirin, on his knee, shrugs.

"Not exactly. Cassia's only request was our first daughter be named after her mother, and mine was that our first son be named for Thorin."

"What if you never have a daughter?" Kili challenges, "what then?"

"She thinks we will."

"I know we will!" Fili's wife, Cassia, enters the room, holding the littlest child in her arms. The infant, named Arnin, has just woken up from his nap, and blinks sleepily at them all over her arm, sucking on his fingers. "I just have a feeling our next will be a girl."

"After three boys?" Tauriel asks. Cassia sits down beside her friend and hands her the infant. Tauriel coos at him and tickles his stomach.

“I want at least eight children,” the Queen says, leaning back in her seat. “I’ve decided.”

"Eight?! You already have a preposterously large family with less than half that number!" Kili splutters.

“It’s how many she wants,” Fili says, as if that’s a perfectly valid reason.

"Nuncle Kili?" Fili and Cassia's oldest, Thorin, tugs on his uncle's pant leg. He had been playing on the floor. "What does proptserisly mean?"

"Preposterously," Kili corrects him gently, bending down to be at his level. "It means absurd or foolish."

"Oh. Are we pre...pre… prepops…"

"Preposterous?"

"Yes. Are we?"

"Indeed," Kili says, scooping him up into a hug. "Beyond a doubt!"

Thorin giggles and hugs him. "Mama!" He shouts, "we're propsterus!"

Cassia gives him a blank look. She hadn't been listening, busy talking with Tauriel. "Are we?"

"Nuncle Kili said so!"

“Kili, stop teaching him long words he can’t pronounce,” Fili says as Kili sets Thorin back down. The child runs to his mother and climbs into her arms.

“I’m improving his vocabulary!”

“Kili, he’s barely nine, when is he ever going to use the word preposterous?”

Tauriel laughs as the brothers argue, stroking Arnin’s curly hair. “If our baby is anything like this little pebble, I don’t think we have any cause to worry about them taking after Kili.”

Cassia fakes a shudder of horror. “Another Kili, running around causing havoc? That’s awful!”

The two of them giggle.

The months pass all in a rush, but also nowhere near fast enough and near the end Tauriel is well and truly fed up with being pregnant and Kili is desperate to meet his child.

The day of the birth, Tauriel goes into labor in the very early morning, and Kili sprints off to fetch the midwife. His mother and sister in law come to help with the birth. He is permitted to give his wife a kiss but is then promptly booted out the door to spend the time with Fili and his boys in their apartments, waiting with bated breath.

“Would you sit down and relax?” his brother says, blowing a smoke ring from his pipe.

“No! I cannot! I don’t know how you can expect me to sit down and relax when my wife is giving birth!” Kili shoots back and continues to pace. Fili raises an eyebrow at him.

“You’ll be pacing like that for a long time.”

“How long, adad?” Thorin asks sleepily, leaning against Fili’s side. He had awoken from the commotion of Cassia leaving and, despite the early hour, had been too excited to go back to bed, so Fili had permitted him to stay up.

“It depends,” he says, rubbing Thorin’s head. “It took all day for you to be born, so probably about the same.” The lad groans.

“All day?! But I wanna meet the baby now!”

“So does your uncle, but we’re all going to have to wait.”

After about half an hour, Thorin drops off to sleep and Fili tucks a blanket around him before walking over to stand next to his younger brother. “Here,” he says, offering his pipe. “You need this.”

Kili takes the pipe and inhales, letting the pipeweed calm his nerves and still the shaking in his hands.

“How long has Tauriel been having pains?” Fili asks, “Do you know?”

“She said she was beginning to feel it when we went to bed last night. She didn’t want to sleep but told me to.” Kili chews worriedly at the end of the pipe. “I feel like I should be there, helping her or something! I’ve never seen her in so much pain, Fi! Her face,” he waves his hand in front of his own, “was just white. I want to help her, Fili! I need to help her!” Kili cries, before placing his head in his hands.

“You’d probably get in the way if you tried,” Fili says bluntly. He places his hands on his brother’s shoulders and the weight grounds Kili, “Nothing will happen to her, she’ll be fine. You just have to relax.”

Kili looks up at Fili. “Are you sure?” He asks nervously. Fili nods.

“Of course I’m sure. Tauriel is one of the strongest people I know.” He pauses. “Don’t tell Dwalin I said that, though. He’d get indignant.”

That manages to make Kili let out a soft laugh, the tension in his shoulders fading away. Fili is right. Tauriel will be fine.

After what seems like an age, Cassia returns to fetch Kili and bring him to Tauriel. Right before he enters the room, he stops on the threshold, suddenly nervous. His sister in law turns back to him when she notices he’s not beside her anymore. She trots back to him and frowns, giving him a little shove toward the door.

“Are you going in or not? Go! Go see your wife!” Kili stumbles through the doorway and hurries into the room. Tauriel is sitting up in bed, holding a little bundle. She looks exhausted, her face drawn and her forehead sweaty, but her sunlight smile is beaming across her face. She is clearly happier in this moment, despite her pain and weariness, than she has ever been before.

"Would you like to meet your daughter?" Tauriel asks him. Kili is at her side in an instant, nodding. As he moves across the room, he vaguely notices the midwife and his mother off in the corner doing something, but he doesn't exactly care about them. He only cares about his wife and his newborn child. He sits on the edge of the bed and Tauriel leans against his shoulder, moving the blanket slightly so Kili can clearly see the face of his firstborn. The little baby has his eyebrows and nose and a full head of dark red hair, and tiny, pointed ears.

“Hello there,” he whispers, reaching out and touching that miniscule nose. The baby murmurs a bit in her slumber, her eyebrows drawing down in a surprisingly intense glare for a newborn. Kili feels tears burn at the back of his throat.

“Isn’t she perfect?” Tauriel says, smiling down at the baby, “Our little Minasel.”

Kili looks up from admiring his newborn daughter with a frown on his face. “Minasel?”

“Doesn’t it fit her perfectly?”

“But I wanted to name her---”

“Are you two still fighting over that?” Dis sighs, turning around. “Here, Kili, this is Eydis.”

Quite suddenly, Kili is being handed a second baby. Luckily, he’s held his nephews enough to know exactly how to position his arms and support her head and he does so almost on instinct. This baby is smaller than Minasel, completely bald atop her head, but just as is typical of dwarven babies, has a beard, soft and strawberry blonde.

“Twins?!” Kili shouts. “We had twins?!” Minasel and Eydis, startled by their father’s loud voice, burst into tears.

“Kili!” Tauriel and Dis scold, scrambling to quiet Minasel while Dis takes Eydis back to calm her.

“Sorry!”

Soon, the babies are quieted, sleeping peacefully. The midwives finish their work and leave the new parents alone to bond with their children. Somewhere along the line, Kili and Tauriel had traded babies, and Kili is now holding Minasel. Tauriel is nursing Eydis (another thing that isn’t as easy as it looks) and Kili carries his eldest daughter over to the window to get a better look at her. She squints hard when the sunlight hits her face, screwing up into that glare again, and then slowly blinks open her eyes. Kili’s breath catches in his throat. “Hello,” he whispers. Minasel squints at him, then opens them wider. “She has my eyes,” he says softly to Tauriel and draws his daughter up to give her a gentle kiss on the forehead. She sighs and sinks back into peaceful sleep.

“I’m glad she does,” Tauriel says, “I love your eyes. Eydis hasn’t opened hers, yet.”

Kili comes over to the bed. The smaller baby has finished nursing and is now laying peacefully in Tauriel’s arms, her eyes still squeezed shut. He sits down beside his wife and leans against her shoulder. “Can you show us your eyes, Eydis?” he whispers. To both their surprise, she squirms a bit and then blinks slowly. Her eyes are brown as well— wide, curious, and bright. She yawns hugely and makes a little noise that melts both their hearts. Kili beams.

“They both have my eyes!” He says happily.

“They do indeed,” Tauriel replies. “Here, why don’t we lay them next to each other?” She carefully sets Eydis on the bed and pats the space next to her tiny body. Kili lays Minasel down in the open space, and both babies immediately curl together as if they are still in the womb. Kili looks up and Tauriel with a tearful smile.

“They’re perfect,” he says. Turning to his wife, he smiles softly, “You’re amazing, amrâlimê.”

She blushes a bit. Even after nearly a decade of marriage he still manages to fluster her with his sweet words. “Thank you, meleth nin,” she says.

He leans forward and kisses her gently.

“Thank you for loving me,” she whispers and he smiles against her mouth.

“As if I could do anything less, my starlight.”

“That’s new,” she laughs.

“Aye, trying something out. What do you think?”

“I think ‘Starlight’ would better fit our little Minasel,” she replies honestly.

“I think so too, but what about Eydis?”

“She’s a little gem, isn’t she?”

“Ithtir and Ibinê,” Kili says softly. Tauriel gives him a confused look.

“I’m sorry?”

“Those can be their secret names, Ithtir and Ibinê, ‘Bright Star’ and ‘Little Gem’. Don’t you think they fit?”

Tauriel looks down at the twins, a soft smile on her face and sighs happily.

“They’re perfect.”

#kiliel #kilielweek #kiliel week #kilielweek2021 #kiliel week 2021 #kili #tauriel #my writing #fili #fili x oc #cassia baggins #the hobbit #the hobbit fanfic #lotr #tolkien

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magalidragon · 3 years

Text

Silent Shadows | Chapter 14: the journey | a teaser

"How are things with you and Arsehole?"

That was pretty not at all subtle. She rolled her eyes. "Arsehole?"

Arya shrugged. "He's been a total toolbox the last few days, I wanted your take on why." She wagged her tongue and eyebrows. "You not putting out or something?"

"Arya!"

"What? Maybe he just needs to get laid."

She rolled her eyes, her turn now to be irritated. She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back against the exam table, wrestling with telling Arya the full truth. It wasn't like she didn't know. By now, six months after she'd gone to Essos for her surgery, things had shifted, enough so that the ones closest to her and Jon were fully aware of them.

It had gone around town rather quickly, the vet moving in with the deaf wolf owner. It took a few months, her possessions slowly migrating from the apartment above the office to Jon's house-- their house-- until one morning Jon just asked her flat out if she wanted to move in. He had been very Jon about it all.

He was brushing his teeth, while she washed her face, side-by-side sinks, very domestic, and after he spit out the toothpaste, met her gaze in the mirror and signed: "Do you live here now? If not, you should." Then he turned around and walked out.

Dany raked her fingers through her hair, letting it fall out of the messy braid she'd tugged it into that morning, in a rush to get out and to the clinic in time for her first appointment. The distance between the house and the clinic had been the only thing she didn't much care for when it came to moving in with Jon. She began to rebraid her hair, quietly speaking to Arya. "It's jus tbeen hard, the last few months."

"I know," Arya murmured.

They were referring to Ghost's attack, the terrifying moment when they thought that all would be lost. She had been more scared than any moment in her life combined, focusing on every ounce of training in her bones, healing the animal that gave her loved one his voice. Without him, Jon could not speak, and with everything else in their life, losing Ghost was not an option.

Thank the gods that had not happened, he was recovering well, still weak and slow, but healing. So was Jon, his heart having been ripped from his body at the sight of his beloved companion bleeding in the snow, and lying in the operating room while she stitched him together. They had been through too much to let it get to them, but it had been exhausting.

Six months of constant upheaval, they were still there. She figured Jon was allowed a few days to be an arsehole, even if it pissed off Arya. "I told him I didn't want to do another round yet," she mumbled, digging her toe into a groove in the tile. It was aged, desperately needing replacing, just another thing on her 'to do' list.

Coat rustling, Arya moved back from the window, and went over to stand next to her, lightly touching her hand. "I'm sorry," she mumbled.

"It is what it is, you know?" The surgery had been successful, Mel said, removing scar tissue and other adhesions, and so with the first round they hoped it would take, but she was prepared for the worst. It hadn't, which had been devastating for them both.

She blamed herself for getting Jon's hopes up too. He was all in, from the moment he'd appeared in that hospital hallway to the way he'd 'artfully' proposed he'd be her donor. They didn't speak much about another round, until two months later, and that hadn't worked. This time she was saving up for another go, knowing Jon could afford it but not wanting his trust fund to be depleted because her stupid body couldn't do the one thing that it should do as a female.

Arya quirked her lip. "It just isn't time. Ghost's attack, moving in together...perhaps it's for the best right now."

"Yeah, I tell myself that too." They didn't bother to prevent it, didn't stop, but she was growing weary of 'scheduling' their lovemaking to when it was most conducive to pregnancy. She chewed her bottom lip, thinking of the box that was in her bag, waiting for when she went home, just in case. She was late. Maybe this time...

She didn't want to tell Arya just yet. She didn't even want to tell Jon. Sometimes she didn't even want to tell herself. It was a constant struggle. She chewed on her bottom lip a moment and then forced a smile, when Arya gave her a furrowed frown. "I'm fine," she lied.

"Uh-huh."

Of course Arya would not believe her. She was so protective. It was a blessing and a curse. She patted her hand, reassuring. "Seriously. Things will be fine. We're also getting used to things."

"Like what? Can I help? Gendry moving in with me was the weirdest thing ever. I thought I knew all his strange habits but then..." Ayra shuddered. "Men."

Dany laughed. She shrugged and knelt down to pet Lady, needing something to do with her hands. "Oh just all kinds of things. I had to get a sleep mask for his light alarm. Learning how to approach him so I don't scare him. Sometimes the silence can be a lot. I don't watch much TV but it's odd."

"He doesn't care about that, you know."

"I know, but I do." There were also the flashing lights on the microwave, the oven, and some other assistive devices she hadn't realized were even there until she moved in. Strobe lights in place of smoke and carbon monoxide detectors. Red blinking light over the door if someone was there, motion detected. There was also a vibrating device in the bed, she'd discovered, that could be hooked up to alarms to wake him, but he didn't use it.

"Freaks me out sometimes," he signed, when she asked why not. He smiled lecherously. "But we can find an alternative use for it."

Jon, always the resourceful one.

She clipped Lady's leash to her harness, standing and passing it over to Arya. "Then there's just the weird habits. You're right, men are weird."

"Jon has to be the weirdest."

"I don't know about that, but he does have some quirks." He hated laundry, waited way too long to do it, and it drove her insane. There was also the way he sometimes 'pretended' not to hear when she knew damn well he'd seen her signing, feigning surprise when she asked why he wasn't 'listening.' Usually when it was related to chores. Otherwise they had settled into a routine.

Arya walked out of the room with her, allowing Lady to lead the way to the door. "Well if you ever need a drink, let me know. Tormund misses you."

"I know, I have to stop by and see him."

"Rickon also says he wrote a song about you, he wants to send it to you, but needs your email." Arya rolled her eyes. "I shudder to think what he says in it."

Dany laughed. She liked Rickon and it seemed Rhaegar did as well. He had connections to the music industry in Essos and was looking into getting RIckon's band a few gigs. "I'll let Rhae know."

"Your hottie brother is so weird."

"Ew! He is not a hottie!"

Arya shrugged. "Sansa has a crush on him, don't tell her I told you that."

Dany pretended to gag, opening the door for Arya and Lady. She gestured for her to leave, with a flourish. "And with that, I bid you farewell. I also need to burn out my eyes, because my brother is not hot." Annoying and melancholy, yes. Hot? No way.

"Whatever. I think he's hot."

"Arya!" She made a face, sticking out her tongue. "Well, then let me tell you that your cousin is super hot and kept me up all night long last night with his..."

"Ew! Shut up!" Arya slapped her hands over her ears, closing her eyes tight. "La, la, la, la!"

She smirked. "Two can play that game."

"Goodbye bitch."

"Later." She made another face and waved, Lady hopping off excitedly towards the truck. She leaned against the door frame a moment longer, watching Arya drive away. It was nice to have someone close. Someone to joke with when things got tough. Her friendship with Arya had been a constant for her to rely on during her time in the North, even during those hard times with Jon. Missandei was so far away. Even if Dany was still trying to convince her to move there, her best friend hadn't budged, citing the cold was too much for her.

After a few minutes, she closed the door and flicked the sign, closing up for the Friday afternoon. Gilly had already left, to go deal with some sort of school drama involving her sons. Dany finished up and did some paperwork, trying to distract herself from what lay ahead at home

#jonerys #jonerys au #my fics #my moodboards #jonerys fanfic #silent shadows #coming soon #a ‘look at me’ post as someone once called these

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bravo-four-seal-team · 3 years

Text

Demons and Help?||Part 1/2

Co-written/Proof read: @disasterfandoms

Summary: Ashley is finally in Virginia, battling her own Demons, what could go wrong with being out at 5am? She did not expect to run in to the people or person she’s been trying to avoid A/N: Trigger warnings added, torture mention, blood mention, argument, captivity mention. (yes I know its early in the morning)

Tag: @rebelwrites @chibsytelford @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @velvetcardiganbucky @supervalcsi @abby-splace @itsonautopilot @thegirlwhoisalwayswriting @pinkrockstar19 @softi92 @mrsmarvelous1995 @jayhalsteadfan-2417

“Tell me why you are in my country,” the figure asks, slowly walking around the area she was hanging from.

“For the view,” Ashley smirked, spitting blood to the floor, head snapping to the side as a hand connected hard with her cheek.

“Get the wires,” the figure smirked as another two men moved in. She knew it was a battery; she’d been through this for the past two days. “I give you one more chance to tell me,” the figure said.

Ashley spat in his face. “Bite me,” she snapped.

The next few minutes were agony. She screamed as the wires came into contact with her skin, leaving behind marks of where they were being placed. Wheezing when it finally ended, “Get her down” the voice snapped, her arms unhooked from above her, the pain shooting through her shoulder, she was dragged over to a tub head shoved under, again and again, each time she struggled, causing her to swallow more water. She would be held as she was repeatedly struck in the stomach, then her head shoved back under the water.

“She want to play savior, then we let her,” the figure laughed, selecting the whip on the table, the light reflecting off the metal shards in the leather. Ashley tried to break free as the whip was brought closer to her. Hands gripped her, holding her in place on her knees as the weapon came down on her back. She bit down on her lip, trying not to scream. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, her blood beginning to stain her back as the metal did its job in taking chunks out of her back. Eventually, she was thrown back into the small dark room, her hands bound.

Ashley woke with a jump, soaked in sweat, shaking, and breathing hard. The ticking of the clock seemed so loud. At 5 am, she was trying to calm herself down. The shaking began to subside, breathing calmed. She was back in Virginia, hiding out in her apartment, staring at the ceiling, her neighbors arguing again, something smashing against the wall. She kept replaying everything, she got Trent’s email, but she never opened it, too scared to see the ‘Don’t contact me again’ in the main body.

The notification there on her phone and laptop haunted her, beeping every so often to say she had something unread in her inbox. Sighing, she swung her legs off the couch, getting up, looking about the table, beer cans lying around. That made more sense. It has been two months since the email. Nightmares plagued her, but she was clear for deploying again; the next place would be the Philippines, on base, helping training, nothing too serious.

It took time for her to get ready. She was still stiff, pulling her shirt off the mirror, catching a reflection of the scars littering her back, still healing, slowly, eventually, she got washed, wrapped fresh bandages around herself then dressed in her civvies, grabbing her baseball cap, glaring at herself in the mirror. Her lip was stitched, that picture stuck in the corner of her brother and her, before she went off for her first deployment, quickly turning and grabbing her keys then leaving, door slamming behind her.

Food shopping for the next few days...no coffee, coffee first. She had returned yesterday, finally clear to fly home correctly, so didn’t have any food in the apartment, part of deploying, get rid of food that would spoil, she never saw the point of even buying any personal items, the place came with a sofa and bed anyway, along with a TV, all she needed to do pay the bills and rent and buy food.

“You know what, Trent, Fuck you! All you see is what she wants you to!”

“Ashley, you are out of line.”

“I thought you learned from the first one! Look what happened! Every single time I try to get to know them! They pull this shit!”

“Ashley C Sawyer! Enough!”

“No! You always believe what they feed you! Just like the first one, this one is spinning lies!”

“Are you shitting me? Watch where you are going, asshole!” Ashley snapped, eyes narrowed at the man who walked into her.

“What did you say bitch” he snarled.

“You hard of hearing or what?” Ashley countered, squaring up to the taller man, not in the mood to deal with anyone.

The man huffed and walked away, grumbling about psychopaths.

“Don’t even bother contacting me until you learn to grow up!”

“Oh, come on! You're gonna support her?! After what she just said?”

“Get the hell out of my life.”

“I’d rather die than be in your life, Trent. Good to know my brother doesn't even have my back!”

“Get the hell out!”

Pushing the door open to a small coffee shop, walking over to the counter, the Barista smiling and greeting her. “What can I get you?” the woman asked.

Ashley sighed “large, strong coffee with cream,” she said, getting her wallet out of her coat pocket, handing the money over. “Keep the change for whoever does not have enough to get something,” she stated; it was usual for her to say this as she took the to-go cup and left.

Phone beeping again, that unread email haunting her still and walking along the street thinking about what she needed to get. It was quiet. She was glad; no one was around this early in the morning. She could hear footsteps behind her. She went on full alert, moving to the side to let the person go.

As they ran by, she heard “Thanks!” being called back to her.

“Yeah, no problem,” she muttered, never looking up. Moving to continue to where she was going to go, she didn’t know where but walking around aimlessly customarily worked.

“Sawyer, you good?”

“I’m fine, Cole.”

“He responded, are you going to open it?”

“Knowing him, he’d respond to tell me how much Bullshit I spouted and to keep away from him.”

“You don't know that. People change.”

“Cole, keep out of this”

“You can’t avoid it forever. Better to open it at some point.”

“Better to ignore it than being crushed, Gunny.”

She walked down the street, hearing a couple up ahead, someone complaining about night shifts, the man chuckling, she couldn’t make out what he said, but again she stepped to the side, allowing them to go past.

What she did not expect to hear was the woman to speak up and say, “Ash?” her stomach dropped, head hung low, she couldn’t do this, trying to focus on not shaking, trying to hide her face. It was too early for this.

“Ashley,” that was Trent, now she needed to get out of there.

Why of all the days did it need to be the one morning she was dealing with her things?

“You look like hell,” Amelia said. “Are you okay?” she asked, and Ashley snorted. Was she okay? Three months in hell, now seeing the people she was trying to avoid for the majority of her life? No, she wasn’t okay. She was in a literal nightmare.

“Fine, just tryna get to the base,” Ashley lied with ease, glancing at the two. Trent still was not saying anything; he kept his expression neutral. He was trying to think what to say. He hadn’t received a response. He could see the way she held herself; he knows pain; he knows that haunted look she has all too well.

“Sorry, I ugh, gotta meet Cole for target practice,” Ashley mumbled, moving around them quickly. She needed to make sure she got away from them. Her chest was tight, her head hurt. She stumbled around a corner, making her way to a bench and sitting down, setting the coffee on the ground and leaning forward, head going between her knees, trying to calm herself down.

Trent had walked Amelia back to her apartment, with her telling him to talk to her and something was off. He agreed with her, not wanting to argue, memories of their previous fight still in his mind. He did not want to be on Amelia's wrong side again.

He walked back towards where they had seen Ash and then proceeded towards the way she had taken off. Glancing at the time, 6:30 am, which meant it would still be quiet. Walking the quiet streets, it wasn’t long before he located her. It was clear she had just got herself down from a panic attack, so he didn’t want to spook her.

“Ashley,” he called out. If she had reacted any quicker, she would have got whiplash.

“You good?” He asked, walking over. Ashley could be what many described as a deer caught in headlights. “Mind if I sit?”

Ashley shrugged, trying not to react. This is the one thing she wanted to avoid, looking ahead as Trent sat beside her. “Didn’t read it, did you?” he asked quietly, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward slightly.

“Didn’t have to, knew what it would say,” she whispered back.

“What would that be?”

“To keep away from you, people you know, and your life.”

He supposed he deserved that response; the argument was ugly. When things came to light about what happened, a year later, when wife 2 wanted a divorce, it was too late to repair anything.

“Ash, it never said that,” he says, looking out across the park. “You were one of them... one of the Marines captive?” he says, not getting a response. “Whole base heard about it; no names are given out to anyone not in the Marines. I was deployed at the time. Our base was chaos. The Marines on base were talking, whispering about what happened,” he sighs, “I expected to hear on the news you were dead,” he said calmly.

“That makes your life easier?” Ashley says, voice going cold, fist-clenching on her lap.

“No.” he sighed. “Would make life a lot harder. I got back from a spin up, lost a brother, then a few days later, you emailed. All I could think was that it was a joke, realized it wasn't. Amelia and I argued about it.”

“Why are you here?” She snaps; looking at him, he could see the extent of damage to her face. Her black eye is still healing from having her nose broken and set correctly, along with stitches and minor cuts littering her face.

“To make sure my baby sister is okay. If you had read the email, you would have seen me offering to meet you at the airport, along with wanting to help with your recovery-”

“I don’t need your help; done fine without it.”

Trent stood up, Ashley mentally preparing herself to walk away again, only for him to kneel in front of her. “What happened in the past happened, okay? We both said things we regret. I'm here now to help, and I can guarantee that Ames will help out as well,” he said, watching her reaction. “Got time for coffee, and I can wrap those wounds properly.”

Of course, he’d notice when someone hadn’t correctly changed dressings or wrapped their wounds properly. He deals with Bravo and them not treating injuries properly daily, so it was easy to spot. He was grateful it was warmer than it had been the past few days, so being outside for this long, he didn’t mind.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Ashley muttered, pulling her sleeves down. “Look, I’m not...I ain’t expecting you to play big brother Trent, or give a damn,” she muttered, tugging her cap down to try and hide her face more. She was not in the mood to be poked, prodded, or questioned.

“I don't need to play it when it's my job.” he states with a frown, “Come on, get up,” he said, carefully getting her up. “You look like shit. Have you been sleeping?”

“This is just my face, Trent.”

“You look exhausted. You’ll come back to mine. I can check those wounds, then you can grab some sleep after you take painkillers,” He said, frowning.

“Hell no, you aren't!” Ashley stated, her eyes going wide. “Not happening at all! No way,” she said, not moving from her spot. Shaking her head, she did not want anyone near the wounds on her back. She would keep those as quiet as she could. The look she was getting from her brother was telling her she would need to give him an answer as to why.

“Look, I just want to go to the range, go home, sleep, and get ready for a deployment in a few weeks, that's it,” she says, binning the cold coffee.

“Do you want to talk about what happened, Ash?” The SEAL asked, worried that she would end up worse if she shut down more than she already was. He finally got her moving, leading her to his truck.

“No, I don’t want to talk about it, not with you,” she states. “I got a shrink,” she lied. It was easier than saying, ‘oh yeah, goes from being tortured to you laughing at what happens at me.’

Ashley fell into a light sleep 5 minutes into the drive.

The water was dripping on the ground; she’s lying on her side staring at the door. She's tired of fighting. She wants to sleep, but when she sleeps, bad things happen. The metal door opened, men entering with weapons, another one entering and hauling her up, dragging her out.

Arms being hauled up over her head, the restraints being hooked onto the metal hook hanging from the ceiling.

“Shall we do this again” the man smiled. 2 months, 25 days, this had been going on. She’d begun learning to keep track of how many times she would be left alone, along with how the temperature dropped in the evening and warmer during mornings.

“Who are you?”

She was tired, mumbling “Marine Staff Sergeant Sawyer” everything was blurry. The dim light seemed brighter than anything she had seen. Her senses were being overloaded with different things: light, sound, the smell of decaying flesh.

“Very good,” the man smirked, looking at the tools on the table. “Why are your people in my country?” he asks, smacking her when she didn’t answer. “I asked you a question!”

“Dunno,” she muttered “why are we anywhere” she slurred, fighting to keep awake. Her body needed the rest to recover; she caught a glimpse of one of the rookies being dragged in, a gun being held to his head.

“Shall we try that again?” the man asked, the rookie pleading for his life, but when she didn’t, the gun went off, and the young man fell forward, blood beginning to form a puddle, lifeless eyes staring at her.

She ended up back in that small room. The dripping, she focused on that, zoning out, the screams of her teammates fading into the background.

Ashley woke with a jump as Trent turned off the engine. Running a hand over her face, she cleared her throat. Trent chose not to comment on it; he’s seen friends, brothers who suffered from sleepless nights, hell he had them himself, so he knew what it was like.

He still wished she had spoken to him before signing up. He couldn’t figure out why she would even want to join the Navy after seeing the type of injuries that could be sustained.

They remained quiet, Trent helping his sister inside, telling her to sit on the couch. She did so, the haunted look back in place. He was concerned about that. He wasn’t sure exactly what went down, but the stories circling base were all the same: unit ambushed, multiple dead, three alive. He moved to his office, walking to the shelf where he kept his kit then returning out. “Easier to get this over with, kid,” he states, surprised that she removed her jacket without a fight. “So, you spoke to Amelia a few months back. What do..you think of her?”

“Don't matter what I think.”

“Sure it does. You’re normally asking a bunch of questions that I can’t get you to shut up about.”

“That was past me; new me don't give two shits, head down don't ask questions.”

He was not expecting that response. Quite frankly, he wasn’t expecting her to be so shut down. Starting on her upper arms, he frowned, noticing the burns.

“Electrical?” he asked; at her nod, he just knew it was going to be worse.

“They don't like the ones who fight back, Clarkes got off light: a broken arm, a few broken ribs, was running a fever. Cole had about the same as me, just a bit better. I kept fighting: not giving information, get told not to. In the end, I was just tired.”

Trent made a mental note to speak to Amelia to see if she could spend a few hours with her; get to know Ashley better, see if she would open up more about what happened. “Nightmares keep you awake? It’s normal, you know, you can ask your doctor for some sedatives to get some sleep.”

“Allergic,” Ashley muttered, “Learnt that one the hard way after being sprung from the confines of hell.” She made a hissing noise, “Ow! Take it easy,” she snapped, jerking her arm away

“You haven’t been cleaning these, have you?”

“Medics on base did before we were sent home here,” she grumbled, glaring at the swabs he was using, and whatever the stuff was that was burning the wound, the last person to use that stuff got a broken nose as a reward.

“Stop being a baby.”

“Or what? Going to tell me to leave and not come back until I grow up?” she grumbled.

Trent stopped and looked up. “That was a low blow kid,” he said but left it; she was in pain. He was 100% sure he would call Amelia after she got a few hours of sleep to come over and help out with this situation.

The dripping of the kitchen tap is all Ashley could focus on.

‘He doesn’t hate you, you do know that, right? He told me stories about how you two were when he was still at home. You should reach out to him.’

That's all Ashley could think about from her conversation with Amelia. She frowned, the last person to probably ever see her alive; she should have listened, should have reached out to her brother; this could be her last moment alive, and she’d die without getting the chance to say sorry. To let him know she didn’t mean what she said.

As if on cue, the door opened: dragged out, chained, hung, beaten. This time they left her hanging there.

“He told me he worries he’s going to see your name in the obituaries one day, that he won’t be called when you die. You think if he hates your guts, he would be worried for you?” there was Amelia's voice in her head again, her mind creating an image of the woman leaning against the wall watching her as she spoke. It was like she wasn’t allowed to die in peace; what was so wrong with that?

Her arms and shoulders were killing her. They trick you into believing you have people who care, keep you fed and hydrated. They did it to Clarkes and Craig, who submitted to their tricks, thinking the men who offered the food were kinder people, but they weren't; they had given their names to them. Their beatings had stopped, but Ashley didn’t fall for their tricks. She’d heard enough about it, questioned SEALs who were on the base during her first few deployments about what not to do. She wasn’t going to let them break her, sure she gave up her rank and second name, but that's all they would get.

One man came back in. This person was different, new; she had never seen him before, he never spoke. His specialty was using a cattle prod in open wounds, making her scream out in agony.

“Ashley, I need you to focus on me.”

Looking around, she couldn’t find the voice.

“Ashley, you’re ok. Just focus on my voice. It’s safe.”

Trent.

Blinking, looking confused, “You with me?” she heard Trent ask. He was sitting on her right side now, dealing with the dressings there. She could see the concern in his eyes. She kept silent for a while, not wanting to talk about anything, just happy to be in her brother's presence without a fight hanging over them. She wasn’t sure how long it would last.

“I called Amelia. She’ll be by in a few hours. Want to tell me where your mind went?” he asked, finishing her right arm. “Need to look at your torso to see what needs to be done,” he calmly explained.

“I was back there,” she whispered, “I don’t like being there, but I always end up there, or the argument,” She states, not moving at all. “I don't want you seeing Trent. Base Docs can deal with it,” she mumbled, looking away from him.

“I have dealt with all types of injuries, Kid.” He sighs, watching her. This was the reason he never wanted her signing up. “I'm not going to judge,” was all he said, but Ashley shook her head. This was one thing she was determined to hide. Trent decided to leave it for now. “You still take your coffee with a shit load of sugar?” he asked.

“Strong with Cream, no sugar,” Ashley muttered. “I'm just gonna call a cab head to base.”

“No, you aren’t. You’re going to sit there or lay down and get some rest. When Amelia arrives, you let her check those wounds you won’t show me,” he stated. Removing the medical gloves and throwing them in the bin, he headed to the sink in the kitchen to wash his hands. “You know which people got you out?” he asks, putting the used medical supplies in the trash along with open packets.

“Marine Unit with a SEAL Team...Alpha think Gunny said,” Ashley was blinking to stay awake. Trent just sighed.

“Kid, get some rest. We’ll talk about everything once you can keep your eyes open.” He walked back over, getting her to lay down. He shook his head at the fact she had pretty much passed out, then unfolded the blanket at the back of the couch and placed it over her. He would talk about everything, though right now, he’d need Amelia's advice on it all.

#Seal Team #Trent Sawyer #OC: Ashley Sawyer #tw: blood #tw: injury #tw: torture #tw: hints of arguments #tw: swearing #tw: nightmares #Sawyer Siblings #B4writes #ao3 series

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myreaderacademia · 3 years

Text

Debutante

H/N = Hero Name

Dabi x Female Reader

No set time line / One night stand

“Well, this is an interesting turn of events,” Dabi’s boot pushed against the elevator door halfway up, the long limb bent slightly at the knee, his back to the wall to test the strength of it, “Trapped in this tiny little box with Miss Debutante Hero” Teal eyes slid over to the woman in the corner of the lift and his lips pulled into a mocking smirk, “How’s your day going?” He swung his arm over his body, smoothly moving until he was able to place both his hands on either side of her head, caging her in, getting well into her space, and making her visibly flushed.

Just like the last time he had had her cornered.

Only that time had been different. She hadn’t been running around in a costume trying to play hero and he hadn’t been on a mission for the League. The woman also didn’t seem to recognise him under the flickering fluorescent tubes above - he could play with that for a little while. “Heya, I’m a Villain… the blue fire guy; what’s your name, princess?”

Y/N’s eyes widened in disbelief at his casual manner and how easily she was caught.

This wasn’t how her first mission was supposed to go, she was supposed to catch the bad guy, smile for the cameras, announce herself to the world and get her commission pay. Instead, she was trapped in the two-man lift of an underground car park - which was on fire - with a man who sounded vaguely familiar. Perhaps she had seen him on the news? She would surely remember his scarred face and the staples keeping him in one piece.

In her haste to prove herself a capable hero, Y/N had charged after Dabi and away from her boss, she chased him toward the lift and in her haste, she had overshot her ability and damaged the lift. The entire thing had dropped a few feet and the doors were barred.

And now, her mark was mocking her.

“H/N.” Her jaw tilted upwards as she tried to face him with a defiant glare, “That’s all you need to know…” The bravado lasted all of a second before he leaned in, his face barely an inch from hers. His head tilted from left to right as he examined her face, the way his pretty turquoise eyes dipped down and then slowly dragged up her body made Y/N completely aware he was checking her out. “Stop it!” She shoved at his chest and he obligingly stepped back.

The corners of his mouth quirked upward and he licked his lips, “Stop what, princess?”

She wanted to tell him to stop looking at her like she was a three-course meal to a starving man - Only… she wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t mind him taking a bite. “Breathing, stop doing that, okay?” His grin did nothing to make her feel better about any of this and Y/N risked turning her back on him to try and pry the doors apart; he hadn’t tried to hurt her yet.

“You really are naive…” Dabi murmured and then said a little clearer, “That’s not going to work, we’re stuck and have two options; Call for a hero or pass the time having some fun.” He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled up toward the ceiling for help. His voice echoed around them and he shrugged, “Would you look at that… maybe we don’t rank on their score system to be saved? If only there was someone to save us, Y/N.”

“H-” the woman turned to face him, her furrowed brow and narrowed eyes doing nothing to perturb Dabi’s amused face, “How do you know my name?”

Her hand clutched at his wrist, ignoring the rough skin easily in her need to get his hand inside her clothes and his fingers inside her, “S-stop messing with me!” A moan finally escaped her as he bit into her throat, “Dabi!”

“Oh come on,” he drawled and stretched his arms above his head, his fingers brushing the ceiling and his white top rising to let her glimpse his body, “It’s not the first time I’ve had you in a small space, you could at least remember the name I had you moaning so sweetly to the moon.” A flicker of realisation crossed her expression and she looked away from him just as fast. “That’s cold, princess. That nightclub was boring until you came along and perked up my night.” He used his foot to push off the wall and caged her once more, closer this time, his body pressing into hers as his lips grazed along her jaw. “Say it for me, Y/N.” the metal stitches scraped her throat ever so slightly as his hot breath on her neck made her shiver.

“I don’t…” Her protest was as weak as her resistance to the memories warming her body.

“You know my name,” he felt her breath hitch when his tongue slid across her jugular; followers by the graze of his teeth. “You mewled it - moaned - it every, single, thrust inside your tight body. You were so fucking wet, princess. Getting wetter each time I let you cum over my cock.” Dabi’s hands gripped her hips and forced her to turn around, pushing her into the doors of the lift, and then pulled her ass flush to his groin. “Feel that? You got me all stirred up. I’m getting hard just thinking about your greedy hole squeezing and clenching around me.”

With his lips by her ear and his hand sliding down between her legs, Y/N barely managed to keep his name from slipping out of her mouth. She had had a little to drink the first time she met him, the flashing lights of the club had obscured his features and the music has made his voice hard to hear - his hands had done all of the talking until they had found their way to the alleyway beside the club. Their mouths and tongues had been preoccupied and his hard length stretching her open had made it difficult to remember his face. She felt her thighs part for him, the material of her costume dulled his touch and made her want to whine.

“Had I known you were a hero I might have gone so easy on you.”

“There we go!” Y/N could hear the grin in his words, “My name sounds good out of your pretty mouth - ‘Dabi, harder!” His voice was breathy, a poor imitation of her, “‘ Yes, right there, fuck me, Dabi, Dabi!’” His hips rolled forward against her ass and he growled against her skin, “I wanna burn this costume right off of you, hypocrisy doesn’t suit you, princess. Why sacrifice your body for strangers when you can just let me plunge right inside you, fuck you open until your quivering around my cock; begging and mewling my name…”

Pressing her forehead against the metal door, Y/N grit her teeth and tried not to bear down into his hand too desperately, “You talk too much.”

“You like it. You know what else I think you would like?” Dabi’s other hand left her hip and massaged her breast, “I think you’d like it if I grabbed your thighs and forced them open whilst I fuck you hard and deep. Just imagine it, Y/N, I’m rearranging your guts, your cum dribbling out, down my balls and onto the floor, then those doors open right up so the whole world can see - what a hell of a debutante you’d be!”

“D-Dabi…” A sudden bang from the other side of the door made her jump, her legs closed and she used both her hands to try and get his hand away from her, “Get off me!”

“I got you this time, princess,” His hands reluctantly left her breast and the heat between her thighs to put pressure on her windpipe as he twisted her arm behind her back. “I expect you to pay me back for saving your career.”

The doors were wrenched open by an unseen quirk and they were faced with police and what he assumed to be Y/N’s boss, “Stand back or I’ll cremate this wannabe hero!”

He was never going to let her live this down.

#reader #dabi #LOV #bnha #mha #dabi x reader #there is consent here

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 3 years

Note

PLS i just read amnesia au ethan i need a part 2???? does his memory of y/n come back???

Part 1

Warnings: angst, language

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"It's pretty cool, right?!" Ethan's hopeful smile made her melt, even more so when he kinked his eyebrow like he does when he's trying to be cute. He never really had to try, her was always cute in her opinion.

"Well, yeah, but a sun? I thought we agreed you'd get meaningful tattoos, not things that look cool." She brushed his ribcage with the tips of her fingers, gingerly so she wouldn't hurt him.

Ethan held his breath as he felt her touch, he always does. It's an instinctual thing, she always steals his breath away. For the longest time, Ethan wondered if she were but an angel sent to keep his head above water. He feared she's just going to disappear from his life, from his memory once she saved him from darkness, from himself.

"It's the most meaningful one I got in a long time." Ethan's sincerity halts her heart, stopping her in her tracks. Looking up, her doe eyes meet his solemn gaze and she could have sworn she found a sliver of heaven in him. If he's not a part of heaven, she didn't want heaven at all.

"What's it about?" Her voice is shaky, her lips parted just enough for her to draw short, shallow breaths.

"You. You're my sunshine in the darkest days. You're the most meaningful person in my life."

Hollow and alone, she tried to forget the heartache. As busy as she kept her mind, memories always found their way in. It's impossible to forget the way Ethan made her feel, even though she wished to God she could.

"Will you come back to the hospital. He might be ready to see you."

Grayson wasn't giving up easily either. He'd call every day, he'd send updates and photos, but Y/N never opened any. She couldn't see him. Too much pain would drive her insane and Ethan is the source of it.

"He's having a really bad day. The doctors say he'll need a lot of physical therapy to get his left side working again, but he's really frustrated. Could you come and help me?"

She wished she could. She wanted to be ther every step of the way, but to face him and see the way he looked at her again? The disgust and hatred in his eyes as he deemed her to be nothing more but an insane fangirl ripped her apart.

"He's asked about you. His memories are fuzzy, but he remembers kicking you out that day. I told him who you are and he's been watching your photos and videos on his phone for a week now."

She finally paused, sitting down before her knees give out. Listening to the voicemail had made her chin quiver and eyes fill with tears. The hole inside her chest opened, whatever healed was once again an open wound and the stitches she placed on her heart in order to survive had ripped.

Staring at her phone, she wondered if seeing Ethan would be a smart idea. She missed him more than words could say, more than she believed was humanly possible. Missing him was made worse by knowledge he was hurting too. She knew he must have taken it hard, losing function of the left side of his body, more so since he is left handed. She wanted to help, she did. But who will help her if it all comes crashing down again.

Feeling the metallic taste of blood in her mouth, she frowns. She didn't even realize she was biting her lip.

Looking down at the E letter on her charm bracelet, she sighs. If there is a chance that Ethan would want to see her, no matter how minuscule, she had to take it. For her sanity.

So, sooner than she expected, she found herself back in the hospital with cold, shaky hands gripping her bag filled with scrapbooks she made throughout their relationship.

"Grayson." She breathes out as she notices him waiting for her at the door. "I missed you."

In moments, she found herself engulfed in Grayson's arms. He doesn't even smell like himself anymore, he smells like disinfectant. He smells like a hospital.

"I told him you'd come to see him." Grayson clears his throat, "He wasn't against it."

Raising an eyebrow, she shrugs, "But he wasn't for it either."

"He needs time, Y/N/N. I mean, he did remember your last name all on his own." Grayson smiles as her eyes flood with unshed tears.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think he's excited to see you again, he's just told stubborn to admit it." Grayson places a hand on the small of his back as he leads her through the hallways, to an entirely different ward than before.

Soon, she could see Ethan sitting on the bed, his back turned to them. She didn't really know what to say or do, all she knew was how much she needed him with her. So, she let her feet carry her to him.

"Hi." She spoke, her voice muffled through the mask but he heard her.

Ethan turned to her, his eyes a little darker and sadder than before, but she didn't break under his gaze. His hair was much shorter too, a visible scar on his head showing where they made the cut to save his life.

"Hi." He croaks, clearing his throat only to repeat himself. "Hi."

"I, uh, don't really know what to say." She smiles. He could tell she smiled.

"Just don't treat me different. Okay? I'm still me." Ethan looks away, down to his hands folded in his lap.

"I won't." She nods, stepping toward him. "I missed you." She continues as he flinches with the words like they hurt him physically, "Maybe it's too much to say, but I did."

Chuckling dryly, Ethan glanced at her, "Maybe treat me a little bit differently. Like when we first met."

Pulling down her mask, she licks her lips before smiling. She had not even left her apartment since the last she saw him, she figured it would be safe. "You kissed me before you even knew my name. That might not be the best way to go about it."

"I did?" Ethan pales, wondering what the hell made him do that.

Nodding, Y/N chuckles, "And you got slapped for it. But it was a dare, as you later admitted."

"I sound like a dick." Ethan sighs, reaching for a cup of water.

"You kinda were." Her tone is light but her smile falls. She can tell he is struggling to take the cup, his hand isn't open and his fingers aren't exactly moving the way they're supposed to do and before she realizes it, she's there, helping him take the cup by opening his hand.

She made a mistake.

"DON'T!" Ethan shouts, pushing the glass over on the floor, the water spilling over. "I'M NOT AN INVALID!"

"I'm sorry", she tried but he was too lost in his own anger to truly hear her apologize.

"This was a mistake! You shouldn't be here!" Ethan turns away from her, livid with her actions and while she knows she did nothing wrong, it felt like someone punched her in the gut.

"I just wanted to help." She raised her voice ever so slightly, enough for him to snap.

"WELL YOU CAN'T HELP ME! STOP FEELING SORRY FOR ME AND STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE I'M YOURS BECAUSE I'M NOT!"

Swallowing thickly, she stepped back. Nauseous and lightheaded, she felt as if her heart would break. You can die of a broken heart, it's scientifically proven, and her heart has been breaking for weeks now. She can feel it ache deep behind her ribcage, beating a desperate rhythm: love me, love me, love me.

"I don't know how to look at you differently." She gives him a tight lipped smile, tears from her eyes flowing freely and he couldn't help but soften at the sight of them.

"I can't be who you want me to be."

Wiping her tears she shakes her head, "I know."

PART 3

#dolan twins #ethan dolan #grayson dolan #ethan dolan x reader #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan angst #ethan dolan fanfiction #ethan dolan fic #ethan dolan fanfic

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littlefreya · 4 years

Text

The Way to Hell - Part 4

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

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

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

Pairing: August Walker x OFC (Ingvild)

Word count: 6K

Warnings: Explicit Smut, dark themes, male/female masturbation, bodily fluids, mentions of sexual encounters, dirty words, sexual threats. It’s August, he’s the baddest of bad boys!

A/N: Soooooo this chapter was fun to write, I hope you guys like it :)! Thanks @agniavateira for being my editor and my emotional support!

Title: Memento Mori

Funny, he’s never seen someone drown in icy water before. With her injury and massive blood loss, the struggle doesn’t last longer than a minute. This is beyond her natural survival instincts, gradually her muscles give up, running stiff as the blood in her veins chills.

August stares with rapt. Not once did the Valkyrie scream for help, or even begged him to save her.

Truth be told, it kinda pisses him off as much as he finds it admirable.

‘Such a strong-willed girl. Would be a shame to rid the world of her so soon.’

“Whatever,” he mutters and carefully steps toward the crack in the ice. His hands hoist the body up before she sinks below the surface. With water in her lungs and her muscles rigid, she’s impossibly heavier.

A red path of blood tarnishes the ice as he drags her body toward the edge of the lake. There is no urgency in his behaviour, relaxed he kneels to stare at the lifeless woman and wonders if in her hubris this is how she believed this day will end.

Her skin is pale blue, lips dark purple. Drained out of wit and life, those delicate Scandinavian features look like something out of a fairytale and he muses whether a kiss will wake her up.

It won’t make any difference to the world if she’s dead or alive, it certainly won’t make any to August Walker.

His digits stroke her frozen cheek, sensing the skin is stretched over the hardened muscles. He tilts her head up and presses at the hollows of her cheeks to force her lips open. For some reason, he thinks of a different dead girl, though they are nothing alike.

Planting his mouth over hers, he breathes oxygen into her lungs. Her chest rises, filling with the air he breathes into her. He repeats the process four times and then begins compressing her heart, watching her corpse lie peacefully on the snow.

Never in his years of service had he needed to perform CPR on another person. It’s not as melodramatic as shown in the bullshit movies he’s seen; no one’s shouting “C’mon girl! Breathe!!!” and hits her chest in despair. The owls and bats that chant between the large trees and the wolves howling at the moon from a distance couldn’t care less if Ingvild, whatever her-last-name-is lives or dies.

On the contrary, they’ll be thrilled to eat her eyes out.

He pauses on his attempt to resuscitate her and watches as no change appears in her face. His hands rest in the air, hovering above her for less than a second, considering if to give her another chance. He leans to capture her mouth again when Ingvild suddenly twitches, gagging as water seeps through her mouth and nose like some decorative fountain.

August observes quietly. Her eyes are shut, her body is only reacting instinctively, coughing out the water in her lungs. He nudges her to the side, draining the water out until she stops coughing and lays unconscious on the ground.

He moves his ear closer, listening to her soft breaths. He wonders how long will she survive in such a condition, suffering from hypothermia and massive blood loss. Letting her drown might have been a favour, he might have just granted her a cruller death.

Blackness surrounds her, chaining her to the ground. An excruciating pain blossoms in her lungs, as if someone placed a massive weight that smothers her while her throat and her nose sear with pain. The rest of her body feels numb, someone might as well leave her limbless.

The image in front of her appears blurry as she attempts to open her eyes and hang on to the tendrils of reality, uncertain when and where she is and what happened at all. Was life just a dream?

Or was it a nightmare?

‘Liam?’

No voice is produced from her lips, she is not even sure they’re moving.

The face that greets her is certainly not Liam. It’s the man who granted her this agonizing death. He looks at her with silent curiosity, not saying a word as her glassy eyes become more and more vibrant.

Her hands suddenly reach to his throat, clutching him with all the energy left in her traumatized body. As battered as she is, he still has to use force to peel her claws off of him. She struggles, grunting and hissing, her nails leave bleeding scratches over his cheek.

“Remember you are only alive for as long as I permit it.” August speaks to her calmly, impressed by her stubborn will to kill him even when she’s hanging by the last thread of her pathetic life.

The struggle takes no longer than a few seconds as her eyes roll back and she falls to the ground, unconscious again.

August collects her in his arms and rises, carrying her through the woods. “Better this way, princess,” he whispers to the sleeping beauty in his arms. The temperature of the water has slowed the bleeding, causing the blood vessels to clot and reduce the pace of her heartbeat. It benefits in keeping her alive, but it’s also slowly killing her.

He returns to the bed and breakfast to be greeted by the receptionist who stares at him, baffled.

“Too much to drink,” he explains, offering her a charming smile as he continues marching toward his room with the unconscious girl in his arms.

~*~

“Fucking mess,” he mutters as he enters the room and shuts the door behind him with his leg. That stab wound may be bleeding slower now, he hasn’t ruptured any viable organs. However, the gash in her flesh is large and still needs to be dressed.

He drags her to the bath and puts her on her feet, letting her limp body lean onto his while he unzips her suit and boots, stripping her to her undergarments. A crescent-like slit gushes blood at the side of her abdomen.

August places her in the empty bathtub before grabbing the first aid kit he bought at the hunters’ shop. Being a wanted man now, he had to be prepared for everything.

It was nearly him tonight that needed that first aid kit.

The scent of alcohol fills the room as he pours it onto her open wound. He waits for a response from her, maybe a twitch from the excruciating pain, yet Ingvild is so far gone she doesn’t react whatsoever. His finger presses to the tendon in her neck, only to make sure he is not taking care of a dead girl.

A faint pulse is there; her heart still beats. Yet her body is as cold as ice, and he knows that if he won’t take care of her soon her systems will begin to shut down one organ after the other. He sews her wound shut quickly, making unfashionable stitches across the wound.

“Sorry love, no more bikini for you.” he mocks the sleeping girl. “Although porn sites must be filled with scar-porn, so you’re good.”

After stitching her up and dressing the wound, he carries her back to the bedroom and lays her on the bed. Her skin is shivering, frozen and pale as death itself. She has hypothermia and needs to have her body temperature stabilized before every one of her major organs will go into failure.

“Not how I pictured us getting into bed naked,” August jokes without humour while beginning to peel off his clothes until he is completely bare. He towers over her trembling form and watches how helpless she appears. His hands run down her spine, reaching to find the hooks of her bra. It takes no effort to unclasp the flimsy soaked fabric and discard it on the floor. Next, he coldly and methodically slips her underwear off.

He takes no pleasure in stripping an unconscious woman who can’t defend herself or struggle, yet he cannot resist observing what’s laid right in front of his eyes.

The sight is indeed pleasing.

‘Hate me later, princess. I am just a man.’

August climbs onto the bed and lies in front of her. He pulls her toward the warmth of his body until her forehead is pressed against his chest and every inch of her skin is covered by his own. With a clenched jaw, he holds her close.

In his arms she trembles, teeth chattering, while her heartbeat is feeble and can be hardly felt against his chest.

He thinks of nothing while holding the cold, half-dead girl against him.

Nothing at all.

Not the memory of another dead girl.

~*~

Ingvild scratches a scab on her knee, watching the other girls as they play without her. They stick their tongue at her and call her a freak. She doesn’t cry, only sniffles gently while her small fingers pry at the itchy skin.

“Ingvild,” Sister Marja walks toward her, making a sour face as she sees the girl. She never liked her either. “Someone is here to pick you up, finally.”

Little Ingvild jumps from the dirty log she is sitting on, brushing her skirt and arranging her braided pigtails before joining Sister Marja. ‘That uptight crone, all she needs is a good fuck.’

The sister hurries toward the orphanage while Ingvild runs after to keep up. Her heels echo on the floor through the arched hallway of the facility.

A man waits for them in the office of the Mother Superior, Yet another crone who looks like she never had a good fuck. But there is a smile on her face, making her loose skin become all creases and wrinkles like a dried rotten potato.

Ingvild looks at the man who stands with his hands behind his back. His hair is black with few threads of silver. She is uncertain if he is smiling or not; the expression on his face is of a person who’s trying to appear pleasant but in a very contained way.

“Ingvild, this is Liam.” Mother Superior speaks in her terrible heavy smoker voice. “He is your new adoptive father.”

~*~

Warm light strokes her face, forcing her eyes to blink open slowly. A basic function that suddenly feels oddly painful. Her eyelids are too heavy as if she never opened her eyes before in her life. The scenery around her is still too vague; she doesn’t recognize the room at all, wondering if she is in another dream.

A word in her own language blurts out of her mouth as she tries to sit up, accompanied by a small groan. Everything feels out of place as if her limbs have been misplaced and her internal organs exploded inside her body. Pain begins to course through her body, starting with the muscle of her right forearm which now feels extremely strained.

“Ah…” she grunts out, tugging at her arm which is in an odd position.. But for some reason, her arm won’t budge. It’s tied to the bedpost above her head by a tight rope.

‘This is hilarious. Like watching a dog wake up from anaesthesia.’

“Hva?” she asks in her mother’s tongue. “What?”

She gives the bind a few good moments of struggling before giving up. It’s when the heavy blanket that covers her slightly descends from her chest. She realizes she’s been completely stripped of her clothes.

Panicked, she hugs the cover to her chest with her free hand. Her eyes were looking around with slight anxiety while she continues to pull her right hand in an attempt to free herself.

The scent of coffee tickles at her nose, alerting her that she is not alone.

August appears in front of her with a red cup of coffee in his hand. He wears that familiar arrogant look with a hint of a smile, so vicious and cold it makes her feel she wasn’t only stripped off her clothes but of her skin and muscles as well.

Would have been better if I was stripped and bound to the devil’s bed.

He takes the wooden chair, dragging it on the floor which makes her cringe at the screeching sound. Fragments of the night before begin to fill the gaps in her memory. She tied him to this chair.

Placing it in front of her, he sits down, legs spread widely with confidence she can only describe to herself as irritating as fuck.

She hugs the cover tightly to her chest, her legs curling toward her torso to shelter herself which suddenly inflicts an excruciating pain in her lower abdomen making her moan involuntarily . Peeking beneath the thick blanket, she finds the large bandage on her torso, stained with a few drops of brownish-red blood.

“Good morning, love, we’ve had quite the night.”

More shards of memory begin to cut through her mind. Like remembering an event that happened so long ago, it almost feels like a dream. Her mind fights to make sense, to grasp at the fuller image. She recalls gasping through the woods at night with weak limbs and a hand full of blood. Then a shot that ripped through the night. Bats were flying everywhere and then her body was cold for some reason.

No, she was freezing.

Like a videotape that’s cut off and glitches in the middle, her memory stops there. Making her stare at the Scandinavian pattern on the blanket as if she will find any answers there.

“Who is Liam?” August asks, taking a long sip from his coffee. There is much amusement in seeing her cowering before him looking so helpless right now. Stripped, unarmed, and bound to his bed after he took her life and gave it back.

He licks his lips at her which only makes the alarmed look on her face become more distinguished.

“You’ve undressed me?” she asks, finding out her voice is aching and hoarse, as if something seared her throat. “And tied me to the bed?”

August’s teeth are exposed to her as his smile widens. She makes a note of two sharp fangs, it makes him look like a vampire. “Perceptive, aren’t we? Wasn’t for any personal interest, you were in hypothermia.”

He gives a small pause, his eyes travelling across her covered body, unable to deny how nice it was to wake up with a naked woman in his arms. “Not that I didn’t enjoy having your tits pressed to me for an entire night.”

Even as lost as she is, she can’t help but roll her eyes at him and groan with hatred.

‘If anyone in Icarus hears of this, I’m done for.’

Was the stinging pain in her chest failure or sepsis? Either way, it stung. This was far from how she imagined this mission going along. Ending up as a captive of psychotic target, tied to his bed as a future sex slave or heaven knows what.

‘How the fuck did I end up here? Like this? Why?’

August watches as she frowns with deep concentration, forcefully trying to evoke some memory of all the lost hours from last night. He wonders if she knows he killed her. He’d very much like to remind her of that, of how she was at his mercy and the only reason she’s alive right now is because he allowed it.

‘And still she tried to kill me right after I gave her back her life. What a woman.’

“Who is Liam? And please don’t make me ask again, given the poor situation you’re at right now, princess.”

More echoes begin to float in her mind. It’s the look of superiority on his face, the piercing gaze that threatens to cut right through her.

“You tried to kill me!”

“No. I have killed you,” he corrects her.

“You were dead for at least 5 or 7 minutes.”

She stares at him completely bemused, her eyes seeking answers on the lines of his chiselled face. There is no remorse, no care, no mercy in it. She doesn’t even bother to look for affection, whatever that looks like. He is as cold as Helheim.

“But you saved me. Why?”

His jaw clenches, the muscles in his face straining as he remembers that idiotic idea he had last night, that mistake that’s now lying naked on his bed. For a man who plans ahead, he hasn’t thought this one through, not even for a second.

“Don’t get your panties in a bunch, I only need you for intel. One wrong move and I’d be glad to put you back to the bottom of that lake.”

“You know who sent me, CIA, Erica Sloane.” She shrugs, staring at him oddly.

He leans forward in his chair looking deeper into her eyes, trying to invoke fear in her. Yet she remains stoic, only her eyes glaring at him like two icicles.

“How did you know I was here? Who else knows?”

“I’m a good tracker,” she answers, doing her best attempt to shrug her shoulders with one hand latched above her head. “And you are not as smart as you think you are, August Walker.”

August offers her a dangerous stare, crossing his arms around the wooden backseat while his feet push from the ground to lean closer to her. He doesn’t like to be challenged, especially not by silly little girls.

“Why is that?”

A small smile spreads on her face. “From all the vehicles you could have taken, you stole my bike.”

A hiss of disbelief leaves his nose but the answer doesn’t please him. He leans back on his chair until it lands forcefully on the ground, making a loud thud through the moderate silence in the room. His hand reaches toward her, grabbing her jaw and cupping it crudely.

“No, how did you know I was in Norway?”

She clenches her jaw, trying to escape his touch but his grip becomes firmer, his fingertips painting red marks on her sickly pale skin. “Answer me.”

“I didn’t-”

“Bullshit.” he challenges her, now closer to her face than she would have ever wanted. His hot breath is a breeze on her skin. Her natural instinct to learn details kicks in, forcing her to pay attention to every freckle s on his nose, his bottom lip, and the lines and small wrinkles at the corners of his eyes.

‘So much anger’, she analyzes. He is not even furious yet it seems he keeps so much bottled up.

‘Does he ever get tired?’

“I didn’t know,” she finally answers, both sincerity and scorn in her voice. Then, a small provoking smirk appears on her lips. “It was destiny that brought you to me.”

He snorts, shaking his head at her with disbelief, recalling their little flirtatious run-in 2 days ago. His eyes observe her while a smug smirk spreads across his face. He allows his gaze to travel further down her neck and her chest, attempting to peer beneath the blanket to get a reminder of what was pressed to his body the night before.

“Telling you the truth, August Walker, would have killed you then in the ladies room,” she provokes, aware of the fact that he’s staring at her chest even though she keeps it covered.

“Oh?” he returns his gaze back to her, a single finger now takes a hold of her chin, tilting her head up violently. “How would you have done that? I’m intrigued.”

Ingvild licks her lips, drawing attention to her mouth. It’s seduction that she offers but with that same cold, now vicious smile.

“Slicing your throat, while you’re were washing your stupid hair below the tap. I’d then shove a tampon up your ass and send a photo to everyone in Icarus and to Sloane so they can have a good laugh.”

‘My phone, shit.’

The mobile device is traceable, if Liam hasn’t heard from her in a few days he could find her. But now August has it, with the rest of the stuff he confiscated from her. She looks around, trying to find where he placed her items.

August interrupts her inspection, his hand wrapping around her sore throat with a menacing gaze. “Don’t give me any ideas, princess. I’m not the one tied up and naked here.”

“I need to go to the girls’ room,”

She ignores his threat, remaining calm despite the hand that can easily snap her neck.

He looks at her dumbfounded, clenching his jaw once more. “What?”

“I need to go…”

“I heard you.” he frowns, letting go of her throat forcefully and then shoving the chair back, making it screech against the wooden floor while pacing the room, irritated.

‘Great, now I’m a fucking babysitter?’

He begins to regret ever saving her pathetic little life. What is there to gain anyway? A guy named Liam? Whoever that is to her. She mumbled that name in her dreams when her body was struggling to fight for survival.

August finds the bathrobe in the shower room and throws it on the bed next to her, before hovering above her chest to cut her bindings with the same knife he used to stab her last night.

She tries to remain as relaxed and brave as she can, wanting him to think she is not intimidated by him and what she believes to be his empty threats. But every time he makes sudden movements. the intimidation shows in her beautiful grey eyes. Her body flinches and squirms helplessly.

If only she knew how aroused it made him, she’d be terrified.

“Try anything and I’ll unstitch you and let you bleed to death.”

Her wrist burns, the narrow rope has chafed her skin so badly there are deep purple marks on her flesh. She rubs it gently, trying to soothe the pain before grabbing the white cotton robe and staring at August with hatred.

He stares back at her while playing with the knife between his large hands. He slides a finger carefully on the edge of the sharp blade, making a harsh statement. No, he is not going to turn around.

Rolling her eyes she hides beneath the cover, pulling the bathrobe beneath and wearing it quickly, the relief of having something other than a blanket covering her feels almost astonishing.

At last, she throws the heavy blanket away and kicks her legs out of bed while wearing his oversized bathrobe. August remains silent, his eyes fixed upon her while the knife is pressed between his teeth.

Trying anything like killing him or escaping is far from realistic as she finds her legs hardly able to hold her own weight. The hardwood floor beneath her feet feels soft and mushy, if someone would have told her she’s stepping onto marshmallows she might have believed them.

She only manages to make two feeble steps before black spots appear in her sight and she falls forward with a pained grunt. She never makes it to the ground. Odd, she hasn’t noticed how big and strong he is when wrestling him on the floor. It seems that August has doubled in size.

“Who was it that didn’t love you, August?” she provokes coldly, grunting as she tries to lift her torso from his elbow. “Was it your mother? Or your dad?”

Silence and indifference is his answer to her query, with only a muscle that twitches in his cheek. He observes quietly as her hands grasp his biceps desperately and pathetically, trying to stabilize herself. It must make her hate him even more right now, to need him as much as she does.

He recalls how much he hated himself when he needed someone.

“Both then…” she answers, slightly panting.

“Did anyone ever loved you at all? Ingvild?” he taunts her back while helping her get to the toilet. He notices how her eyes look around while they move through the room, looking for her things, no doubt. She is smart, he’ll give her that, she is cunning and calculated even in her weakest moment.

But he’ll always be a step ahead.

“More than they loved you, I am sure.”

He lets her into the small room and shuts the door, leaning against it and patiently waits with his arms crossed. The sudden silence and her short absence begin to cloud his thoughts. It’s almost as if he’s dreaming awake, seeing her again, her hair falling from her decaying scalp like leaves falling from a tree.

‘Not more than you.’

The crude vibration of his phone snaps him back into reality. A message from one of the apostles, stating nothing but a location and an hour. He smirks to himself, glad to be soon away from this freezing hell. Now the question left is, what he should do with the little problem he created for himself?

Snap her little neck? Strangle her to death? Make it intimate, she deserves as much. He can already see his body hovering on top of hers, his hands wrapped around her, tight like a lover’s embrace. The robe opens as she struggles, exposing much of her naked flesh.

The thought makes him hum with delight but once again he is interrupted. This time it’s by her face that stares at him, blank of emotion, with eyes like two empty crystals. She leans against the door frame, her face tilted up to meet his gaze. “I need to shower. I smell like you.”

He wonders at all why he should fulfil her request. She’s a prisoner, not a guest, and far from being someone, he’d care for. His eyes run up and down her body and finally at the cold unreadable expression on her face.

“Whatever.”

The bathroom is rather large, surrounded by cream-coloured marble tiles that adorn both the walls and the flooring. There is a large, fancy bathtub in the middle of the room, one that is made to look old and classy with golden taps. An additional shower is placed at the other side of the room, surrounded by a thin wall of glass.

The bath looks so tempting, her eyes fixate upon it, fantasizing about slipping into a warm bubble bath with one of those pink and purple bath bombs.

August notices her fascination and snorts, edging her toward the shower instead. “You should’ve taken my offer back then, princess. Be thankful that I am allowing you the luxury of showering at all.”

For all, he cares she can die of infection, who knows what bacteria these lake water she bled into had.

“I’d take the shower over-sharing anything with you,” she spits back, her hand grasping the golden handle of the glass door. August remains facing, leaning against the marble tile with ease while sucking on his bottom lip with anticipation.

“Aren’t you going to at least turn away?” she asks naively, crooking her eyebrow up, bewildered by the large man who’s standing there with sheer confidence on his face, not bothering to give her an inch of privacy.

“No,” he smirks cockily, licking that small freckle on his lips. “You tried to kill me, I don’t trust you. But don’t worry, won’t be anything I haven’t seen before, princess.” he shrugs and tilts his head. His eyes gesture at the robe as he awaits for her to slip it off her body.

Ingvild chews the inside of her cheek with the fury that courses through her veins. He seeks to humiliate her even more, to show her again how little power she has.

But men are fools, a woman has more power over a man, especially when she is naked. She doesn’t mind what he sees and if he likes it or not anyway. Also, nervousness is not in her spectrum of emotions.

The white cotton robe falls off her body, landing at her feet with a soft thud. There she is standing completely bare before the man who tried to murdered her and who for some sick, twisted, megalomaniac reason nurtured her back to life.

Unlike last night, he has the freedom to linger on what stands in his sight. Milky white skin, stretched taut over an apt figure. Athletic; formed by years of whatever combat training she has endured. There are no scars on her body save for the new one he gave her which is hidden behind gauze. The thought of letting her survive just so she can curse him every time she sees the hideous crescent scar is quite the temptation.

He further inspects her body, imagining cupping her small breasts in his large hands, they will not fill his palms completely, but it will suffice. He was always more into women’s behind and the rounded shape of her tight ass is indeed pleasing.

“As I said, nothing I haven’t seen before,” he speaks out, letting his gaze travel back to meet her face again.

She hisses through her nose, rolling her eyes as she walks inside the translucent room and turns the stream of the water to wash over her body.

The heat of the water immediately makes her groan loudly with pleasure; it echoes through the entire room. Her body is far more battered than she even realized, it feels as almost as if she is being redeemed, baptized, or whatever other religious allegories she could think of.

She leans against the wall for support with both her palms flat against the surface. Her back arches and she lets her head tilt back with her eyes tightly shut. The damp hair sticks to her spine, while she lets the droplets of water slide between her perky breasts and down her torso.

Sweet moans escape between her lips with every second, accompanying the water that soothe her aching muscles.

August can feel the fabric of his trousers tightening as blood stirs through the veins of his cock. She squirms beneath the stream, moving so sensually while making these “fuck me” noises all too clear. It’s meant to tease and provoke him. He is tempted to march in there and fuck the living hell out of her.

Fucking her to death, now that one I haven’t tried before.

“Enjoying the show?” she asks, turning to face him while the water trickles down her back. She can see the hardness in his groin, growing larger and larger with every second she stands there wet and naked.

“I am, actually,” he answers, not bothering to hide his desire.

She turns to face the shower tap, one hand plastered to the wall while the other leisurely runs down her chest. Smooth and slick, she allows it to circle her breast, making sure August can see how her finger brushes the hardening peachy nipple before descending along her flat torso.

His breath becomes rigid, his eyes furiously focusing on how she praises her own body. Her lids are half-hooded, hazy with lust and her mouth is reddening and slight swelling as she bites into her plush lips with delight. He dares, taking a step closer, allowing himself to have a better view of the show.

It is for him after all, is it not?

Tender and slow like honey, she lets her fingers creep between her thighs. In her mind, she fancies larger hands taking control over her body. A man’s hands, hands that are rough and callous, counter to how she is built, yet they caress her gently, working their way up between her inner thighs and spreading her open.

A feverish moan escapes her tightened lips as her fingers rub against her clit. She opens her eyes with her head thrown to the side. Giving August a lustful stare, cruel and full of snide she begins working herself with sensual strokes. She can feel her own wetness, thick and oily against her delicate fingers.

August’s nostrils flare, the bulge in his groin now enormous and aching for release.

Does she think she is torturing him? Does she even know men?

He inches closer toward the shower, close enough until so his hand can touch the glass which is now covered with tiny droplets of water and a thin layer of steam. His hand falls toward the zipper of his trousers, letting it sink before reaching out to pull his erect cock.

There is a smitten look upon her face, and an unpleasant chill runs through her spine as if she is intimidated by the sheer sight of him. Obviously, he is very much aware of how impossibly large he is. She gathers he is used to the look she is giving him, knowing exactly what’s going through her mind.

“Why are you stopping then, princess?” he asks with a cocky smile, his large hand wraps around the base of his hard cock, immediately beginning to stroke while eliciting deep, low groans.

Ingvild finds it surprisingly arousing, unable to help herself but stare at how his fingers engulf the fleshy shaft, feeling herself throb at the sight of the thick bulging veins and the ridges that run across his erection. When she started this little game it was in order to abuse him. But now, there is a certain desperation in her spiteful urge.

Looking at him as if driven to insanity, she lets her fingers massage her mound with increasing force, hard yet slow while her thumb traces the engorged nub. With every intent to let him see what he cannot take, she leans against the wall and parts her legs wide for him, letting him see her pink cunt and how her fingers play and tease while her other hand moves to squeeze her breast.

Her mind escapes into fantasies again, to urge the tingling sensation that burns between her thighs. Betrayed by lust, it’s him that she sees, holding her down as he did the night before, only that instead of trying to kill her he tears off her panties and splits her flesh open with his enormous cock.

The yelp that escapes her mouth is barely human, the image triggering something dark and unfamiliar and despite its wrongness now all she can think of is him.

August, on the other hand, is anything but inclined to indulge this. Pumping his cock urgently, he imagines pounding the little valkyrie against the wall, his grunts so low and loud he is certain the neighbours renting the room nearby can hear.

‘Have you ever fucked an undead girl? Imagine how sweet that wet little cunt must be after coming back to life… milking around you as if you are her saviour, your cock a gift sent from heaven…’

‘Or hell.’

Leaning his forehead against the glass, his breath leaves a veil of steam against the surface while he glances at Ingvild climbing toward her climax.

“Fuck!” She shudders, trying to fight the burning image of him in her mind, but these forbidden fantasies continue to assail her; all the different ways he could take her, exploit and humiliate her. How his body would feel atop of hers while he holds her down and hammer her into the floor.

Her battle wanes, heat spills between her legs as she falls into dark euphoria.

Seeing her arch against the tiles, naked and showered by ecstasy, his control finally snaps. August slams a hand against the glass, spourting white ribbons of cum all over the surface.

‘Oh to see her die and then burst with life…’

They stand in front of one another, both with heaving chests and frowning faces.

Finally, she turns the stream off and opens the glass door while August tucks himself back in. Apparent sweat covers his forehead while his chest is still heaving. She crouches to grab the robe, wearing it again while moving next to him with a teasing look on her face.

Although her legs feel feeble, the adrenaline made the blood kickstart her body again, her heart pumping with excitement as life returned to her system. She pushes past August scornfully, letting him follow her as she walks out of the bathroom.

He grabs her elbow, shooting her a warning glare. “Where do you think you are going?”

She tries to fight him but his grip is fierce and she is too weak.

“You are still a prisoner here,” he warns her and begins to lead her back to the bedroom and toward the bed while grabbing more rope on the way. He notices once again how she desperately seeks her personal belongings, gun, and phone.

“Don’t bother, angel, it’s all in the bottom of the lake.”

______________________________________________

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

#Henry Cavill #August Walker #August Walker Fanfic #August Walker Fic #August Walker x ofc #Henry Cavill x ofc #Henry Cavill fanfiction #mission impossible fallout #mi6

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