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the-bad-batch-baroness · 1 year

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Grief Stricken

Fives x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your perfect life is shattered into a million pieces after your beloved Fives is murdered. Overcome with grief, you decide to take out your revenge on the man responsible for his death.

Pairing: Fives x Fem!Reader

Characters: Fives, Rex, Fox

Tags & Warnings: established relationship, fluff, romance, kissing, cuddling, death, grief, mourning, funeral, hurt/no comfort, angst, alcohol, drugged alcohol, seduction, violence, revenge, premeditated murder, borderline dark fic, unhinged fem!reader

Word Count: 7.2k

Author's Note: Apologies in advance to the Fox girlies! I did not villainize your boy, but wrote him like any other military police type. That man is a victim too. I stylized this fic as a back and forth from present to past. So, if you remove all the pieces and rearrange them chronologically, the story would still flow correctly. Also, the last few scenes were written to "Cheap Thrills" by Sia, so that's the vibe there. Bonus, if you want to cry, listen to "Somewhere Only We Know" by Keane (Rhianne Cover).

PLEASE DO NOT IMITATE. This is fiction and fiction only. If you or someone you love is struggling with grief, please reach out to get professional help!

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Fox

You stand speechless beside the open casket, staring down at the lifeless corpse inside, wondering how you arrived at this moment.

The morning light breaks through the curtains and gently wakes you from your slumber. You feel his warm body wrapped around yours in half-a-sleep snuggles as a pot of caf percolates in the kitchen. You nuzzle your face into his outstretched arm, breathing in his scent as he rustles under the covers. You wonder how you became so lucky as to have such a wonderful man like Fives in your life. He is your everything. Strong, brave, handsome, and an absolute love-bug.

It’s a struggle at times, when he has to go on missions, but you always wait patiently for him to come home with hugs and kisses at the ready. He always greets you at the door with a big smile and squishes you as hard as he can without hurting you. You know he enjoys coming home as much as you do, and the time you get to spend with him is your favorite. You both dream about what your life together will look like after the war and come up with all sorts of grandiose plans.

You roll yourself over to look at him, his eyes still closed, lips slightly parted, and breathing softly. Resting peacefully without a single care. You smile and gently press your lips against his. It takes a moment, but he kisses you back tenderly while sliding a hand through your hair and behind your ear to pull you closer. You stay like that for a moment, lips locked in a loving embrace of pure bliss. As your lips finally part, you gasp and take in a much needed breath.

“Am I suffocating you?” Fives jokes with a small laugh as he props his head up with his hand. He looks lovingly into your eyes. You stare back into his glistening brown eyes. They’re deep and dark and would swallow you whole if they could.

“Just a little,” you giggle back. You scoot forward and nestle your head under his chin and breathe deeply. These are the moments you live for, the ones where it’s just the two of you and the rest of the world isn’t allowed to intrude. At this moment, it’s just you and him. No war. No missions. No fights. No weapons. Just two people madly in love.

Fives is the first to pull away from the embrace, but gives you another small kiss for good measure. He pulls back the covers and playfully flops them over your head before getting out of bed. He laughs as you claw at the heavy blanket to try and escape. You struggle your way out from underneath the blanket only to find your hair has become a static mess. You blow a piece out of your face and pout at Fives who thinks he’s the greatest thing since sliced bread.

“What’s that face for?” he chuckles and folds his arms.

You shake your head and smile. “Nothing.” You flop backwards onto the bed and roll onto your side to watch as he starts his morning routine. It’s the same procedure every day, but you never get tired of watching him do it. It’s the regimented soldier in him that makes it so automatic, and you find an odd comfort in the small consistency it brings to your rather inconsistent life.

“I have to leave for Ringo Vinda today,” he reminds you while pulling his blacks over his head. “Shouldn’t be a long mission.”

“So soon?” you question with disappointment. You crawl to the edge of the bed to get closer to him. “You’ve only been back for two days.”

“You know war, darling,” he soothes while walking back over to the bed. He bends over and plants a kiss on your forehead to reassure you. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

You kneel on the edge of the bed and prop yourself up to lean into his chest. He wraps his arms around you, resting his head atop yours, and slides his warm hands across your back. Goodbyes are hard, especially during war. You never know if he’ll come back or not, but you try not to worry. Fives is a smart and capable soldier. He won’t do something as dumb as dying. At least, that’s what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night.

He lifts his head off of yours and tilts you back a little so he can see your face. He brushes your hair behind your ear and asks. “Do you want some caf before I go?”

“Yes, please,” you smile as you slip down from his arms and sit back down on the bed.

You watch him walk out of the room and soon you hear the clink of ceramic as he pulls two mugs out of the kitchen cabinet. The strong aroma of freshly brewed caf fills your home. You take a deep breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the blissful moment. You look around the room and think about the life you’ve made. Then your eyes land on his helmet sitting in the corner and an idea pops into your head. You peek out of the room to see if he’s coming and quickly grab it.

“One mug of caf as ordered,” Fives sings while walking back into the bedroom. He briefly pauses, puts the mugs down on the vanity, and places his hands on his hips while raising an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“ARC trooper 5555 reporting for duty, sir!” you announce with a sloppy hand salute as the oversized helmet bobbles around your small head.

Fives snorts and brings a hand up to cover his mouth before bellowing out in laughter. You love it when he laughs. He doesn’t laugh often, at least not since Echo’s passing, but every once and a while you can rile him up into a good fit. He bends over and holds his stomach as laughter-filled tears form in the corner of his eyes. You aren’t sure what is so funny about this particular instance, but it doesn’t matter. He’s laughing and it warms your heart.

“Give me that,” Fives demands playfully while walking towards you, still chuckling to himself at your ridiculous imitative display. He reaches out a hand to grab the helmet off your head, but you place your hand over his to stop him. He pauses, frowns, and lets out a soft sigh. He gently pulls the helmet off your head, revealing what he expects, your teary eyes. “Oh, darling,” he soothes while wiping one of the tears away with his finger.

“I’m going to miss you,” you confess while wiping a few new tears away as you attempt to compose yourself. You want to be strong for him, but sometimes it proves too difficult to hold in.

“I’m going to miss you too,” he professes while cupping the side of your face with his gentle hand. He rubs his thumb against your cheek in tender sweeps.

You lean into his warm caress and close your eyes. “Come back soon, okay?”

“It’s a promise,” he whispers and leans in to give you a soft kiss on your lips.

“You… You promised…,” the words get caught in your throat as you touch the side of his cold cheek. “You promised… to come back to me.”

You fall to your knees and sob. Your left hand is hanging onto the side of the casket while you rhythmically pound your right fist on the ground. You tilt your head back towards the sky and scream as the tears roll down your red cheeks. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. This wasn’t supposed to happen. You feel Rex’s hand rest on your shoulder as he kneels down beside you. He takes his other hand and silently grabs your bloodied fist, forcing you to stop.

You turn your head and look at the captain with blurry eyes, pleading without words, why.

The days go by slowly as you wait for Fives to return. You busy yourself, of course, to keep from going crazy. Your job at the diner helps, but you still find yourself daydreaming, waiting for the moment you're back in his arms safe and sound. When you’re not working, you stop by some of your friend's houses to keep you company. Their men are usually off on missions too, so it’s nice to be around people who understand what you're going through.

You laugh, eat, and play games to pass the time. Sometimes you’ll talk about Fives and how amazing he is, and sometimes you won’t mention him at all. Other times you and your friends will gossip about new clones arriving on Coruscant and wonder what their nicknames are. Still, more times than not, you and your friends will go shopping to keep up your spirits. As you go through one store, you see a little arc trooper doll on the shelf and immediately buy it.

When you arrive home, you rustle through your drawers pulling out markers and grab the picture of you and Fives off the bedside table. You glance at his armor in the photo and look down at the doll and think it will be easy enough to replicate. You pop the cap off the marker and get to work adding the correct colors and markings that adorn his armor. The Hevy insignia proves difficult and looks more like a blob than a rotary blaster cannon, but you shrug and keep going.

When finished, you place the little Fives doll next to the photo on the bedside table. You look at the doll and the photo and smile brightly. You can’t wait until he gets back from his mission so you can show him your handiwork. You think he’ll probably laugh and say something like, ‘Is that supposed to be me?’ You chuckle at your thoughts and let out a content sigh. You love this life the two of you have built together, and you love him more and more as each day passes.

“Goodnight, my love,” you say as you kiss your finger and place it against the photo. You smile longingly at it one more time before turning off the lights and slipping into bed. You wrap the covers around you tightly, wishing it was Fives instead of the blanket, but you know he’ll be home soon. Eventually, he’ll come bursting through the door, loud and obnoxious as ever, scoop you up into his arms, toss you onto the bed, and shower you with love and affection.

“Tell me why, Rex,” you cry while rocking back and forth on the ground.

Rex doesn’t respond, but tightens his grip on your shoulder as his hand holding your bloodied one begins to tremble. He leans his head against yours and whispers. “I wish I knew.”

“He wasn’t supposed to die,” your breath catches between your sobs and you turn your face to look at him. Your tear-stained eyes lock into his as you trade emotions.

“I know,” Rex answers with a barely audible voice, straining to formulate words as they drip from his lips in a cacophony of grief.

“He said he’d come back,” you sob harder as your voice cracks under the weight of your unabated emotions.

“I… I know,” Rex barely gets out as he attempts to console you through shattered breath.

“Why did you let him die?” your breath catches again as you realize the implication of what you said. You know it isn’t Rex’s fault, but your mind is a jumbled mess of anguish and anger.

Rex lowers his head and swallows hard. He chokes on his words as tears form in his eyes. He can barely speak, but he finds the words somewhere in his mind and forces them out. “I didn’t have a choice.”

You hear a knock at the door. Putting your holo-book down on the bedside table, you walk up to the door and open it half expecting it to be Fives surprising you that he’s back home. However, when you open it, your smile quickly fades. It’s the Coruscant Guard. Your heart begins to race. What could they possibly want with you? Why are they here? You haven’t broken any laws or done anything to raise suspicion. You stare nervously at the intimidating commander in red.

“Can I help you?” you ask with caution while hovering your hand over the door-button in preparation to close it.

“Where is ARC-5555?” the commander demands as he pulls out a holoprojector and displays a hologram of the arc trooper in question.

Fives? Why are they looking for Fives? You shrug and tell the commander what you know. “He’s on a mission to Ringo Vinda. I don’t know when he’ll be back.”

“Ma’am, please step aside,” the commander orders as he forces his way into your home. You resist and try to close the door, but his strength overpowers you.

“Hey!” you yell as he tosses you aside into the hallway. “What do you think you’re doing? This is my home!”

“ARC-5555 is AWOL and wanted for crimes against the Republic,” Commander Fox states as he hands you a datapad with the warrant and signals the rest of his men to enter your home. “Withholding vital information toward his capture will make you an enemy of the Republic and you will be brought up on charges for treason.”

“AWOL? Crimes against the Republic? Treason?” you repeat in disbelief as you watch more red clone troopers file into your home. You put the data-pad down and refuse to look at the details of the warrant. “There must be a mistake!” you exclaim as you come to his defense. “Fives wouldn’t do any of that. He’s a good soldier!”

“I’m going to ask you one more time,” the commander begins while getting in your face. “Where is ARC-5555?”

“I told you already,” you plead as anger fills your voice. “I don’t know! He hasn’t been back since he left for Ringo Vinda.”

The commander grabs your arm, pulls you to the kitchen table, and forces you down in one of the chairs. “Stay here and don’t move.”

You sit at the table, watching as these unfamiliar red-armored clones ransack your home. They pull out everything in your drawers and cabinets, all your papers, all your things, and dump them out on the ground with blatant disregard. Your blood boils and you wish you can do something to make them stop, but you know resisting will only get you arrested. If that happens, you won’t be able to get to the bottom of these outlandish allegations.

The guardsmen start calling out ‘all clears’ as they canvas each room in your house, but as they head to your bedroom you take action. You don’t want them handling your personal items, grabbing your clothes, breaking your memories, or touching anything that belongs to Fives. You get up from the table and run into the bedroom only to see it’s already trashed. One of the guardsmen has the photo of you and Fives in his hands and you lunge at him to take it back.

“I told you to stay put!” the commander yells as he grabs your arm. He drags you back into the kitchen and slams you back onto the chair. You let out a yelp as you hit the chair with a thud, a bruise already forming on your arm from where he gripped you.

“Stop it!” you yell, pleading with them to leave you alone. “Please! He’s not here.” You start crying, clutching the photo to your chest to find some form of safety.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Captain Rex exclaims as he walks into the open doorway to see you crying at the table. He rushes over to you and grabs your chin softly to pull your eyes up to look into his. “Are you okay?” he asks gently. He lifts up your arms and moves his head around to look you over. “Did they hurt you?”

You shake your head and sniffle as the tears continue to roll down your face. Your tears anger the captain and he stomps off to confront the commander. “Fox!” he shouts while getting in the commander’s face. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“My job,” Commander Fox retorts, refusing to back down at the captain's harsh tone. “There’s a dangerous fugitive that needs to be found.”

“Well, obviously he’s not here,” Captain Rex articulates while gesturing his hands around the empty room. “But you have made quite the mess, so I suggest you and your men leave.”

“Careful captain,” Commander Fox begins while getting in Rex’s face. “You may have a reputation on the battlefield, but here, on Coruscant, I’m the one in charge.”

“I’m asking nicely,” Captain Rex sneers while closing the already short distance between their faces.

Commander Fox huffs and continues their staredown, raising the tension in the room to a whole new level. “Alright boys,” he finally calls out to his men. “Clear out, he’s not here.”

As the Coruscant Guard leave your home, you sit in bewilderment at the table, shaking and paralyzed from the terrifying encounter. Rex pours you a cup of water, sets it down, and sits at the table beside you. You both sit in silence for a moment. The only noise that can be heard is your soft sniffles as you try to process what is happening. You don’t know what to think and you’re too afraid to ask Rex, because you know he'll never lie to you.

Finally, Rex breaks the silence. “It’s true that Fives is missing.” He sighs heavily before continuing to explain what he knows. “There’s talk going around that he made an attempt on Chancellor Palapatine’s life.”

“That’s a lie!” you counter fiercely. “Fives wouldn’t do something like that and you know it.”

“I know,” Rex agrees as he traces circles on the table with his finger. “But it doesn’t change the current public perception or what’s happening because of it.” He pauses for a moment, scrunches his lips, and begins to speak again. “I have to ask,” he starts cautiously. “Has he tried contacting you?”

“No,” you answer adamantly, the question annoying you. “I haven’t heard from him since he left for Ringo Vinda.”

“I believe you,” he assures while putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “Would… Would you like some help cleaning up?”

You nod your head and Rex gets up to start picking up the pieces of your newly destroyed home. He grabs the papers strewn across the floor and piles them neatly on the counter, then grabs a broom from the closet and starts sweeping up the broken dish pieces. Meanwhile, you continue to sit at the table in shock and disbelief at what has occurred. Your mind struggles to process any of it. All you want is for Fives to come home and fix everything.

You snap out of your brain fog when you feel a soft hand touch your shoulder. You flinch and glance up to see Rex looking at you with sympathy. “Do you want to pick up the bedroom?” he asks. “I don’t want to intrude into your private things.”

You take a deep breath and nod while getting up from your chair. Rex helps steady you on your feet and you nod again for him to let go. The transaction between the two of you is silent, but full of emotion, care, and concern. There are no words of comfort at this point. Your whole world is crashing down on you and there’s nothing either of you can do to stop it. You wonder if Fives will ever come back home, but you quickly shake your head to dismiss the intrusive thought.

You slowly walk into your bedroom, sweeping your head from one end to the other and sigh as yours and Fives’ things are strewn about in disarray. You walk through the littered floor towards your bed and think about the last time you were with him. You curl your lips as you try not to cry. Looking beside the bed you kneel down onto the ground and pick up the little Fives doll that was tossed so carelessly on the floor. You clutch it to your chest and weep in silence.

“Come on,” Rex whispers as he gently tugs on your shoulder. “It’s time to go.”

“No!” you yell as you throw yourself across the casket, clutching at it in desperation. “I’m not leaving without Fives.”

“Please,” Rex pleads as he fights the tears forming in his eyes while nudging you to get up.

“No!” you sob and cough through your words. “He needs to come home!”

Rex lets his tears fall unabated as his voice cracks. “He’s… He’s not coming home.”

“No!” you scream while pushing Rex away. “I'm not leaving without him!”

“I’m sorry,” Rex laments while pulling at your waist to drag you away from the casket. You kick and flail and scream for him to let you go. The heartbreak emanating from your voice is excruciating. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers through his tears.

“He needs to come home!” you continue to wail, desperately fighting against Rex’s grasp as he finally picks you up and begins to carry you away. “He promised me he’d come home!”

You slam your fists against Rex’s back. He grips you tighter. You stretch out your hands towards the casket, clawing out of desperation to get back to the man you love, but Rex continues to carry you further away. You watch in horror as they lay the lid down and lower him into the ground. Your agonizing screams fill the air as Rex struggles to maintain what’s left of his composure. The terror and anguish you feel as they shovel the dirt on top of him overwhelms you.

“Fives!” you call out desperately through your sobs. You wait for him to answer you, but an answer never comes.

Your reading time is once again interrupted by a knock at the door. You're still reeling from the last time you answered the door and you're cautious about opening it again. There’s a part of you that hopes it’s Fives. Actually, you want to believe it will be Fives this time. That he’ll walk in the door like he always does and explain that the accusations are false and he can come home. That your life can finally go back to some level of normalcy.

You open the door and to your surprise, it’s Captain Rex. Although, you get the sinking feeling that this isn’t a ‘Rex checking up on you’ type of call. His face and body language are unusually depressive. Your anxiety increases and your thoughts race, but then your stomach drops when he pulls Fives’ helmet around to his front. Your heart stops. You can’t breathe. The only time a helmet comes back without its soldier is when the soldier is dead.

Rex doesn’t have any words to say and neither do you. He reaches out with trembling hands and places Fives’ helmet gently in yours. You stare at it, the helmet that you’ve seen so many times before. The helmet that Fives wore proudly as an ARC trooper. The helmet he decorated with the memories of his fallen brothers. The helmet that you so playfully donned before he left on what you would now remember as his final mission.

You run your hand across the face plate and reality strikes you like a searing knife to the heart. Your legs give way and you crash onto the floor with a loud thump. Rex tries to catch you, but his reflexes are too late. He kneels down beside you in the doorway and looks you over for any injuries. You don’t notice his gaze or his soft touches as you continue to stare at Fives’ helmet, clearly in shock at the news that still went unspoken.

After several minutes of silence, you finally gain enough coherency to ask a single question. “What happened?”

Rex takes in a sharp breath and begins to explain the events on Coruscant's Level 1325. You listen as well as you can, not really understanding most of the military stuff. There is a part of you that doesn’t want to know and a part of you that needs to know. As Rex continues to speak, you pull out choice words from his explanation and let them float around in your mind as you try to comprehend any of it. Much of what is said flies over you as your mind shuts down.

At the story's completion, you ask another question. “Did he suffer?” You gently stroke the side of the helmet while you wait for the answer.

“No,” Rex replies while trying to hide his emotions. “It… It was quick.”

“Did he die alone?” you ask further, showing barely any emotion and refusing to look Rex in the eyes.

“I…” Rex begins with a slight strain in his voice, but he pauses and puts his emotions back in check. “I held him while he passed.”

You continue to caress the helmet, lost somewhere in your own mind, pondering everything that has been said and all the things that have gone unsaid. You break your own silence and ask one more important question. “Who shot him?”

This time you turn your head to look Rex in the eyes. You want to know. You want to know his name. You want to know the name of the man who killed your beloved Fives. Your apathetic gaze visibly shakes Rex and he shifts uncomfortably on the floor. You can tell he doesn’t want to tell you, but you need to know. You can’t hope to move on in any sense of the word until you hear his murderer’s name. “You owe it to Fives,” you remind the captain. “Tell me his name.”

Rex sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. You watch as he mulls it over in his mind, his facial and eye movements clearly showcasing the options he is contemplating. Rex opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again, fighting the protocol to not release the information, but he eventually caves. “It was Commander Fox.”

You start to chuckle, startling Rex with your unusual response. You lean your head back against the wall and laugh while remembering your terrifying encounter with Commander Fox. “He was killed by one of his brothers?” you rhetorize while tracing over the helmet with your finger. You want to cry, but you can’t, so you let out your emotions the only way you can. “Killed by a clone… One of his own kind,” you snort and don a half smile. “How ironic.”

Rex tilts his head to the side and furrows his brow in concern. “Are you alright?”

You stop caressing the helmet and slowly turn to look at the captain with a sarcastic smile. “No.”

The days are all but a blur. You don’t remember much after Rex brought you home from the funeral. All you know is you’re back at home, laying on your bed, spiraling into grief's dismal embrace. You think Rex visited you a couple times, leaving behind food and a promise that the 501st will be there for you for as long as you need them to be. It must have been a sweet gesture, but you never paid attention when he spoke to you because your mind was miles away.

You lay quietly on your bed. What time is it? What day is it? How long has it been since you’ve eaten? When was the last time you opened the curtains? Is the world still spinning? Or is it just your world that came to a screeching halt? You wonder to yourself in the deep darkness of your once bright and life-filled home. Fives is the one that brought the light with him. Without him, what do you have? No one can replace Fives or the memories you have with him.

Your scrapbook lays open on the floor, collecting dust. You’re not sure when you opened it, but there it sits, full to bursting with photos of the life you shared with Fives. Love letters poke out of the sides of the different folds of pages. He never wrote his name on them, just the number five. They always made you smile. There are lots of smiles, and laughs, and joys abounding in the still memories of the book. All your dreams. All your plans. Everything. It’s all been broken.

You rotate all your unanswered questions around in your head in planetary motion, revolving around one, then another, and then the next one. You never stay on one question for too long. That would prove to be too painful. And you try your best to stay away from the ‘what ifs’, but they never leave your mind for long. There is no reconciliation for the death of someone you love. No. That’s incorrect. There is no reconciliation for the murder of someone you love.

Murder. Now, that’s a word you let spin around in your mind constantly. What is it about this word that’s so intriguing? When did it become so important that it captivates all your thoughts? You think about the ‘how’s’ and ‘why’s’ of murder. How does one murder? Why does one murder? Is it just for threats? Is it out of anger or desperation? Yes, in desperation one murders another. The pieces begin to click together in your mind as the picture becomes clearer.

Your answer is there, amongst the grief. It lies amidst the dearly departed. The dead have the answer you are looking for. Murder is for those who decide it belongs to them. Could you commit murder? Could death's tight grip be commanded by your feeble hands? Can murder be justice? Can justice be murder? You ramble away in your mind at all the possibilities, when you suddenly see flashes of red dance across your vision.

Red, the color of death and denial, but also, the color of the armor adorning the one who committed murder. The memories of the Commander come flooding back to your mind. You can hear the forceful words he spoke to you not so long ago. You can hear his pure disregard as he tramples on your memories. He’s laughing at you. He’s laughing at Fives. You just know it. How dare he. How dare he laugh at your sorrow, at your broken life, and at your dead lover. It’s disgusting.

Why does he get to laugh and you have to cry? Why does he get to live a free life, while Fives’ cold flesh rots away beneath the earth? You finally connect the dots as electricity sparks throughout your brain. You jolt up in bed and look around as if coming out of a daze. “Murder,” you mumble to yourself as the wheels turn. “A life for a life.” The immoral ideas begin to solidify. “I’ll repay him in his own currency.” you smile as you begin to develop your plan of revenge.

You pull out a data-pad and start typing out your ideas. You type something, delete it, then type something else, continuing the process for days. You think about all the different ways you can accomplish your goal. As the leader of the Coruscant Guard, he won’t be easy to take out. You have to be devious and underhanded with your methods. This type of operation will require more intelligence than power. You continue to type away on your data-pad, smiling at your own devilish genius.

At long last, after months of research, stalking, and planning, you have your attack strategy. The last Friday of every month the Coruscant Guard drops in to 79s for a night out where they relax, drink, and unwind with whatever beautiful lady catches their eyes. It’s the perfect ploy. You know exactly what time they’ll be there, where they’ll sit, what they’ll drink, when the commander will be alone, and how you’ll seduce him into your lustful honey-filled trap.

Tonight is the night for you to execute your plan of sweet revenge. You turn the radio on, blasting your favorite music while dancing around the room. The lyrics fill your mind in preparation for the big night. Stepping into a hot shower, you let the water wash all your worries down the drain. You get out and peruse through your closet, sliding the hangers around until you find your favorite dress. Sleek and sexy, with a glittering shimmer, it was Fives’ favorite.

After slipping the dress on, you sit down at your vanity mirror, swaying your head to the music. You brush out your hair and arrange it in your favorite style. Next, you pick out a gorgeous set of earrings and a matching necklace to adorn your ears and neck. You then grab your make-up tray and apply your foundation and a bit of blush. To complete the look, you apply your eyeshadow, eyeliner, mascara, and a bold lipstick. You smack your lips to spread it out evenly.

You look at yourself in the mirror with a satisfied smirk. There isn’t a soldier on Coruscant who can resist you now. You look over at Fives’ helmet sitting on the edge of your vanity and you smile fondly. You pick it up gently and kiss it, leaving an imprint of your lipstick behind. A giggle escapes your mouth and you put the helmet down. You give it a soft caress, then grab your favorite perfume and spritz your neck with it. This particular scent always drove Fives crazy.

You give yourself a satisfied nod and make your way back to the closet. You open the little hidden compartment and pull out a locked case. You input the combination and pull out the ELG-3A blaster pistol Fives gave to you for self-defense in case he wasn’t there to protect you. It’s a small and elegant weapon, easily concealable, and more importantly, can kill. You strap it to your thigh under your dress and turn to look at yourself one more time in the mirror. It’s time.

Friday nights are club nights at 79s, which means the music is blaring and the bass is pounding. You enter the bar and the smell of alcohol and musk fills your nose. You see your target sitting at the bar alone, his bright red armor giving him away. As you approach the bar, the bartender asks what you want to drink and you respond with a simple cocktail. As you sit down, you catch the Commander glancing at you with mild interest, so you give him a small smile in response.

“Put her on my tab,” the commander instructs with a raise of his glass. Perfect, you’ve caught his attention.

“Well, aren’t you a gentleman,” you smile while turning your body to face the commander, crossing your legs seductively in the process. He puts his drink down and stares at your gorgeous figure with a smirk, clearly intrigued by what he sees.

“I know a pretty face when I see one,” the commander asserts with confidence.

“And a connoisseur of fine women I see,” you point out with fake confidence to bolster his confidence.

“You live around here?” the commander questions as he takes a sip of his drink.

“Just got in actually,” you lie as you twirl the fruit in your cocktail with a toothpick. “I’ve had a long day and wanted a fun night out to unwind.” You pull a piece of fruit off with your lips, enticing him with your flirty demeanor.

“Well,” the commander slams back the rest of his drink and motions to the bartender for another round. “You’ve come to the right place, darling.”

You force a smile at the commander's words, but internally you’re a raging storm. That particular pet name is not something you want to hear from his filthy mouth. That’s the name Fives called you. You flash back to the last time Fives said the word ‘darling’ and you try not to let the emotion get the better of you. You take a large sip of your drink to try and purge the image from your mind. You only have one goal tonight and you can’t let yourself get emotional.

“Easy baby,” the commander chuckles while watching you take the large swig. “We’ve got all night.”

“You have a name, soldier?” you ask playfully while putting your drink back down.

“Fox,” he answers while staring at you lewdly. You can tell he’s getting a buzz and his mental fortitude is slowly slipping, but that’s exactly what you want to happen. “What’s yours?” he asks in return.

“Ladies don’t kiss and tell,” you shoot back with a frisky smile and a wink. You can tell you're getting closer to trapping him in your web. A little more alcohol and a little more seduction, and you’ll have him right where you want him.

“We’ll see about that,” Fox challenges in response to your teasing. He slams back his drink again and gets up off his stool to get closer to you. He’s so close you can smell the alcohol on his breath and the heat radiating from his body, as his thighs brush up against you. He stares into your beautiful eyes with lust and smirks. “Come join me on the dance floor.” He flips his hand over for you to take hold of as permission to go with him.

You look at his eyes and see the glaze forming over them. You prefer that he drinks a couple more rounds before progressing further, but the seduction piece of the plan is equally as important as the incapacitated part. A couple sessions on the dance floor wouldn’t hurt your mission. You bite your lip and look into his eyes. With slight hesitation, you grab his hand and accept the invitation to dance with him.

“At a girl,” he praises while guiding you off the stool and leading you to the dance floor. The music is blasting and powerful. You spend the next several minutes dancing with the man that killed the love of your life and you can’t help but think it’s disgusting. But, for the sake of the mission, and for your beloved Fives, you do it anyway. You let yourself get lost in the bass beats of the music as his foreign hands caress your body while you collide in feverish movements.

You watch his movements carefully, waiting to see when the opportune time will be to pull him away from the crowd. You can feel his hands getting sloppy and his actions get less and less intentional. Of course, it did help that you paid the bartender in advance to slip a little something extra in the Commander’s drink. It won’t be enough to knock him out, because you want him awake, but it will be enough to slow his reaction time to the point where you can deal with him without issue.

You continue to move along to the beat of the music, but when his hands get a little too wild for your own comfort, you decide now is a good time to break from the dance floor. You stop his hand before it goes where you don’t want it, lean into his ear, and whisper. “Why don’t we take this back to your place.” You feel his body shudder from your hot breath.

“You read my mind,” he agrees as he pulls your waist close and gives you a kiss. You want to vomit, but you lean into it passionately to keep from raising suspicion. He breaks the kiss and haphazardly pulls you through the crowd of people to the back door. The drugs are beginning to affect him the way you planned. You put on a devious smile as he ironically leads you to his own death.

The two of you stumble out the door and into a dimly lit alleyway behind 79s. The brisk air gives you a slight chill as it touches your sweaty skin. Fox sways a little, then stumbles into you, pinning you against the brick wall. You gasp at his weight and give him a nudge to get off. He props himself up with one hand and puts the other up to hold his head like he’s dizzy. He blinks hard a couple times and you realize the time is approaching.

“Are you okay?” you ask with a little sarcasm in your voice.

“I…” Fox begins as he continues to hold his head. “I don’t feel so well.”

“That would be the drugs,” you reveal with an evil grin.

“What?” Fox slurs as he stumbles back, fighting the urge to fall over. “Drugs?”

“Do you know who I am?” you ask as you turn around to face away from him. You take a deep breath as you prepare yourself for what needs to be done.

He wobbles and blinks a few more times as he tries to focus on your face. “Should I?”

“You killed the man I loved,” you reveal as you turn back around to face the Commander with a maniacal grin. “And now, I’m going to kill you.”

“What?” Fox asks with shock and confusion. He goes to pull out his blaster, but it’s missing. Your plan covered everything. You conveniently took his blaster off him while on the dance floor and disposed of it. He was so enraptured by you, he didn’t notice you disarming him. Now he has no way to defend himself, making this an easy and quick job.

You pull the ELG-3A blaster out of the holster from under your dress and shoot Fox in the right kneecap. Fives taught you that trick to quickly incapacitate an attacker. Fox grunts in pain and staggers to the side, hunching over but still standing. You frown and decide to shoot the other kneecap for good measure. This time the Commander falls back onto the ground. You walk towards him while he attempts to drag himself backwards away from you, but he’s too slow.

“Don’t do this!” Fox pleads for his life as you approach, pain dripping from every slurred syllable.

The sound of his suffering invigorates you. This is the moment you have been waiting for. The murderer will now become the murdered. Sweet justice. The kind of justice needed during war. The kind of justice that can only be tasted by those brave enough to embrace it and its consequences. You place the muzzle against his temple and listen to him beg you for his life, but you simply smile at his pathetic pleas.

“For Fives,” you whisper as you pull the trigger.

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A03

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spicysix · 7 months

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I'll be with you, when the roses bloom again

cheerscoops week - day two prompt: childhood friends to lovers/soulmate AU

rating: T warnings: no Upside Down, soulmate AU, childhood friends to lovers, temporary character death, panic attack, mention of drugs, oblivious steve, toxic stomarol, angst with a happy ending word cont: 4.3k

↳ read on ao3

Soulmates weren’t there when you were born. That was a fairytale, a romanticized version of it all, told so all the kids would grow up thinking life was all love and flowers.

It wasn’t.

Soulmates could be a bad thing. People you were destined to meet, no matter if their impact on your life would be good or bad. They would leave a mark, whether you wanted it or not.

You weren’t born with it. You had to earn it, take it, have it beaten into you.

It happened when it happened.

Steve had four for Tommy and Carol. One for each, for when they met, beautiful blooming flowers on his left shoulder. And one for each, for when they left him, putrid rotting weeds on his right shoulder. They had changed his life, back when he had just moved in to the house closer to Carol’s and she introduced him to that freckled little boy from the block down. And they had changed his life when they decided he wasn’t good enough for them anymore, or bad enough if you look closely into it. They had changed his life a thousand times in between those two, and Steve was glad his soulmarks for them were on his back, because if he had to see them every day instead of only when he purposefully turned his back to a mirror and looked over his shoulder, he thinks he wouldn’t bare how much he missed them sometimes.

He had a poisonous ivy leaf hidden by his hair and by the scar where Billy had broken a plate on his head. The biggest reason he still maintained his hair as long and coiffed as he did.

He had another blooming one on his left hand for when he fell in love with Nancy, and another dying one on his right for when she told him her love for him wasn’t real. He had another one, though, a secret third one right where his clavicle bones met, in the center of his chest, a fully bloomed flower in all her glory. One that appeared during the night after they talked the whole day, meeting their common grounds and finally understanding what went wrong and what didn’t, where they did right and where they failed on each other. After they could finally heal from their heartbreaks, and find a friend on one another — not as close as they were before, but a different kind of strong friendship anyway because Steve wasn’t Steve without Nancy and Nancy wasn’t Nancy without Steve.

The biggest one just under his heart for when Robin poured her heart out to him on dirty bathroom floors; and that was the first time he was grateful for a mark. He wished it had appeared somewhere in his body that he could show to everyone, so the whole world would know that he had many failed soulmates, but the successful one was the best he could ever ask for. He had a tiny one around the big main one for every little special time they shared, for every new revelation, for every new secret, for every time his soul felt happy and complete because he had Robin next to him.

The house next to Carol’s had a family that Carol hated. She used to say they were too perfect, all doll-looking, blonde hairs and blue eyes and skinny physiques.

Steve didn’t told Carol at first when he’d hang out with the girl she hated from time to time.

It started one day as he was leaving Carol’s house and, as always, he passed in front of the Cunningham’s home. The doll-looking, blonde-haired, blue-eyed skinny girl was collecting dandelions from her front lawn. Steve was eleven, she was ten, and that was the first time he thought he’d get an immediate soulmark and was left frustrated.

He looked at Carol’s house, glad to see she had walked back inside it already, and carefully approached the girl. A leaf crunching under his sneaker alerted her of his presence.

Blue eyes met Steve's.

“Hi?” she asked. Her voice was soothing, calm, a beautiful sound, a strike contrast to Carol’s shrieks. No wonder she hated her.

“Steve,” he answered dumbfounded. Her front teeth were charmingly crooked, he noticed when she smiled at him. “Me! I’m Steve.”

“Chrissy, me, I’m Chrissy,” she answered giggling and Steve couldn’t help but laugh back.

They just stared at each other for a while, Steve could feel his face burning and knew he was probably more red than the shoes she was wearing. Her hair tied into pigtails, and the whole image reminded him of Dorothy. He wanted to say more, but couldn’t find his voice.

After what felt like hours, he just pointed to a random spot to his left, waved way too fast and started walking. He heard her laugh as he kept going further away, and that kept the smile glued to his face, even through the embarrassment of not saying anything else.

He just left like a coward lion.

But he was there again a couple of days later, going home from Carol’s house, and she had green shoes this time as she was having what looked like a tea party with her stuffed animals. There was a lion amongst them.

“His name is Theo,” she said when she noticed Steve’s fixated stare on the stuffed cat.

“Theo, the lion,” he whispered back and she nodded.

His feet took him closer without him noticing, and he spared a look to Carol’s door. It was closed, she was back inside. It was safe.

“Steve, you, Steve. Hi!” Chrissy greeted him, that crooked smile that triggered Steve’s own lips to curl upwards.

“Hi, Chrissy… sorry about that… got nervous.” He shrugged.

“No need to be nervous. Do you want tea?” she asked, pointing at the (probably empty) tea pot.

“Uh… sure, yeah!” Steve answered. Chrissy’s smile widened, Steve’s smile widened and the world felt more colorful.

That was all it took.

Every few days, Steve would stop and play or chat or pick flowers with Chrissy on his way home from Carol’s. He would always look at the Perkins’ door to see if it was closed, and he would always ease up at Chrissy’s sweet voice, and he would always finally go back to his house feeling like he was stepping on clouds.

The Summer ended, the school started, he’d see Chrissy every day across the hallways and when Carol finally spotted him waving at the blonde girl, she threw a hissy fit. Steve talked her down, convinced her Carol was still his best girl friend, Chrissy wouldn’t replace her nor her blooming flowers in his left shoulder, and it worked. Carol wouldn’t talk to Chrissy, not ever, but she tried to hide her scowl when Steve did. Tommy just laughed whenever Carol complained, but he would also refuse to allow Chrissy into their closed group, and that was all very annoying in an endearing way to Steve. Or, endearing, in an annoying way. He couldn’t pick.

All the years kept passing, and in between fancy family trips and weeks being left alone the older he got, Steve learned how to keep his friends as close as possible so the soul-crushing weight of loneliness wouldn’t smash him to the floor whenever he woke up to an empty house. He could keep them all, Carol and Tommy and Chrissy, but as the years went by and he grew older and the hormones started working and the voice in his head — that sounded just like his father — spoke louder, three of them didn’t feel like enough.

Steve threw a party or two, but then he’d be the one to clean the house after it, so he resigned to just attend other people’s parties. He’d bring Carol and Tommy with him, always, but Chrissy wasn’t allowed yet, and he knew she wouldn’t enjoy them either.

It was like he was two different people.

He was Steve Harrington, keg stand king, someone the whole High School student body somehow looked up to. He got bitchier around Carol and Tommy, he even got meaner sometimes, but everyone around him laughed when he got that way so it was fine.

And he was Steve. Around her, he was just Steve. He got gentler, softer even, around Chrissy, and he got silly sometimes but she laughed with him and not at him when he did so it was fine. If he liked who he was with Tommy and Carol, he loved who he was with Chrissy. He’d teach her basketball, and she’d teach him collages, and they’d watch terribly produced musicals together, and bake delicious brownies that no one else got to taste because it was theirs. It was a little colorful world and it was only theirs.

He didn’t have a problem, exactly, that those two sides of him were so contrasting. He kind of liked being both. He loved Carol and Tommy, more than anyone, and he also loved that he got to keep a side that only Chrissy got to see.

Then came Nancy.

She changed everything.

She changed him, or he changed himself after her, and he was grateful for it. But in the same way Carol and Tommy tolerated Chrissy, they despised Nancy. Maybe because they saw, before anyone else including herself, that Nancy had a sharp edge under her softness. That she was bark and bite, that she wouldn’t take Carol and Tommy’s shit without fighting back if she had to.

And she had to.

It wasn’t a “her or us” situation, they didn’t put it like that, but Steve chose Nancy anyway. He chose who he was around her, the softness before only reserved to Chrissy that now Steve felt like he didn’t have to hide, and the eagerness to protect through sometimes mean words when necessary — not with fists, not like Tommy, never with fists. Nancy got along well with Chrissy too, and Steve liked it better now when he didn’t have to split himself into two. He could be just one, just Steve.

The blossoms on his shoulder rotted.

A new one bloomed on his hand.

Chrissy still didn’t have a flower of her own, and it never ceased to confuse Steve.

As fast as Nancy came, though, she went. A hurricane of changes, a storm turning his life around, a whole new Steve left behind and he couldn’t and he wouldn’t keep a grudge. They were just kids. They could figure it out later. They did, eventually.

The blossom on his hand died anyway.

Chrissy still didn’t have a flower of her own, and even if she and Steve’s paths weren’t crossing as much anymore for some reason after his and Nancy’s break-up, it was still confusing.

Steve graduated, no more seeing Chrissy every day across the hallways, no more stopping by her house beside Carol’s, daily phone calls turned into weekly ones, into monthly ones, into no phone calls at all until Chrissy still had no flowers and Steve missed her every day and had no mark to stare at in the mirror to torture himself.

But suddenly Steve had Robin, and he had Dustin, and he had Max. He got to keep them all, be just Steve, and he didn’t need any more. It was enough.

Chrissy had no one, and so she turned to Eddie Munson.

Robin called him at work, anxious to gossip about the Queen of Hawking High making a drug deal with The Freak, and Steve was immediately confused because, when had Chrissy become the Queen of Hawkins High, and why was she after drugs?

His head burned with it through the whole day, nothing good could be the cause of that, and the guilt eating up at his insides for being so estranged to Chrissy that he didn’t even know what could possibly be so bad in her life that she’d resort to drugs to fix it. He tried to rationalize his way through it, remembered Munson didn’t sell a lot of hard stuff, he was mostly a weed guy — god knows how much money Steve himself spent with Munson for party supplies, maybe Chrissy just wanted to relax a bit? Yeah, that should be it, no way it was anything stronger. She wouldn’t need that. She wouldn’t go there.

Steve had a date with Hailey, or Lauren, or whoever to the Pep Rally, and Chrissy looked just fine cheering through it, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Lucas scored the winning points, Robin scored a laugh from her crush, Steve scored a “this was nice but we should keep it as friends” from Holly/Letty/whoever.

And he told Robin he’d wait at the parking lot while she got out of her band clothes, and he basically ran to it just in time to see Munson and the rest of Hellfire leaving the school main building, but his eyes didn’t linger on their commemorations before finding Chrissy — subtly hidden by the shadows, but still visible waiting next to Munson’s van.

His feet took him closer without him noticing.

“Chris?” his voice scared her, wide blue eyes immediately finding his, no softness there, and he held his arms up in a non-threatening stance. “Sorry. Are you… How are you?”

She had a frown, her charmingly crooked teeth worrying at her bottom lip, unsure eyes searching for something in him because of course she didn’t trust him anymore. She had no reason to.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, a wave of many bad feelings running him over. He took a small step towards her, and then another, and he could see her fidgety fingers over her stomach. “I wasn’t a good friend, I-”

She interrupted him, “Can we not do this right now?” she asked, looking at something behind Steve’s shoulder. “Can we not do this today?” Her voice was still soft though, still trying to soothe him even if he didn’t deserve it.

He couldn’t help but look behind him, Eddie Munson standing from a safe distance, crossed arms, crooked eyebrow, waiting attentively. Steve let out a sigh.

“Can I call you tomorrow?” he asked, and she only nodded before looking back at Munson again.

Steve didn’t turn to see, but he listened as Munson walked around the van to the driver’s side, and watched as Chrissy stepped into the passenger side. He walked backwards, out of the van’s way and didn’t look away as Munson drove off. To his trailer, probably. To sell Chrissy drugs.

A hand on his shoulder startled him.

“Good to go?” Robin asked, a knowing look on her face that had Steve aware they’d have a sleepover, because he had a long story to tell her.

Steve woke up in the middle of the night with his phone loudly ringing and a burn in his chest.

“What the fuck?” Robin grumbled from beside him in the bed as he got up and ran to the corridor to answer the phone.

No good could come from a call that late into the night.

“Hello?” he answered, breath short, chest tight already.

“Steve… It’s Chrissy,” Max’s voice was watery on the other side of the line, and it took Steve a while to make the connection.

Max lived in the trailer park.

The same trailer park as Munson. She lived right across Munson’s trailer, actually.

Munson, who was supposed to sell drugs to Chrissy that night. Who took her, in his van, to his trailer, to sell her some kind of drug.

Steve’s heart was beating way too fast and it was burning and he didn’t know if he had answered anything to Max before he glanced down to his shirtless torso and stared at the right side of his chest.

A dead flower.

Not dying, not rotting.

A dead flower.

His soulmate had died.

Chrissy finally marked his skin with her own flower, a rose nonetheless, and it was dead.

Chrissy was dead.

A ringing in his ears.

His vision was blurry.

Was someone talking to him?

His chest felt tight.

It burned, his skin, but underneath it too. It felt constricted.

Was someone talking to him?

Sharp pain on the skin of his tights. Sharp like nails. Maybe his own.

Was someone talking to him?

A single drop of sweat running down his back.

A single drop of a tear running down his cheek.

“Steve!” Robin was talking to him. “Steve, you gotta breathe, please!”

Her hand was on his cheek, not the wet one.

His blurry vision went up her torso. He could see his flower across her left ribcage, under the top she was wearing as pajamas. His blurry vision went up her face. Blue eyes met his.

Blue eyes.

His vision went clear.

“Robin!” he gripped her wrist. It must’ve hurt her. “Robin, Chrissy, she-”

“Steve, listen to me!” Robin was crouching, but she dropped to her knees on the floor and didn’t care about Steve’s grip on her wrist. She kept holding his face, and her other hand went to his chest. His burning chest. “Steve, listen. You’re having a panic attack, you need to breathe.”

“But Chrissy-”

“Steve, in and out, come on,” she instructed him through it, breathed slowly in and exhaled slowly out with him.

Steve wanted to scream at her, Chrissy’s dead! But he had no voice, and no air in his lungs to do so.

He breathed slowly in and exhaled slowly out until his vision wasn’t blurry, until he wasn’t ripping his skin open with his fingernails, until he wasn’t gripping Robin’s wrist so tight. Her hands were still on his face and his chest. She was caressing him with her thumbs.

“There you are,” she whispered, a smile trying to fight its way to her lips. “Steve, you saw the dead soulmark and had a panic attack. I talked as fast as I could to Max before rushing to calm you down, she explained it. Chrissy’s in the hospital.”

The words made no sense.

“No, but, but- You said it yourself, dead soulmark Robin, how-”

“Steve.” He stopped talking at her stern tone. It was grounding. “Let’s get to the hospital.”

“You can’t drive,” he reminded her and she had that soft smile for him in response.

Soft, soft, soft. Always soft for him.

“Nancy’s here.” She nodded behind her.

Only then Steve saw his ex-girlfriend standing in the middle of the corridor, a worried look on her face, Jonathan next to her obviously not aware of anything that was happening. But they were there anyway. Steve still had them.

Chrissy had no one, she had no one but a drug dealer-

“Hey, no spiraling again.” Robin turned his face back to her, she knew him so well. “Let’s get to the hospital.”

Steve felt numb. He felt numb as Jonathan helped Robin get him to his feet, he felt numb as Robin dragged him to his bedroom to get dressed, numb through the car ride in Nancy’s station wagon, numb as they walked through Hawkins General’s doors.

Numb as Robin talked to Chrissy’s parents, numb as Nancy and Jonathan talked to Munson, numb even as Max came to give him one of her rare hugs.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” she said, muffled sobs against his shirt.

“It wasn’t you, Mad Max,” he answered numbly. “I promise it wasn’t you.”

His chest still burned.

Steve had to sit numbly in the chair next to Munson, and when Robin noticed he was about to jump him and resort to Tommy’s old ways of resolving things, she sat between them.

“It wasn’t his fault,” she whispered. “Chrissy didn’t take anything.”

Steve numbly growled in response.

He had to numbly wait there, Robin by his side and Munson by hers, even after Nancy and Jonathan took Max home, even after Chrissy’s dad went to work, even after Chrissy’s mom went back to the house to get a shower or something. Her family, and they didn’t care enough to stay. Chrissy didn’t have them.

Steve sat there, Robin by his side and Munson by hers, as they waited until Chrissy could get visitors.

It felt like days.

His chest still burned.

He didn’t hear when the nurse agreed to let them in to see her, only felt as Robin dragged him by a hand and Munson by the other, up the elevators, down too many corridors, a white door on a white wall, white floors and white ceilings, and he could only remember Chrissy’s red shoes and Chrissy’s green shoes and Chrissy’s blue eyes.

They were closed as they entered her room. No blue eyes in sight.

His feet took him closer without him noticing.

He sat on a chair next to her bed. She looked so pale. Steve’s chest was burning.

Why did it take him so long?

He finally had Chrissy’s soulmark, it was a rose, but at what cost?

It was a dead rose.

“She was convulsing,” Munson started talking, from the other side of the bed, and Steve tore his eyes away from Chrissy to look at him as he explained. “I took her to the trailer, she wanted ketamine, I had it in my room and when I went back to the living room she was already on the floor, I-”

“Eddie, breathe.” Robin was saying that a lot that night.

“I ran out the door, I didn’t know what to do. Red saw me, thankfully, and she was the one to call the ambulance as I just stood there in shock. Didn’t to anything. Fucking coward.” Munson’s last sentence was whispered, but the room was so quiet Steve heard it anyway. “It took the ambulance too long, and neither me or Red knew what to do to help her, just turned her sideways, but it took too long. By the time they got there she was crossing the line.

“She was dead for two whole minutes. They got her to the ambulance, used the defibrillator, her heart started again but they don’t know if she’ll have permanent damage from how long her brain was out of oxygen, or whatever.”

Munson ran his hands through his face, messing up his bangs, fingers visibly shaking, his knee nervously going up-down, up-down, up-down, up-down, up-

“Why did she wanted ketamine?” Steve heard himself asking.

Munson’s big eyes met Steve’s. They were brown. “I don’t know, man. She said in the woods she was losing her mind. Red said she saw Chrissy leaving the counselor’s office looking bad, and that she had some sort of break down in the bathroom? I don’t know, man.”

The room went silent again. Steve’s eyes searched for Chrissy’s blue ones, but they were still closed. His chest was burning.

“I have a dead rose on the right side of my chest now,” he said. He could feel Robin’s and Eddie’s eyes on him. “I know Chrissy since we were middle schoolers, and she was one of my best friends. Back when I was an asshole, before Nancy, she was the only one I could be my true self around. I went soft for her. I liked being soft for her. I never noticed.

I always wondered why she never had a mark. Carol and Tommy do. Nancy. Even Jonathan Byers. Robin has a whole bunch. Dustin, Max. Fucking- Billy Hargrove.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. His chest was burning. “Chrissy never got one. She’s got a dead rose now.” He turned to face Robin. Not the blue eyes he wanted to see, but comforting blue nonetheless. “The only flower I know. Roses are for romantic soulmates, the permanent ones, as cliché as they could be. ”

“I know,” Robin whispered.

“I only got her when she died?” Steve asked, Robin’s blue eyes soft on him. Always soft.

“She’s not dead, Steve. She’ll wake up.”

Steve sighed and looked back at Chrissy in the bed. She almost looked like she was just sleeping. But the lack of pink in her cheeks denounced her. He could only think about red shoes, brave brave Dorothy and her two coward Lions.

At least she had them, now.

Eddie’s leg was still bouncing up-down, up-down, up-down. Robin’s right hand was holding Steve’s left one, and her left one was resting right beside Chrissy’s leg.

She had them, now.

Steve had her, now. It took him way too long, he was almost way too late, but he had her, now. He wouldn’t leave again.

Chrissy’s fingers twitched.

The beeping of the machine went a little faster.

She groaned, a beautiful sound, and her eyes opened slowly as the other three in the room held their breaths.

Blue eyes met Steve’s.

His chest stopped burning.

He could breathe again.

Two years later

Blue eyes met Steve’s.

Soft, always so soft.

“Good morning,” he whispered, kissing her forehead.

She sighed, a beautiful sound.

“Morning, Steve.” His name like a prayer from her mouth.

Her legs intertwined with his, memories of all the other beautiful sounds she made last night and the night before, running through his mind. No barriers between their bodies, between their skins.

“I gotta call Eddie tonight,” she said, voice still slurred from sleep.

“Mm.” Steve looked past her naked shoulder, could see the trees outside the window of the RV, a soft breeze ruffling the leaves. They had to leave camp that night, Chrissy wanted to head south. “Yeah, it’s been a whole day, he must be worried sick.”

She laughed, a beautiful sound, and Steve turned his face back down to look at her again.

Blue eyes met his.

Her charmingly crooked teeth greeting him in a blinding smile. He loved her.

Her skin was warm against him, her hand on top of his chest. A beautiful, fire-red rose under her palm, a delicate golden band sparkling from her ring finger. He smiled at the sight. Traced the fire-red rose on her left ribs that he knew was his.

He had her, now. She had him.

He wouldn’t leave again.

#cheerscoops #chrissy cunningham x steve harrington #steve harrington x chrissy cunningham #cheerscoops fanfic #chrissy cunningham fanfic #steve harrington fanfifc #cheerscoopsweek23 #cheerscoopscentral #lui writes

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autistic-creature-appears · 10 months

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Shadamy Week 2023 - Day 1 - Immortality

Shadow

I hated thinking about my immortality. Or, more specifically, the mortality of others. After Maria's death, I was more afraid than ever about losing the ones I loved. So I shut myself off, in order to protect myself.

You can't lose what you don't have.

At least, it was like that until... she decided to become a part of my life.

Her name was Amy Rose, and... she couldn't be more perfect. She was sweet, gentle, and beautiful. She reminded me of Maria in many ways.

I don't know what kept me coming back to visit her. She was fleeting, whereas I was not. Why was I risking affection?

I was pulled out of my thoughts by that melodic voice. "Shadow? What are you doing?"

"Thinking, is all."

I saw Rose approaching out of the corner of my vision. "May I join you?"

"Sure."

She shuffled close and sat next to me, looking up silently at the starry sky. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" She delicately whispered, her soothing voice washing over my ears. She was comforting in many ways.

I took a look up as well. "Quite."

We sat together for a little while until she finally spoke up again.

"My parents used to tell me something to provide comfort after my pet turtle died. They said that every soul lives on in the stars, looking down and protecting us. That they would be there every step of the way, and that we would join them someday and dance among the galaxies together. Sometimes I feel their gaze as they watch me."

She pointed at a constellation in the sky.

"I believe that cluster of stars is my parents. Whenever I'm lonely, I remember they are always with me, no matter what."

I was silent for a moment. "That's nice to think about."

Maybe I didn't have to avoid love after all.

Crossposted on Wattpad, Quotev, Neobook, and AO3. Ask for my username(s) there and i'll tell you (im just really tired rn)

#shadamy #shadamy week #shadamy week 2023 #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #fanfic #sonic fanfifc #sonic series #sonic franchise #shadow the hedgehog #amy rose #shadow the hedghog x amy rose

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nissakii · 3 years

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Scent. - a Haikyuu!! fanfiction pt. 12

Scent. – a Haikyuu!! fanfiction pt. 12

Art by @pottetto on Instagram “No, I haven’t tried it out yet. I’m thinking of doing a blind playthrough”, I muttered into the mic after catching the question about an upcoming game in the chat.My eyes flickered over the messages that were incoming quickly, but most of them were just reactions or weird requests, so I took a sip from the energy drink on my table and kept my eyes on the…

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crowladywithblackcoffee · 3 years

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ao3, tumblr and wattpad are my holy trinity

#ao3 #archive of our own #wattpad #tumblr #text #fanfifc #fanfics

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cardcaptorsakura96 · 3 months

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A Christmas Miracle-Chapter 2

Fandom: Supergirl

Characters: Lena Luthor, Kara Danvers, Ruby Arias, Santa Claus, Streaky the cat, Lillian Luthor, Alex Danvers

Summary: After her last two breakups, Lena doesn't think there is love out there for her. However, will Ruby's wish to Santa make Lena a believer in miracles?

Chapter 1

Lena pulled up to her step mother’s house. She stared at the front door and sighed. She didn’t really want to trouble her stepmother but for all Lex’s faults, he wouldn’t dare attack her at his mother’s house. She got out of the car and went to the back seat to get Ruby out of her carseat. Once freed, Ruby sprinted towards the house screaming “Grandma!” Lena sighed and rushed after her.

By the time she caught up with her, Ruby had rung the doorbell 12 times. Lena quickly scooped her up, held her and said, “You don’t have to keep ringing the doorbell.”

Ruby pouted and said, “I wanted to see grandma faster.”

Lena chuckled and said, “Don’t pout. I need you to put on that smile that grandma likes. We need to keep her blood pressure down while we tell her about today.”

Ruby beamed and exclaimed, “I will do my best!”

Suddenly, the door opened to a flustered Lillian whose face quickly changed to happiness once she realized who was at the door.

“Girls! I didn’t expect to see you this weekend. Come in,” beamed Lillian as she ushered the girls inside.

Lena and Ruby quickly came into the house. Once Lena placed Ruby down, she instantly made a beeline for Lillian and exclaimed, “Grandma!” Lillian kneeled down to Ruby’s level and Ruby jumped into her arms for a big hug.

As Lillian squeezed her tight, she exclaimed, “I can’t believe how big you have gotten.”

Ruby smiled and said, “Mommy says that I’m a growing weed.”

Lillian chuckled and said, “I think you are growing like a pretty rose that I can’t wait to see what you bloom into.”

Lillian kissed her forehead as Ruby hugged her tighter. Lena smiled at the display. Sam and Ruby weren’t related to Lillian at all but she embraced them as family when they met almost six years ago. Lena had just started working at L-Corp. She was initially filling in for Lillian since she was recovering from having a knee replacement surgery at Lena’s penthouse and Lex was serving time for his umpteenth attempt at Superman’s life. Sam was an intern accountant at the time and brought to her attention that money was being funneled out of the company into a shell account.

Lena was initially surprised that none of the accounts found this sooner but began to realize that the majority of the department was corrupt and was being pay-rolled by Lex even though he was still in prison. Lena quickly got rid of most of the accounting department and replaced it with people that she trusted and placed Sam as the head of the department. They quickly became friends which is when she noticed that Sam and her three month old have been living out of her car for a couple of months. Sam’s boyfriend kicked her out of their apartment and she had been on her own ever since. Lena offered Sam and Ruby to stay with her and Lillian. It ended up being the best thing for everyone. Lillian had been bored being stuck in the house all day. She was used to being on the move and independent. However, having a baby in the house brighten Lillians perspective. She thought that Ruby was the cutest baby in the world and constantly volunteered to babysit her. When she got well enough, she would constantly take Ruby shopping for matching outfits. Ruby was the only baby she new that had designer baby clothes. Sam thought it was too much, but Lillian just smiled and said, “Well, grandmas are always supposed to spoil their grandchildren.”

Sam was so touched by this because her own mother rejected her when she found out that Sam got pregnant without being married. Lillian and Sam bonded after that and now Sam is like a second daughter to Lillian.

Lillian looked up to Lena smiling and said, “What bring you guys by today?”

Lena rubbed the back of her neck nervously. She didn’t want to blurt out the real reason they were here. She wanted to ease them into it. Luckily she smelled something that could help her stall.

Lena sniffed and said, “Whatever that is smells delicious.”

Lillian smiled and said, “Oh, I had made lunch for me and the bridge club. We had roast beef sandwiches and potato wedges along with cupcakes. I actually have some left over if you guys haven’t eaten anything yet.”

“Oh, cupcakes!” Ruby exclaimed as she raced for the kitchen.

Lillian chuckled and said, “I am kind of a little hurt that she stopped hugging me once cupcakes became involved. “

Lena linked her arms in Lillians, smiled, and said, “You know that she will be cuddling with you before you know it asking you to read her favorite book.”

Lillian smiled and said, “Well, I have perfected the character’s voices after all.”

Lena rolled her eyes as she and Lillian headed to the kitchen.

*****

Lena watched as Ruby tried to go for a second cupcake. Lena sighed and said, “Ruby, you already have one. You don’t need another one.”

Ruby turned to Lillian with huge round eyes and a quivering pout.

“Grandma, can I please have another cupcake?”

Lillian chuckled and said, “Of course dear. Anything for my favorite granddaughter.”

“Yeah!” exclaimed Ruby as she grabbed another cupcake.

Lena shook her head and said, “Mom, you shouldn’t have given her the extra cupcake. She is now going to be bouncing with energy until she goes to bed.”

Lillian smiled and said, “That is not so bad. Besides, who could say no to that adorable face?”

Lillian patted Ruby on the head which caused her to smile as she bit into her cupcake. Lena smiled at the display of affection between the two. Lillian looked so peaceful and she didn’t want to ruin it.

Lena sighed as she went to get another cupcake for herself.

As she took a bite, Lillian said, “It seems like you have a lot on your mind. Did something happen before coming here?”

Lena sighed while putting down the cupcake.

Here we go.

She looked up at her mom with a passive look on her face and said, “Well, an incident did occur before coming here.”

Lillian looked up frowning and said, “Oh. I hope it was something too troubling.”

Read the rest on AO3

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towerofpisa · 5 years

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All things considered; Jenny didn’t mind being a vampire.

Alright. Here we go~

#calendiles #Jenny Calendar #rupert giles #buffy #fanfifc

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mordicoscomics · 5 years

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Aqui estão alguns testes pra desenhar o Carvãozinho e o Tijolinho

A Jornada de Carvãozinho: https://www.spiritfanfiction.com/historia/a-jornada-de-carvaozinho-17344705

#drawing #doodle #carvãozinho #tijolinho #spirit #fanfifc #iceoye #guy page #mordicos

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bjy-on-ao3 · 4 years

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Got carried away again writing the latest Kinktober entry and ended up with 1300+ words again. At this point I’ve just decided ‘Screw it’, I’m just going to let the chapters be however long they need/want to be so long as the exposition suits it. Still, I want all the chapters to feel equally loved, so I am going to go through them and see if I can’t make additions that don’t seem superfluous.

#kinktober #kinktober 2020 #kinktober planning #kinktober progress #writing #fanfifc #fanfiction #ao3 #archive of our own #text only #text post #rambling

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huysmut · 3 years

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favorite smuts

BTS

JEON JUNGKOOK KIM TAEHYUNG PARK JIMIN KIM NAMJOON JUNG HOSEOK MIN YOONGI KIM SEOKJIN

#masterlist #btssmut #jinsmut #yoongi smut #jin smut #hoseok smut #namjoon smut #jimin smut #taehyung smut #jungkook smut #bts #imagine #kpop smut #kpopimagine #bts x reader #btssmutclub #bts fanfifc

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peakyblinderswhore · 3 years

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DAY 3 ⇨ MATRESS ANGELS

GENRE: Christmas!au, Fluff I’m a fucking liar, Smut, 18+ only.

PAIRING: Michael x Reader

SYNOPSIS: Michael and yourself weren’t exclusive but strictly speaking, you did spend an awful amount of time together that certainly suggested that you were. Spending the night at Polly’s on Christmas Eve would only make this assumption more valid. On the assumption that you are exclusive, Polly offers up one of her rooms... with one bed. What are two, young, hormone-filled adults going to do with just one bed?

W/C: 3.4k

WARNINGS: it’s fucking dirty, yo. swearing, oral (m + f receiving), cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), degradation kink(?), hair pulling, spit is used as lubrication (it’s the 1920′s, c’mon), it doesn’t really have anything to do with christmas, pwp, it’s the dirtiest shit i’ve ever written, tiny tiny overstimulation, dom!michael, sub!reader ig, sex, sex, more sex, uh that’s it i think

A/N: to that one anon who always asked me for michael smut. yeah. you know who you are. i’m not sure if i’m writing this out of anger or to please you. bruh i love you fr fr though. in the heat of the moment i actually wrote something. lol hats off to you though.

cross posted onto ao3 here

“Michael, there’s only one bed,” you whisper to him.

He hums, “Mum must’ve had an inkling about us. I can sleep downstairs if you want,” he offers, raising an eyebrow.

The two of you were spending Christmas at Polly’s as per your suggestion in her townhouse out in the countryside. To be fair, you had mentioned it in passing after Polly had mentioned that she would have more than enough room for Michael to stay for the eve of Christmas and to be there the morning of to save journey time. He had winced and his hand that rested on your lower back firmed, he didn’t know how to reply and you could sense that through the thin material of your dress.

“I don’t know, Mum, I was going to do my rounds with Y/N.”

Polly’s eyes had lingered over Michael’s hand that rested on your back but only momentarily, you had noticed this but pretended not to when you said, “Well, I was only going to visit Michael... if you don’t mind me staying the night too I’d be more than happy to make up for the burden.”

That was two weeks ago. And here you were, staring at the bed. The singular bed. The only bed in the room. At least it was a double.

“It’s okay,” you say, referring to his offer of sleeping elsewhere, “we’re adults. We can share one bed.”

Michael perches on the end of the bed and takes off his shoes, opting for something more comfortable, while you lay down on the other side, arms spread out wide, trying to think of something to say to keep the conversation going and to stop your mind from wandering.

“Let’s make snow angels!”

“Pardon?”

“I said,” you reiterate, pushing yourself up on an elbow to look at Michael peering over his shoulder at you, “let’s make snow angels!”

“How old are you?” although his comment doesn’t hurt as his grin widens on his face as he shifts his body to face you properly, “plus,” he begins, “It’s a mattress, much less, er, snow than what we would need.”

“...Mattress angels?”

Michael’s eyes suddenly darken and he makes his way to crawl towards you, I know what we could do...” his voice trails off and his fingers circle the skin where your dress finished suggestively.

“Michael!” Your face heats up form the suggestion, mortified that he would want to do something that dirty with Polly just a few doors down, “Polly, your Mother,” you emphasise, “is only a few doors down.”

He shrugs his shoulders and smirks, “Worried she might hear you?”

You snap your legs shut and sit up abruptly, startling him and forcing him to sit back again, “She’s not going to hear us because it’s not happening.”

Michael pulls back, not one to push you into somehting that you didn’t want to do, “Alright,” he moves on with the conversation, “Mum said we can go down for a late night snack or join her for a drink in a few.”

“Sounds good,” you say, thankful for Michael respecting your wishes, “I’ll slip something a little more comfortable on, then.”

Downstairs, Polly was passed out on the settee, a glass resting on the arm of her chair, her head resting on the back of her chair, lightly snoring. She had mentioned something earlier about being busy last night and the morning following it on. You smile and Michael chuckles, “We wouldn’t have had anything to worry about.”

You press a soft kiss to his lips, “This is nice though.”

“It is,” he presses a kiss back, kissing you slowly like he’s trying to savour every second he can to the fullest. His hands are resting on your hips, mindlessly rubbing circles with his thumbs whilst yours hang loosely around his neck, fingers scratching at the bottom of his hairline.

The fire crackled in the background as you and Michael continued to deepen the kiss, devouring each other as you began licking into the other’s mouth, tasting the wine that Michael had with his dinner earlier on. It gave him an intoxicating feel, making you want to taste this forever, his musk filling your senses and his fingers trailing your waist, contemplating whether or not to go much further. When Michael pulled away and rested his forehead against yours, he looked down to where his hands rested before flitting up to meet your gaze. His mouth was hung open, drinking in all the air that he couldn’t get moments ago.

“We should stop, you didn’t want to earlier and I’m afraid that if we continue I won’t be able to stop.”

Your eyes fill with lust, he notices but waits for you to say the word, “She is asleep,” you manage to whisper, still praying that she’s fast asleep adn far from waking up anytime soon.

“You can’t take it back if you say it.”

“I know...” you bring your lower lip between your teeth and bring your fingers to face, cupping his cheeks, you say, “take me upstairs, Michael.”

His mouth finds yours and he pushes your mouth open with a swipe of his tongue, moulding your mouths together as his hands wrap underneath your thighs. You obediently jump, locking your ankles behind his back and he holds you up by your ass. He doesn’t open his eyes as he walks up the stairs, sure you should’ve been worried but his mouth was much more captivating at this precise moment in time.

Before you knew it, you were being laid out on the singular bed in your room that you were staying in. Michael let go, kicking off his slippers and unbuttoning the top of his shirt. When he connects your mouths again, it’s a clash of teeth and tongues and your hands instantly reach for the warmth underneath his shirt. His hand reaches behind your head and pulls at the pins holding your hair together before throwing them in the vague direction of the dresser that had become home to your limited luggage.

You had locked your legs around his waist again, aching for the feeling of his hard cock against your heated core, praying for some kind of friction that would relieve your need for him. His hands rested either side of your head, slowly crawling onto the bed to meet you level with him.

At this, you arched up, pulling your hand from his shoulder and slipping off your robe and pushing it to fall off of the bed and then reach to unbutton his shirt all the way and throw it on the floor with your robe. This meant Michael was half naked but you still had a slip on. He lifted a hand and wrapped his fingers around your throat, pulling you up to meet his tongue and to see how far he could get his tongue before you whined, like you usually did.

Whimpering, Michael smiled at your vocal plead to move on, unravelling his fingers from your throat and connecting his lips to your neck, wanting to see how far he could get you without touching you.

He bites and licks at your neck, enough to make your eyes roll and your nerves to tingle, making your fingers curl in his hair, tugging from the pleasure. You breathe heavily against his ear and push him away from your neck, unbuckling his belt with eager fingers, but as you were about to push his trousers down to his thighs, he stops you and presses a firm kiss to your lips.

“Let me,” he whispers against your mouth, “just...” his voice fades away as he lowers his head to your perk nipples, showing evidently through the incredibly thin slip you were wearing. Without a second to spare, he latches his teeth to your nipple, lightly pulling them, making you fidget from the sensitivity you were currently experiencing. Then, he circles his tongue on your areola thorugh the fabric, leaving a wet patch before capturing your breast in his mouth.

“Oh, sweet Jesus, Michael...” your head rolls, “I’m begging you to fuck me... like you mean it.”

Grunting, he pushes his trousers down and kicks them off, obediently, not wanting to miss this moment, either, “I fucking love you so much right now.”

You lift your head to view his figure. His eyes were ravaging your body as he thought about what to do next. You grasped the bottom of your slip and pulled it over your body and reached a hand down to acknowledge your throbbing pussy.

“Oh fuck, that’s hot.”

You giggle, “Do something about it then, won’t you,” you pout and put on the best puppy eyes you can, “please?”

Immediately, his tongue swirls over each of your taut nipples and down your stomach, loops your belly button and nudges through your pubic hair to your clitoris. His lips attach and suck for dear life, making you let out the girthiest moan you’d ever heard from your own body, making you slap you hand over your mouth as Michael continued, refusing to let up. He reaches a hand below your leg, hooking it over his shoulder and bringing his hand around it to rest on your inner thigh to hold it in place. His other hand runs along your folds, teasing you. He halts briefly to push his fingers past your soft lips, lubricating them with your saliva before bringing them back down and pushes one slowly into your hole.

“Tell me... use your words with me,” he growls against your clit.

His tongue doesn’t leave your clit, swiping his tongue from your hole to your clit and mimics the tongue twister you had joking taught him one time.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you breathe out in breathy moans just as he pushes a second finger into your pussy, meaning that you were now barely able to string together a coherent sentence. It was more than enough feedback for him, what with your fingers tightening around the strands of hair you had in your fists, he responded to everything your body was telling him. “You like that, baby? Huh?” His eyes flick up to watch as you begin to fall apart, breathing heavy and eyes unfocused.

“Y-yes.”

Still pushing his fingers in and out of you, he continues feeling around for the spot that he knew was nearby -- he was no stranger to your body this intimately.

“How about this, then?”

He lifts his head from your throbbing pussy and lets his hand that was locked around your thigh move to rub calculated circles over your clit. He spits onto his fingers as they continue to move in and out to allow an easier slide.

At this point, his fingers hit the spot and your body arches, lifting away from the bed, “Th-there, don’t... s-stop.”

Now knowing where he was aiming for, he allows his fingers to move at a faster pace and lets his thumb rub harder circles into your clit. He bends his head down to lick stripes into your pussy wherever he could, occasionally lifting his thumb to switch for his tongue and vice versa, pushing you to the edge.

“Yes, Michael, yes!”

He switches his fingers for his tongue, pushing in and out of your entrance, wanting to taste you.

“Wanna taste you,” he says, “can you do that for me, baby?”

You bite your lip and nod, “Mhmm.”

His thumb continues its attack on your clitoris and within seconds your coming apart on his face. Micahel laps up your release on his tongue and helps you ride out your high.

When your body relaxes and your fingers uncench his hair his lifts his head, lips glistening from your arousal, “You taste so fucking sweet.”

Ignoring him, you pull his face up to yours and begin to kiss him sloppily, mind still foggy from your orgasm only moments ago. You smile at the taste of yourself still fresh on his lips and reach a hand down between the two of you to address the, ahem, third member present in the room.

Michael moans as your fingertips brush lightly across the strained material of his underwear, over his erect cock.

“Your turn,” you mumble, “wanna make you cum.”

Tucking your fingers under the band of his underwear, you push them down to his knees and push at his chest lightly, making him lay back so you could pull them off all the way. The soon got lost in the jumble of clothes piling up on the floor.

Swinging your hair over your shoulder, you thumb lightly at the head of his cock, swiping the moisture that had gathered and spreading it before circling your fingers around his rock hard cock and pumping it a couple of times.

Michael bites his lip, holding back a low groan, “Suck,” he demands.

Willingly, you grin and wrap your lips around the head and swirl your tongue around the tip. You begin to gradually push his dick further into your mouth, flattening your tongue on the underside of his dick and humming. Bobbing your head up and down, Michael knots your hair around his fist and helps you maintain your rhythm. “Y/N, just like that,” he groans out. You let your hand travel down to your pussy and to play with your clit, getting off on Michael’s moans dancing through the air like a sweet lullaby to your sinning ears.

“Greedy slut,” he says, grinning, “can’t wait for your second orgasm when I haven’t even had one?”

You stop toying with your clit and decide to see just how far you could take his cock in your throat and hollow your cheeks. At this, you could practically feel it twitch in your mouth. You press your hands onto his thighs to balance yourself as you lower your head until your nose is nudging the hair at the base of his cock. He lets out an almighty growl as he strains himself, not wanting to buck into your mouth but you moan at the feel of him and he fucks into your mouth, cock hitting the back of your throat and tears filling your eyes from the stinging.

“Fucking hell...” he moans out.

You lift your head and bring one hand to the base of his cock, squeezing at different pressures before lifting your lips from his cock and releasing it with a pop. You wipe the tears with the back of your free hand.

Michaels head lifts to meet your eyes. You smile, saliva dribbling down your chin, “Good?”

His eyes darken at the question, “Do that again and I might cum down your throat.”

Your eyes squint at the challenge and you drop your head to lick a stripe from the base of his cokc to the tip, making him shiver from the pleasure but before you could drop your lips to his cock again his hand grips at your neck, “Not today, baby. I need to fuck you.”

He pulls you up and goes to flip you but you quickly blurt, “Can I be on top?”

“Fuck yes, you can.”

He helps you up to hover above his erect penis. You grip it tightly and guide it towards your entrance before sinking down onto it.

“Oh, Michael,” you groan at the girth of his dick, pushing your pussy open.

“Y/N how are you so fucking tight?”

You laugh a little, the sting of the stretch of his dick stopping you halfway and settle on resting your hands on his chest, “Why don’t you fuck me more often?” You counter.

Michael’s eyes darken more — if that’s even possible — and lifts you off his dick almost entirely before slamming into you, making you whine.

“Like that?”

“Yes,” you whimper.

You move forward to rest on your elbows, the sting subsiding from the stretch and begin to move your hips in a swiveling motion, not wanting Michael to abolish your pussy before you’d even started.

“Such a fucking tease.”

You clench your pussy around him, loving the jolt of pleasure that ran through your body at his comment, “Oh, shit.”

“You like that? You dirty little slut, soaking my dick for me.”

Meeting your swivels, Michael sets the pace, thrusting up and everytime you bit back a moan from echoing against the walls.

“Michael,” you whimper out, making him throw his head back and growl at your needy self.

You try to force Michael to go slower but he only ghosts his fingers across your clit, rubbing vicious circles into it. Your head falls forward and you groan as he grunts with every thrust.

He was forcing you to edge quicker than you would’ve liked but the high outweighed any con your fuzzy brain could muster up when the pleasure Micahael was inducing soared through your pussy and to the coil in your stomach, slowly tightening the more he did it.

“Michael, s-so close...”

At this he pulls out and flips you so you’re on your hands and knees and he’s behind you, lining up his cock with your centre and sinking in, once again met with the warmth of your velvety walls.

He slams into you, once again and continues to pound at the same speed, making every thrust harder than the last, somehow reaching further than the last time.

“Hold it for me, baby, can you do that for me?”

You whimper in response, already so close as it is and not sure how much longer you can fend it off.

Michael grips your hair and pulls you back so you arch up and your back meets his chest, “I asked a question, can you do that?”

“Yes. Fuck me, Michael.”

“Good, little slut.”

You clench at that and he lets go of your hair, stabilising himself by gripping your hips hard enough that there would probably be finger-shaped bruises but you didn’t care — not when he was pounding into you, hitting your spot just right, “Right, there, Michael, I’m so fucki—”

He sneaks a hand round to rub circles in your clit and lets the other grab a handful of boob, squeezing and kneading it as much as he wants.

“Good girl, I’m so close, almost there, now.”

You whine, his fingers getting quicker and his thrusts sloppier.

“Oh, fu-fuck..” he groans, “now, you can cum now.”

Crying out his name, you release your hold on your orgasm, feeling the coil snap inside you, now thrilled that you no longer have to stave it off and you fall forward. Michael wraps his arm around your chest, catching you so he can continue to fuck into you.

“That’s it, baby, milk my cock like the good fucking girl you are.”

Michael’s thrusts become erratic as he chases his high. When he reaches it, you feel him releasing his seed deep inside your pulsating pussy. He slows down his thrusts, riding out both of your highs for you.

When he shudders one final time, he slumps forward, cheek resting on your sweaty back but he didn’t care.

After a few moments, he pulls his softening cock out of your sore pussy, making you wince from the over-stimulation. He presses a soft kiss to your back and goes to fetch a wet soft-cloth to clean you up. Your eyes flutter closed and you only know he’s returned by the soft caress of his hand down one thigh, pushing them apart so he can clean you up. You whimper from the soreness but let him continue as you know it has to happen in order to stay clean.

He hums as he goes about cleaning you up and tosses the cloth to the side where he can address it in the morning.

You pat the bed beside you and he climbs in, hugging you from behind and pressing multiple soft kisses to your back, making you shiver.

“That was...”

You wait for him to continue.

“Can we do that again?”

“Like now?” you reply, alarmed.

“Uh.”

“Jesus Christ, Michael, what are you made of?”

“So I’m guessing that’s a no.”

“You bet your ass it’s a no.”

He waits a beat.

“Wake me up before Polly gets up in the morning,” you mumble.

Michael grins, “You know I will.”

“I do.”

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