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bucknastysbabe · 1 year

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You can be my daddy tonight - L. Bodecker

If you’re seeking heaven then you’ll want to come and get it.

Rating: Explicit

Tags: DADDY AND BREEDING KINK OUT THE WAHOO, age gap, size kink, crying during sex, Frottage, pnv!sex, The Great Outdoors, she’s a brat he’s a Man what happens next, infidelity, they’re kinda both assholes, soft and fluffy Lee literally and figuratively, smut-tacular, totally glossed over Lee’s 400 red glaring flags

A/N: It’s about time I did something for my big country boy. No Pepsi cups sorryyyy

Everyone knew the Sheriff used to drink like a fish. Everyone knew the Sheriff had a wife that hadn’t popped out a baby yet. Everyone knew the Sheriff played with bad men and dirty money. Your Pa, the county judge, told you to stay far away from the Sheriff. In fact, you planned on doing the opposite.

‘Vote for Bodecker,’ read the pin. You picked it up and thumbed across the lettering, thinking. You had a senior internship with the little paper in Meade. Although more interesting things tended to come out of Knockemstiff. You were fascinated by the surly law man, he was cute. Sure, a little pudgy and a lot older but he had killer eyes and the prettiest smile. You’d be lying if he wasn’t your sexual awakening.

Your boss rolled his eyes and said, “Sure, write a puff piece on the asshole, but he’s gonna make sure you write what he wants.” You cocked your head against the door with snicker, “Not even a little feminine wiles will sway em’?”

Henry pushed his glasses up a crooked nose and blew smoke at you, “If the man has to pay people to be quiet about his sister selling ass out the Tecumseh, whatcha think your lil’ pink tweed skirt is gonna do? He’s all about reputation.” You opened your mouth in faux shock and retorted, “I’ll show you what a pink tweed skirt can do. I’ll have an interview by tomorrow!”

“Whatever you say! Get on home. Night darlin’.”

“Night Mister Henry,” you chirped.

Maybe Henry had a point. You’d called the station four times today. The receptionist would answer, you’d state your intentions, she’d say, “Sheriff Bodecker is not in the station, try again later.”

On the fifth try the receptionist sniffed, “Look girlie, he’s busy. I’d suggest giving it twenty-four hours.”

You put on a smile as you gritted out, “Thanks, girlie!”

Slamming the phone against the wall you watched your dog jump up and stare at you. Turning on your heel you made it up to your room, filtering through your dresses. You’d wear the light pink shift dress, like the one Twiggy had in the magazines. You pulled on some stockings and thick black heels to match your collar.

Eyes made up big and shiny you eyed the clock. He’s probably in his little office, yelling for the clerk to shut the damn phone off like he was important or something. You drove to the depot, slinging rocks as you pulled into a parking spot. You didn’t want to ‘pull my pa is the judge card’ but push might come to shove.

You checked your meticulous hair and makeup in the car mirror, popping a smile. You sprayed a bit of perfume and grabbed your smokes. Staring back in the mirror you chided yourself, “You gettin’ nervous? No ma’am. C’mon.” Pinching your thigh a couple of times you hopped out your light blue Mercury.

You stalked into the depot, resting your hands on the receptionist’s desk. The lady seemed shocked, gasping, “Lord have mercy! I told you the man was busy!”

You waved your hands, “It sure don’t look busy round here!”

You lit up a cigarette in annoyance, listening to her nasally admonishment. A gruff tone came from behind your right shoulder. “I have been busy all day filling out reports, but I guess some people got no patience.” You exhaled and ashed into nearby tray, glancing over your shoulder at the Sheriff. Turning and holding out a manicured hand you offered your name and a polite, “I’m here on behalf of the Meade Daily News to request an interview.”

His big hand engulfed yours, blue eyes flicking down your body before returning up. He hummed deeply before laughing, “You’re the judges girl aint’cha? Like father like daughter.” You pouted and asked, “Can I ask a couple questions or do I need to go to your opponent?”

He didn’t like that, jaw clamping down and twitching. Bodecker ran a hand through his short hair, other hand on a soft hip. He grumbled, “Naw, we don’t need that. Cmon into my office. Damn fire-ant.”

You perched yourself on the couch across the small room. It smelled of cigars and candied something. He had quit drinking so you guessed sugar was filling the void. And his shirts, you thought as he grunted while sitting down, belly straining his white button down.

Leaning back he lit up a cig and leveled you with an annoyed look, chubby cheeks bunching as he puffed on the tobacco. You went straight to the point.

“Are you aware of the accusations against you being made? About hush money and your sister’s doings.”

His eyes narrowed, fingertips digging into the wood of his desk. Bodecker suddenly smiled and said, “My poor sister was being used by her husband. She’s receiving treatment upstate Ohio. Truly a shame, but I can’t allow that to happen in our county. No hush money involved, it can be blow to the ego but she was sick.”

“Mhm. That is sad. Do you consider yourself a family man?”

He was getting more irritated by the second. You grinned, knowing you had the upper hand. Untouchable was written up and down your body, lest he get on bad with the magistrate and Mayor. Lee took a deep breath and sighed, “I’ve been wanting to have a family since my daddy upped and walked out on us. My wife has been…ill…so it’s been a slow process. We’re thinking about maybe adopting.”

You opened your mouth but Bodecker barked, “Nuh-uh. I pick this question and ya’ pretty lil’ self is gonna write it all down, ‘kay?” Feeling your cheeks heat up you nodded. It was only fair to write down some bullshit on behalf of Bodecker. So you did, unwillingly and oft with dramatic sighs.

You frowned at the Sheriff’s smug expression as he leaned back in that office chair, creaking in the quiet room. You stretched out yourself, the hem of your dress climbing higher and higher. He cleared his throat, blues locked on you. You kept your legs together and hummed, “Off the record question Sheriff— if you answer I’ll give ya’ a peak.”

He grunted softly, “Whassit’ sweetheart?”

Rubbing your thighs together tantalizingly had him begging like a dog for a bone with his eyes. You rolled your hips and asked, “So you gonna adopt some babies? You don’t go home and fill your wife’s pussy up every night? She’s mighty pretty but y’aint gettin’ any younger Sheriff.”

He groaned and palmed his swelling prick, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“What? Looks like y’got no problem getting it up?”

Lee Bodecker stood up, braced over his desk, and growled, “She’s a lockbox. Thinkin’ I’m fucking lil’ girls like you.” You dropped one of your legs to the floor, exposing your naked slit, cooing, “Really now?” He stepped closer, breathing hard. You could see the war in his mind but he couldn’t control the licking of his lips.

You knew what the man was imagining.

He stood still, hands on his hips as almost if he was stuck. You lounged idly, curls falling out of place. You slid your hand down your body, so, so, so slowly. Lee made a soft noise when you swiped your fingers through slippery slick. “She don’t get all wet for you like this Sheriff? Don’t take much for me.”

You rubbed a bit faster, breathily moaning, “I remember when you was just a deputy, hah, I was thirteen. Such an ugly duckling then. F-fuck but you were so handsome helping me when those boys were being mean.”

Lee had drawn closer, kneeling at the end of the couch, a hand near your calf, barely grazing it. His orbs were dark with arousal. The man desperately goaded, “C’mon- finish the story, c’mon.”

You arched your back, spreading yourself wider for him, circling your clit. “W-well, ya’ helped me out and you were just out the national guard, all young and trim- don’t matter shit! So when I went home I rode my pillow thinkin’ it was you.” You finished your dirty little story with a cry, shivering in pleasure. Lee looked wrecked, hand tightly wound around your ankle now, rubbing his ringed finger over his face.

You slid upward, batting his hand off. Lee gruffed, “Yer’ gonna give me a heart attack sweets— ya’ can’t stay much longer.” Close enough to smell his aftershave you pressed close, tucking yourself into a soft jawline, pressing some kisses.

You grabbed his big left hand and eyed the gold band. Playing with it the question rolled out, “When’s the last time you got a blow job Sheriff?” He gulped down a moan, shaking his head. You lapped at his thick ring finger, swallowing the digit down. He gasped and jerked at the sensation, eyes wide. You ever so gently eased his wedding ring off a slight hassle as his fingers weren’t so slim since the bells rang.

You pulled it out of your mouth and placed it on the side table, staring up at the bigger man, still kneeled outside the couch. Lee’s internal war seemed to be made up, he had a look in his eye now, jaw twitching. He stood up, cock flushed and thick against those tight slacks.

His big hand held your cheek, thumb stroking your cheek. You whimpered softly when he brushed the bottom lip. The sheriff murmured, “Can you be a good girl and follow along?” You nodded and suckled on his calloused thumb, watching eyes roll back.

He managed in a low rumble, “You’re gonna straighten up and walk your pretty tail to your car. Then head to the Seven-Eleven where the truckers park,” he bent down and nipped your earlobe, “Then I’m gonna come by and we’ll have a real interview— up close and personal.”

“Yessir,” you poorly whined. You shifted your thighs together to hold back the neediness still arising. You stood up on shaky legs, smoothing down your dress, wiping any stray makeup, putting your headband back on. Before you walked out the door he pressed his big body into yours, lips crawling up your neck.

“Haven’t had a blowjob in years. But I can’t resist any sweets.” He smacked your ass and you stumbled out the door, pen and paper in hand. The receptionist and a cop standing by her stared oddly but you chirped, “Have a wonderful night!” There was a skip in your step to the Mercury, you driving like a bat outta hell to the quickie store.

Then the waiting begun.

You contemplated rubbing your clit outta boredom and sheer need but went over your notes instead. Deep in thought, a knock at the window shocked you, sending the pen flying. The sheriff was clad in a leather jacket now, grinning like a maniac down at you. You tentatively opened the car door and asked, “Where we headed Sheriff?”

You were both parked behind a stationary truck. He had his hat on, brim low, arm slung around your waist. He hummed, “Not sure yet. Somewhere quiet. Probably one o’ those old lover’s lanes when I was young.” You stifled a laugh, “In a place like this it’s changed?”

He side-eyed you with a smirk, “Yep, y’know how many times I’d had to bust up little bad girls like you out past bedtime?” You rolled your eyes and stated, “Don’t got a curfew, my parents think I’m at Darlene’s.” He opened the side of the cruiser for you, getting a nice feel as you sat down.

He slipped in the driver’s side, turning on the ignition. He hummed, “This lover’s lane s’better, gotta pretty crick to run around in.” You stared in horror, “But what about bears and snakes?” He patted your thigh and cooed, “Don’t worry your pretty little head, not like I ain’t use a gun before.” His huge hand settled on your thigh, squeezing and rubbing maddeningly.

You whimpered under your breath, been on edge too long. Rolling toward a dilapidated stop sign he made a noise of faux concern, teasing, “Poor doll baby, you riled up huh? C’mere and sit a little closer.”

You practically leapt to his side, plastered to his warmth. He grinned again and held you snug into his soft midsection. Cruising at a leisurely pace he admitted without looking, “I wanna’ baby so bad. Fill the house with kids. Be better than my shitbag of a Daddy.”

You wanted that too. Real bad. Just thinking about it made you needier. He grumbled, “I don’t know if it’s me or her but ain’t nothing clicked. We been to the doctor in Cleveland, my spunk’s all fine.” He groaned in annoyance, “Why am I even telling you all this?”

You shrugged, “Obviously it’s been weighing on ya. I’d have your babies. Ones with big blue eyes and pretty teeth,” you placed a hand on his soft stomach and whispered, “You’d be a good daddy. I’ve seen ya at the town gatherings.” Bodecker sharply inhaled, hand gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white.

His driving sped up some, ducking down into an old trail to a holler. He didn’t respond, jaw tighter than ever. You asked, “Sheriff? Bodecker? Did I say something?” He growled, “Babygirl…nah, you said everything I wanted to hear.” He placed a gentler hand around your knee, giving a squeeze.

He put the cruiser in park, settling back with a sigh. You eyed him with wide eyes, utterly transfixed. In the moment you trembled, a bit out of your element, but the ache between your legs was throbbing and persistent. You helped him undo his tight jacket and throw it in the back. You tossed his wide brimmed hat with a little giggle.

Lee rolled his window down and you copied him. The silence was stagnant until the sounds of the evening filled in. The energy was still charged. He turned to you, blue eyes intense. The sheriff asked, “You really mean all that? About the babies and shit?” You nodded, reaching a hand out to grip his bigger one.

“You’re a goddamn angel. Shit baby- how old’re you now?” He ran a frantic hand through his dark hand, biting that damned lip again. You warbled, “M’eighteen. Been that way for a couple a’ months.” He shook his head, laughing lowly, “I’m old enough t’be ya’ daddy sweet cheeks.”

“You can be my daddy. I don’t care. I’ll put all the babies you want in that big empty house up in Brewer Heights.”

He pulled you by your thighs, his bulk keeping you wide open and pinned. Lee hissed in your ear, “Can’t say shit like that. I’m a married man, divorce not good for the election baby.” You pouted and turned away, annoyed. He grabbed your cheeks and cooed, “That don’t mean we can make some arrangements after I win and you’d be the biggest prize.”

You rolled your body against his softer one and petulantly replied, “You promise? Y’gonna be my daddy Lee?” He smiled while peppering kisses along your jaw. “Mhm. I’ll be your daddy, dress you up, take you around, fill ya’ up with my babies.”

“Good. Being on the judge’s bad side would be sticker in your heel for winning,” you said lightly.

He glared you down, fear filling your veins before Lee laughed, “Don’t I know that? Bratty lil’ girl, bout’ as slick as those gangsters at the Tecumseh.” You retorted, “You like it, I know it.” Lee sat back on his haunches, kicking open the car door behind him. You surged forward with a whimper, seizing his plump lips.

You batted his hands away to loosen his tie then unbutton his top. While unpinning his badge you hummed, “Nah. This’ll be my job when you get home after a long day.” Lee simply groaned and panted while you plucked the buttons off. You commented, “Daddy needs a bigger size.”

You ran your hands down his soft belly and hips, squeezing. They settled on his belt, pudge slightly rolling over. He scoffed, “Eatin’ too many sweets. I’ll be a Fuckin’ hog by the end of the election.” Loosening his belt with a jingle you shrugged, “Not when you’re fucking your pretty girl all the time, that’ll get some cardio in.”

Button popped and you stroked him through his underwear, earning a strangled moan. You couldn’t help but whimper, “Oh- you’re big.” He shucked off the rest of the pants along with the whites— cock rudely slapping against his tummy. You blushed and cried out when he reached behind your neck to unbutton your collar.

In a flurry of muted pink you were on your knees in the buff. Lee rumbled, “Oh little girl, fuck, pretty goddamn baby.” You whimpered, “Touch me, c’mon daddy, s’been too long. Huuurts.” He laid you down on the seat, big hands rubbing you gently, cooing, “Ain’t you just a darlin’? Daddy’s gonna take care of ya.”

His cock slotted against your oversensitive pussy, making you cry out again, hands wrapping round his broad shoulders. He leaned in from an angle, taking your lips sweetly. You shyly moaned into his mouth, rutting against him in excitement. All your dreams come true. Lee Bodecker would be yours.

He shifted in the tight compartment, hand cradling you for better access to your mouth. He kicked into your lax mouth, panting, “Been s’long, taste so sweet.” You lapped back, wet smacks filling the cruiser. His tongue playfully danced against yours, kissing rough then pulling back to smile at you.

You tried to close the gap, only for the bastard to back off further. You whined his name in annoyance, squirming. The brunette shushed you, “Hold on now, lemme love on you some.” Your eye roll turned into a real one when his lips sealed over your nipple, flicking his tongue naughtily. Billy from down the road didn’t know jack shit about this, fucking boy.

You ran your hand through his thick hair, panting and mewling softly. “Lee, oh f- Christ!” He hummed amusedly around your bud, sending you reeling again. Then switched to the other one, rough fingers twitching and pulling. He was rolling his thick cock between your folds quicker now, making you a mess of nerves and emotions.

For some reason tears pricked at your eyes as you cried his name, your belly awash with heat, orgasm taking you by surprise. Clinging to the man, you sobbed into his sweet smelling neck, shaking like a leaf. Lee groaned low and long, caught up in pleasure before he realized.

He enveloped you into a tight embrace, shushing and cooing sweet things. Lee softly spoke, “Oh honey, s’too much? Poor baby never been with a real man like her daddy. Shh now, s’okay sweet pea. Breathe for me, c’mon.” You blinked more tears into his neck, trying to stop your shuddery breathing.

He was doing a good job of holding you tight, feeling safe nestled against his soft belly and hard arms. You croaked, “S’sorry daddy, didn’t know what came over me. Didn’t even let you get to come.” He nuzzled the crown of your mussed hair. “You’re fine pretty girl, I know ya’ been keyed up for hours. Why don’t we take a dip in that crick, sure is hot out here.”

You nodded slowly, wiping your eyes while da-Lee loved up on you, big hand leading you to the babbling water. He grinned, “S’gon be cold. Better hold tight.” You managed a weak tease, “Did’ja tell that to all the girlies back in the day?”

“Maybe. Only if they was special.”

“Was your wife special?”

He remained quiet for a beat, only the sound of water rushing by. Lee shook his head and sighed, “Nah. That was a between patrol hookup and she had money. Thought it would be a good idea.”

“Fuck er’ let’s get in daddy,” you swore.

His forlorn expression brightened under the moonlight, him stepping in the water first. He whooped, “Whew it’s brisk! Good for ya, that’s what my momma used ta’ say.” You stepped in ankle deep, yelping. Lee barked out a laugh and waded further, submerged to his thighs. He sat on a flattened boulder, pulling you in.

Much shorter than Lee you cried out in shock at the coolness hitting your overheated nerves. You hopped to him and whined, “Goddamn Lee, that’s cold as hell!” He grinned and retorted, “Get up here then, up ya’ get.”

You were on top of his spread thighs, his unflagging prick between you two, pulsing. The water lapped around your feet and his shins. Lee’s tone grew darker as he asked, “You gonna let daddy stretch that pretty pussy out?” Arousal flooded your system like a ton of bricks again.

“Yessir, I ain’t a virgin but take it slow, yeah?”

“Slow as you want sugar, you’re on top after all.”

You kissed him again, pressing your forehead against his while you lifted up on quivering thighs. He steadied his cock as you descended, gasping as the thick tip began to breach your still soaked core. He hummed, “That’s it, real slow baby girl, no rush.” You slid down further, whining at the stretch, about halfway now.

You took a break to pant in his mouth, soaking up those sweet nothings. The pinch died down and you slid flush to his lap. You were full, stretched, split. You gasped and shuddered. “Lee. Daddy. Oh god daddy- you’re so big ah hell, feeling you everywhere dadddy!”

He pressed down on your lower belly, eyes blackened with lust. Lee murmured, “Mmmm- yeah sweetheart, shit, tight, I can feel me through ya’.” He looked dazed, forehead still stuck to yours as he panted. The sheriff slurred, “Oh fuck sssweetheart, s’been s-so damn long for daddy. Don’t want it to end.”

“Fuck me then, get it out, I got mine,” you pleaded while pecking his lips. Pushing the man back against the rock you laid on top of him, letting Lee plant his feet on something solid. Lee moaned long and low, fucking into you roughly with heavy slaps, something that’ll make a whore blush.

He babbled, “Yeah, baby, gonna be your daddy, fuck you all day and night until that belly is round, take care of ya’. Everyone gonna be jealous of ole’ Bodecker. We’ll build our own- fucking hell- place!”

You nodded along, your daddy’s cock rubbing spots you didn’t know existed inside your pussy. “Yeah, yeah, fuck me, love it!” He let out a weak noise, sucking in a breath. You could tell the man was close, he was whimpering almost imperceptibly, strokes growing sloppy.

“Awh fucking- baby,” he warned.

You pulled off of him and let the seed spurt against your belly and tits. Lee scrunched his cute face up, soft tummy twitching as he unloaded on you, moaning unabashedly. He blinked a couple of times, smiling at you like you’d hung the moon.

“How’d I get so damn lucky huh?”

You shrugged, cock drunk and giddy. “I just knew you’d have a nice cock and decided to hunt you down.”

He guffawed, pulling you both into the freezing ass water. You spluttered, gasping from shock. He howled again, laughing. Lee held you tightly, locking your hips around his waist. You nuzzled into his embrace, hearing his chest vibrate as he promised, “Gonna be your daddy, all mine now little girl.”

“All yours,” you promised.

A year later Sheriff Bodecker started the groundwork on his new home, right next to that creek where it all started. He stood behind you, rubbing your slightly rounded belly. Lee hummed, “See, what I tell you Mrs. Bodecker?”

“Everything you said, Mr. Bodecker,” you winked,

“Daddy.”

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker x reader #the devil all the time fic #lee bodecker smut

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spacecowboyhotch · 2 months

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The Dead Horse

summary: santi brings you back to reality.

pairing: fem!black!reader x santi garcia

contents: angst & fluff— happy ending, canon typical violence, blood, gore, ptsd, depression, feelings of hopelessness, friends to lovers, kissing

wc: 2,419

an: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now bc of nerves, but always wanted to write Santi with a black love interest. planning to dip my toe into that pool more in the future 🥰

oscar issac characters masterlist

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here like this. It could be minutes, hours, even days. In these four walls beneath the shower’s spray, there is nothing that matters. Not even you, not anymore. And while you’re usually the first to be cheery, to tell each of the guys that the work they do— the work you all do together— doesn’t compromise the goodness you see in their hearts, you’re having a hard time believing that right now.

Not with what you’d done. It was to survive, and while you’ve come to terms with how scary you could be in the past you thought it stayed there.

In the past.

Tonight had proven to you that you could always access that piece of you. That terrifying piece that was a killing machine. The emphasis doesn’t lie in efficiency, but in ruthlessness. You had shown no mercy, the switch for empathy and compassion turned off as soon as your hindbrain decided that it was fight or flight. Dormantly thirsty, lurking in the shadows waiting for its time, it chose to fight. But you had gone a step too far—like always— because of your lack of control.

You were messy, enjoying the cutting of thick flesh, the warmth of the blood as it sprayed you. The copper smell, so familiar and embarrassingly comforting, though you didn’t have the mind to think that now, not when you were exposing the pink underbelly of a corpse.

Santi’s been pacing the hallway since you all made it back to the safe house. He’d tried to chat you up on the way home with no success. You wouldn’t meet his eye, and when he drew nearer to catch your gaze it was empty. It chilled his blood. He wasn’t sure of what exactly happened in that room you’d gotten ambushed in but he’d seen the aftermath. Recalling the image of standing over one too many dead bodies, a gleam in your eye had made his stomach curl. He’d smoothed his hand over your knee and left it at that, trying his best to banish all the red and pink and white.

It’s been an hour since you’d stumbled into the bathroom. He can hear the shower still going when he puts his ear to the door and sighs, a mix of frustrated and concerned. He’s not sure what to do– he’s never had to take care of you before. He’s always been grateful for that given all the fondness he has for you bubbling just beneath. Any acknowledgement could jeopardize too much– missions, the dynamic of the team, and most importantly your friendship.

“You alright in there?” He calls softly through the door.

He’s met with silence. He rolls his neck, cursing beneath his breath as his mind goes back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

“Just go in there and check on her,” Frankie says from behind him, causing the other man to flinch. “Didn’t mean to scare you. You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Santi assures Frankie, leaning against the wall to face the man. He nods at the door. “She could be naked.”

Frankie snorts, shrugging. “She’s seen all of us at least half naked and well, Benny—“

Santi quickly cuts him off, trying to keep the sour jealousy out of his voice. He knows that there’s nothing going on between you and Benny, that Benny is as much of a flirt as he is but sillier and less concerned with his image. “But we haven’t seen her. I don’t— I’m a dog but I’m a respectful one.”

“If she’s gonna get help from anybody on this it’d be you. She trusts you man.”

Santi looks at him like he’s grown two heads but feels a little warm, “She trusts all of us, kind of a prerequisite of living and working with a group of men.”

“It's different with you. You should hear the way she talks about you when you’re not around.”

Santi almost lets himself think about it. Almost lets himself dream a little. Almost.

“Or see the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. Like a lost fucking puppy,” Benny pipes in, breezing down through the hallway between the two of them.

“Don’t sound so concerned, Benjamin,” Santi calls after the man, mouth quirking into a grin.

“Don’t look so smug, Santiago,” Frankie teases.

“I’m not smug,” He denies. He decides to go in, okay with being kicked out by you if it means that Frankie will be gone, done poking and prodding at what the man must know is his heart.

“Good luck.”

Santi murmurs a quiet thanks before slowly entering the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He stands, frozen in place for several moments as he digests the sight of you. It's heartbreaking. His chest goes tight, and he curses softly again. What could he do for you? He’d do anything, but he’s just not sure what. He feels helpless seeing you like this. He could burn this entire city, burn anyone who would look at you wrong. Hell, he’d burn the entire world if it meant some warmth would come back into your eyes.

You’re curled up, your arms resting atop your knees, head resting to stare forward. Your curly hair that usually frames your face is completely soaked like the rest of you, flat and sticking to your face in various places. He knows that your eyes are unseeing, that you’re so incredibly removed from yourself because you make no indication that he’s stepped into the room.

“I’m gonna come sit beside you, okay? That’s it. No words,” Despite his words he stays where he is for a handful of seconds, hoping to get some sort of answer from you. You don’t speak a word, don’t utter or sound or so much as look in his direction. But you do shift slowly, making more room for him underneath the water.

“Fuck, it’s freezing,” He grits out, drawing close enough to you that your shoulders rest flush against each other.

He gazes over at you, noticing the way the water glimmers on your brown skin. The way its collected on your dark eyelashes. If these were different circumstances maybe for just a handful of seconds he’d let himself get lost in your beauty. But then you acknowledge him– sort of. You hum softly and the leaning of your head on his shoulder. It's a good sign and he relaxes beside you.

“Do you want me to shut it off?” He asks gently, reaching out to take your hands into his. Your fingers are cold as ice, and he rubs at them in a futile attempt to generate some heat.

“No, please. No,” You beg hoarsely, suddenly springing to life. You grip at his hands desperately, eyes wide with panic as you finally meet his gaze.

“Alright, hush, cariño, I’ve got you. C’mere, baby,” He shushes you, pulling you into his arms and flush against him.

At little more present in the moment, you feel the chill registering. You curl up, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. There’s still some warmth in his skin and you press into it, letting the sound of his steady breath lull you back into a dissociative state.

Santi holds you for an undetermined amount of time. He runs his hands up your back, over the crown of your hair, feeling the difference of how your curls feel when wet. His hand drifts to your chin, and he leans away, tipping your head up.

“Honey, you’ve gotta talk to me,” He whispers.

Your dark eyes have a little more life to them, but that’s only amplified the sadness they hold. “Santi, I can’t. I can’t. Don’t make me, please.”

“I have to, you can’t stay like this. We’ve got to get it out in the open.”

“Like you do?” You challenge– your voice distinctly unkind, harder than he’s ever heard it before. His brow furrows and guilt blossoms inside of you. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. This just fucking sucks, Santiago. Its all wrong again.”

“Tell me what’s wrong and we’ll fix it.”

“There’s no way we can fix it. I’m just broken. I’ll always be haunted by her. She’ll always be here, waiting for an opportunity for that.”

“You preach that shit to me and the guys. Day in and day out. Every mission, and you don’t believe it?”

“I do— I did. I believe it for you. For them. You’re good people, Santi. Good men, all of you. You take care of me.”

“You take care of us, honey. Fish hangs on your every word. Will too. Benny is well— Benjamin.”

“And you?”

He shrugs, “You know I gave into this a long time ago. Before we even met. No other way for me to be.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I try to. I want to. There are parts of me too that I don’t like. I want them gone. I rip them up and bury them but they always come back to haunt me. I don’t think that means I’m not trying to be better, but it means I’ll never be the man I want to be.”

You frown at him, concerned, “Santi—“

“It’s okay. I accepted that after the first tour. Sometimes you gotta let the horse be dead.”

“Do you think my horse is dead?”

There’s no room for his ego, no room for hiding when he hears the blatant fear in your question.

He rests his head back against the wall, murmuring, “I think you’re the sweetest thing this earth has to offer.”

“You think so?”

“Bouncing around with your curls, and your sweet little smile. Kicking Benny’s ass with grace while you’ve got a cake in the oven. You should see yourself with Frankie’s little girl.”

“Seems like you watch me a lot,” You suggest softly.

“I watch you all the time,” He admits, but there’s no shame in his voice. In fact you can see resolve in his eyes, and possessiveness. A chill runs down your spine and it’s not from the water. Santi mistakes it for that anyway. “Let me turn this off for us?”

He’s still asking. Still checking in with you though there’s much more light in your eyes.

“Yeah, okay.”

Santi leans up and turns off the shower, letting out a sigh of relief. He runs his hands over your wet curls, pushing them away from your forehead. His thumbs swipe your cold cheeks, brushing away some of the water droplets.

Without that steady sound of the shower, sheets cascading down on you, you both are feeling a little more exposed.

“I came in here to make sure you were alright, not spill my fucking guts. I just had to take care of you,” He says, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“You can always take it back,” You say teasingly, though most of you expect him to bite at your offer.

He’s said much more in these last few minutes than he ever has to you— Santi’s a sweet guy under all his charm, but he never lets you see below the surface. Not until now, when letting you in seemed like the only way to get you out.

It takes more effort than he expects to pull himself away from you. He leans back against the shower wall, nimble fingers lacing together in his lap. “And lose you?”

“You could never lose me, Santi,” You murmur, reaching out to grab one of his hands.

Your eyes roam him, a little in disbelief at what’s happening right now. But yes, it is Santiago Garcia sitting next to you. With his dark brown eyes, his sharp jaw dappled with stubble, his salt and pepper hair looking much darker and curlier than usual due to the water.

“Yeah?” Santi asks, eyes glued to where yours sits atop his. He traces slowly over the sight of you two linked together, admiring how soft and rich your skin looks even after sitting in a shower for so long.

He’s a goner isn’t he?

“Yeah.”

There are butterflies in his stomach. Butterflies, sweat slicking his palms despite the fact that he’s soaked through his clothes and down to the bone. He realizes in this moment that he’s not just a goner. No— he loves you. He knew that he was harboring some kind of feelings for you, but when your eyes meet his— earnest and tender— he can only think one thing: I love you.

His eyes hungrily drop to your full mouth, and another shiver runs down your spine. “Let me kiss you.”

You nod, squeezing his hand that’s still in yours.

“I need to hear you say it. You have to say it for me, so I can believe it.”

“I want you to kiss me, Santiago. Please.”

He’s on you then. All over you. His hands move quickly, guiding you back into his lap before one loops around your torso and holds you close. The other cups your jaw, angling it back so that he can press his mouth to yours. You’re breathless before the space between you is closed, chest heaving at how sure and firm his hands are. He kisses you. Kisses and kisses you, like his life depends on it. Like you’re lost and the only thing that will guide you home is his insistent tongue.

Your hands slip and slide against the fabric of his wet shirt before you give up, raising them to tentatively cup his face so that you can have leverage.

“That’s it honey, kiss me back. Take what you want to. Whatever you need,” He encourages between kisses.

Take you do. You squirm in his lap until he lets you shift and straddle him. It had started with him leading you, consuming you but now it’s your turn to surround him. Santi gives in, sighing into your mouth as your tongue goes on the hunt for his. You kiss him. Kiss him and kiss him until your mouth aches. When you pull away his is flushed pink, newly wet. You run your thumb over his lips before wiping your own mouth.

He looks up at you like hang the moon. His eyes are soft and hazy, pink mouth pulling up into a smirk. There’s the Santi you know. The Santi you love. But even now, he’s softer and sweeter, gathering you close again.

“What do you need now, sweetheart? What can I do to make it better?”

“You.”

“I’m yours.”

santi taglist: @jitterbugs927, @theconsultingdoctor10, @tanzthompson, @clairevoyanceee, @moonmalice, @tiffanypooh, @dearvirtualdiary-blog1, @marc-spectorr, @xbellaxcarolinax, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @missdictatorme, @whatthefishh

#santi garcia x reader #santi garcia x black!reader #santi garcia x fem!black!reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x black!reader #santiago garcia x fem!black!reader #santi garcia #black!reader #santi garcia fanfiction #santiago garcia fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #arson writes

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hockeynoses · 6 months

Text

Happy Halloween! (a snz fic)

Male - cold, mess!, implied future contagion

~*~

He wakes up to sinuses that are absolutely packed with congestion. He’d gone to sleep last night with a tickle in his throat and a bit of a headache, but he certainly didn’t expect to wake up to this.

His nose starts streaming the second he sits up in bed, setting off a tickle deep in his nose. Still hazy from sleep and a head that feels like it’s stuffed full of cotton, he only manages to get his hand halfway to his face before erupting with a thick sneeze – “heh-nnggK’SHO!” that forces the gunk that had accumulated in his sinuses out, covering his hand in mess, the rest escaping into the air. He’s left with twin trails of clear liquid coating his upper lip as he shivers, dazed.

Leaning over to the nightstand, he thanks his past self for keeping a box of tissues stocked there as he pulls out several of them. He buries his face in the soft cotton and lets out a truly ill-sounding blow. The sound of it crackles through the air as more snot is dislodged, filling the bundle and soaking through to his hands.

He throws the ruined tissues to the floor and grabs the box, setting it next to him on the bed and pulling out fresh ones. His breath scissors in his chest before he snaps forward with a violent – “huh…ha-AHH’EEHGGSHH’IUE!” that explodes out of him.

He doesn’t dare remove the tissues from his face, groaning as he feels the wet mess of it against his skin. He gives a damp, clearing blow, strong enough to shift the pressure in his ears. He’s forced to breathe through his mouth as he crumples up the Kleenex and tosses them to the side.

I’m going to go through the whole box by noon, at this point, he thinks, flopping back onto his soft pillows. He rubs his knuckles against his itchy nose, already well on its way to becoming pink.

It fucking had to be today, he laments, allowing himself a small pity party. It’s Halloween, and he’d been planning on spending the day making treats for the party later tonight, as well as handing out candy to the trick or treaters. He’s just going to have to power through. Maybe it just seems worse because it’s still early and his body hasn’t had time to wake up yet.

As soon as he thinks it, his nostrils flare and he’s surprised by a wrenching double – “ha’GSSHH’IUE! Huh..ha’NGGSSHH’uh!” At the mercy of his own body and unable to cover in time, the viscous spray of it mists the sheets in front of him. “Ugh… oh god,” he groans, swiping at the mess on his face with his hand.

Remembering the box next to him, he pulls out a fistful of Kleenex and releases a gurgling, cold-ridden blow into the waiting tissues.

“Fugg, I don’t wadda be – heh… ha’ERRSSHH’IUE! – SNF. I don’t wadda be sigg today.” Noting the squishy pressure that still clogs his sinuses after so many clearing sneezes, he resigns himself to the fact that he most likely has come down with the cold from hell.

Yet, determined as he is, he’s not going to let it stop him from going on with his plans. He can still make the food for the party tonight, he’ll just have to be very careful about washing his hands and covering his sneezes. If he has to make them one-handed while holding a tissue to his dripping nose the whole time, then so be it.

He should be able to hide his illness enough that no one will be worried. Hopefully he’ll be able to hold it off enough so they won’t take one look at him and decide it isn’t worth the risk. Hell, the way he sounds, even just being in the same room as him might be risky enough. But he can’t let his friends down, and he doesn’t want to miss the party.

Pulling more tissues from the box, he catches a harsh, scraping – “uh…huh…ha’NNGGGSSH’ah!” into the bundle, containing all of the dense, contagious mess that his nose is constantly trying to force out of him. He gives one last marshy blow before getting up to start the day, box of tissues in hand. If he can just keep his nose under control, everything should be fine.

#snzblr #snzfic #snz fic #snzfics #snz fics #cw: contagion #tw: contagion #cw: mess #I wrote this with Ste/ve H. in mind but I made it generic for the masses!#Happy Hall/oween! I woke up and immediately wanted some Ste/ve Hall/oween horniness #I've been on a tear lately 😂#I wrote this in an hour so please be gentle and enjoy #hn tissue tag

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sillywittleprincess · 13 days

Text

Modern AU Mahito x fem reader

Warnings: SMUT, dub-con (reader is intoxicated), inexperienced reader, sub reader, fingering, teasing, use of the word slut (once), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, semi-public sex, not beta read

Word count: 4.2K

It has been a long week of cramming homework and you needed a break. Needed something to distract you from the hell they call college. You decide to text your friend Nobara to see what she's up too. Despite being a year younger than you, she already doubles you in popularity and always knows when there's a party.

Y/N:

Hey girl! Sorry we haven't seen each other much this week, professor nanami has no mercy when it comes to assignments.

Nobara:

Haha you're all good gorgeous. What's up? You texting me out of the blue is like hell freezing over.

Y/N:

>:0

It's not like I NEVER text first. But you're right, something is up.

Nobara:

LMAOO why did you phrase it like that 😭

Y/N:

Shhhh! Anyways, do you know if any parties happening tonight? Like ones where I won't get kidnapped?

Nobara:

Oooh quiet y/n is entering her party era?!

Yeah I'm actually going to a party tonight with Maki. I'll send you the address ;)

Y/N:

How'd you convince Maki to go to a party with you 😭

Also thanks girl! When does it start?

Nobara:

She doesn't know she's coming yet, but you know I'm dragging that girl by her ear to come with me :P.

And it starts at 8, so that gives you time to get ready. Hopefully I'll see you there girl!

Y/N:

Hopefully <3

You look at your phone again and see that Nobara has sent you the address. You smile at the message, she's such a good friend. The clock on your phone says it's 6:58pm so you decide to start getting ready now so you don't run late.

You first pick out your outfit. "Something cute but not too showy...." You think to yourself.

After rummaging through your closet for a few minutes, you finally find an outfit that you like. A pleated black skirt that goes down to your mid-thigh, a light pink oversized sweater, some white leg warmers, and some Mary Jane's that you bought online a few years ago.

You put on your cute and casual party outfit and press the power button on your phone, looking at the time.

"7:11" you say aloud to yourself. You walk over to the vanity in your room and sit on the chair, looking in the mirror. You didn't look bad at all, you just wanted a extra cute factor.

You turn on some music and open your makeup bag, finding yourself in your own world. You flinch slightly when the dollop the cold moisturizer onto your face before quickly rubbing it in. Then you reach for your blush, rubbing your brush against the powder compact before buffing in onto your cheeks. You also put a little on your chin to blend out the duller color it has compared to the rest of your face.

Then you grab your highlight and fanning brush, rubbing the brush in the glitter. You swipe the brush above your blush before dabbing your finger into the glitter. You put some on the inner corners of your eyes, on the cupids bow of your lips and on the tip on your nose.

Then you dig your hand in your bag and grasp onto your tube of mascara. You swipe of one layer of it before checking your phone once again.

"7:30..." You think out loud to yourself. "I should probably start on my hair."

You find your comb on your vanity and brush through your hair after fixing your part that got messy during the day. You put your hair into a cute half up, half down style, bringing the front two strands of your hair loose so they can frame your face.

You grab your phone and look at the time. The clock says 7:39pm. You turn off your music and look around your room. The floor is covered in clothes.

"I clean it up when I get home" you think to yourself.

You spritz on a few pumps of your favorite body spray before giving yourself a once over in your full length mirror. You definitely look cute.

You type in the address that the party will be at. It's a 18 minute walk, but you've walked further in worse weather so you'll be fine. You sigh softly as you exit your dorm and lock the door behind you.

...

The walk wasn't actually that bad. You wished you had your headphones with you but your thoughts were enough to entertain you on the walk to the house. You realized when you arrived that the party was at a frat house. It was to be expected, I suppose.

You check your phone, and 8:00pm stares back at you. Getting there the moment the party starts is a little embarrassing but that just means you get first dibs on drinks.

You knock on the door and you hear music blasting from behind the thick wood. A few moments later the door opens and you see a man that looks slightly familiar.

"Oh...I didn't expect to see you here y/n". The male in front of you says in a slightly surprised, but monotone voice. You give him a once over and it hits you. Two messy buns, pale skin, black stripe tattooed on his nose. Choso Kamo! A quiet boy in your English class.

"Hi choso. Am I here too early?" You ask, hoping he'll say no.

"Nah you're good. We finished setting up a while ago. There are a few people who can earlier than you if that helps you feel better." He gives you a soft, comforting smile then opens the door wider so that you can pass through. "Come on in"

You thank you and walk inside, the music blasting loudly. You swear you feel it vibrating in your bones.

"I'm on door duty but you make yourself comfortable okay?" Choso says a bit more loudly than before so you can hear him over the music.

"Thank you choso. I hope that I see you later." You also say in a louder pitch before waving him goodbye.

You look around the living room and see a few people either scrolling on their phones or talking with their friends. That reminds you of Nobara. You pull out your phone to text her

Y/N:

Hey I'm at the party. Where are you and Maki at?

Nobara:

Damn girl, you got there early. I wasn't planning on coming until 9. So just chill until I get there okay? Maybe get yourself a drink to pass the time.

You groan out. Now you're stuck in a new environment with nobody that you know. But you decide to take Nobara's advice and head towards the kitchen to look for some alcohol. And when you enter the kitchen the music becomes more mellow and that's when you see him.

Sitting on the counter in the kitchen in mahito. He is well known around campus for beating some guy into a pulp last year so absolutely no reason. You've always tried to avoid him in the hallways out of fear. This is your first time being in such close proximity with him. His casual outfit of baggy jeans and tight long sleeve shirt make him look approachable, but you know better.

Looking down at the floor to avoid eye contact, you open the fridge and see it's practically busting at the seams with booze. You're about to grab a can when you hear the sound of feet plopping on the ground.

"Hey...you looking for alcohol? The fridge is where we keep the cheap stuff so I wouldn't recommend it when we have better options."

His voice is a lot smoother than you thought it'd be. It seems to relax you, but only for a moment when you remember his reputation again.

"Um thanks for the heads up." You say awkwardly, still looking at the fridge. "Where is the not cheap stuff then?"

"Turn around and look at me and I'll show you" you can hear the smirk in his voice as he talks. Hesitantly, you turn around and look at him. He's tall, at least taller than you. The first thing that you notice is the stitches on his face. If they're real or fake, you're not curious enough to ask. Then your eyes drift from his face to his hair. He has such nice, long hair. You have to resist the urge to run your fingers through it.

"Ahh a girl who's not too afraid to look me in the eyes. That's quite rare these days." He says before sighing out dramatically. "Anyways, the good stuff is in the basement downstairs," his voice drops to a slutry tone. "Do you want to come with me to get it?" Then his tone changes once again to a more cheerful one, "that way, you can pick out what you want."

His constant change in demeanor confuses you. He seems to mean well but you can never be too sure. "That sounds good, just give me a moment"

Mahito smiles down at you as you pull out your phone, tilting it away from him so he doesn't see. You open you messages app and text Nobara.

Y/N:

Just so you know, I'm going to the basement with mahito to get drinks. If I'm not in the living room by 9, check in there to make sure he didn't kill me or something.

I turn my phone off and look at Mahito. "Sorry about that, I'm ready now".

Mahito shrugs, seeming not to care. "Follow me" he says before opening a door in the kitchen that you assumed was a pantry. But you stand corrected as you see stairs going down to a grey concrete floor.

You follow Mahito, closing the door behind you. You don't want anyone else to see that you're getting the good stuff and they're not. As you walk behind him down the stairs, the silence feels heavy. You don't know if it's awkwardness or fear of his reputation. Probably the second one.

When you finish walking down the stairs, mahito is already way ahead of you, opening a mini fridge. He kneels down to peer in. "So we have vodka, rum, some leftover champagne and a bottle of wine. The wine's mostly used for cooking but I'm sure the guys won't mind if a glass goes missing."

You nod as he lists off the multiple types of alcohol. "Can I have vodka?" You ask. Mahito hums in acknowledgement and grabs a small plastic bottle before handing it to you.

"It may not look like a lot, but this will get you drunk for sure." He says with a smirk.

You nod once again before twisting open the cap, taking a small sip. You cringe at the taste of straight vodka and Mahito laughs loudly in your face.

"Have you never drank before?" He asks in a teasing manner. This makes your eyebrow twist and you feel like you have to prove yourself. Without a moments hesitation, you bring the small bottle to your lips before chugging it, holding back your body's reflex to spit it out.

Mahito whistles lowly at your prideful action. "Wow, you could have just said no, but damn." Then his voice gets a teasing lit to it "you might wanna sit down. Can't have you wobbling up the stairs now can we?" He gestures towards a worn in looking sofa.

You're about to say that you're fine but then a wave of nausea hits you and you decide to follow mahitos advice. You slowly make your way towards the couch before plopping on it.

Mahito giggles and sits down next to you, leaving a cushion in between you too. "I didn't expect you to be so eager to prove me wrong pretty girl" he says, his voice still teasing. He lets out another giggle as you groan. "Don't worry, the nauseous stage will be over soon" he scoots closer to you to run his flat palm on your head, trying to comfort you.

You originally flinch when he touches you but your mind becomes as woozy as your body and you relax into it. There are a few minutes of silence, only broken by your heavy breathing. Despite your original fear of him you feel comfortable in this moment. "It's probably the alcohol, you think to yourself".

The comfortable silence is broken my Mahito suddenly speaking up. "Are you feeling any better?" You nod in reply, distracted by the comfortable feeling of Mahito's hand on your head.

Mahito chuckles. "You like my touch that much ,huh?" He says before pulling his hand away. You pout and look at him, wondering why he stopped.

"Put your hand back, it felt nice" you demand.

Mahito smirks. "Ohh so you're an honest drunk... how about this. You do something for me, and I'll go back to petting your head."

You may be drunk but you still know how dangerous that situation sounds, especially with a person like him. You bite your lip anxiously then say "before I agree, what exactly is it that you want from me?"

Mahito smiles at your question. "You're such a smart girl. I'll tell you what I want. I want you to do something that is truly unique to you. Something that will touch my very soul. What I want you to do..." he stops his monologue to look at you, reveling in your confused expression. "I want you to crawl into my lap and whisper your deepest desires into my ear. Will you do that for me sweet girl?"

The sexualness of his request makes you blush.

Mahito smirks when he sees you blush "Awe, are you embarrassed baby? I promise I won't do anything...until you want me to." His sultry tone makes you feel a tingle run down your spine.

You think about his request for a moment. Maybe it was the alcohol but it didn't seem like a bad deal to you. And he promised not to do anything.

"Okay... I can do that. B-but only if you promise not to judge me! And you have to promise that you'll go back to petting my hair!" You say looking directly into his eyes.

"I promise baby" he says bringing the hand the was once touching you to your hand, intertwining your pinkies. "See? I pinkie promise to keep my word. Now come here and crawl into my lap like a good girl." He says, removing his hand from yours and patting his thigh.

You awkwardly move so that you're straddling one on Mahito's thighs. You can feel how toned they are against your panties even though his jeans. "This is so embarrassing" you say, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as I feel my cheeks grow hotters.

Mahito sighs, enjoying the feeling of your weight on top of him. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about sweet girl. Just let it all out." He runs a finger up and down your spine, making you shudder.

You decide to get down to business right away, lowering your voice to whisper in his ear. "Well...I'm a virgin. I've never done anything too sexual before. So... it's my dream that when I do have my first time, it's with someone experienced that can help me and...take control." You shift my hips side to side, not knowing if you're doing it because you're anxious or because of the delicious friction that it provides.

Mahito smirks, his breath hot against your neck "Ah, a virgin. How quaint. I assure you, my dear, I have plenty of experience in this department. And as for taking control...you have no idea how much I enjoy doing just that." The long haired man grasps onto your hips, making you gasp. "And stop squirming baby. If you want I can relieve you later"

You blush at his words and stop shifting your hips. You decide to continue saying your desires, your hormones taking control over your mind. "And I've never...um...fingered myself. so I want someone to do that to me too."

Mahito hums softly in response, his voice low and seductive "Ahh, that's not the first time I've heard a girl talk about fingering." He runs his thumbs over the fat of your hip. "Very well, I shall do all those things for you. Now then, why don't you let your guard down and give me full control?"

You pull your head away from his neck and look at him with a slack jaw and wide eyes. It was probably the alcohol. It has to be the alcohol. That's the only reason why you were considering his offer. Yes, that had to be it. You can just blame it on the alcohol later.

"You'd...do those things for me?" You ask bashfully.

Mahito's smirk widens, his eyes filled with lust "Of course. I've been wanting you since I say your cute self walking into the kitchen looking to booze. And if getting to have you means fingering your virgin pussy until you scream my name in ecstasy...then so be it."

You whimper softly at his dirty words, going back to burying your face in his neck, feeling embarrassed and overwhelmed.

Mahito's hand gently massages hips, trying to soothe your nerves. "There's no need to be embarrassed pretty girl. You were born to feel pleasure, and it's my pleasure to help you find it."

You nod into his neck. "I know...I'm just not used to this. I don't even know how to start this..." You felt embarrassed and shameful about how inexperienced you were when it came to sexual encounters.

But as promised, Mahito was there to take the lead. Mahito's fingers moved up from your hips to your back, lightly trace designs, his touch gentle and soothing. "You can start by relaxing. Let all your muscles go lax, and let your body melt into mine. I'll take care of the rest."

You shivered when you felt his comforting words said against the skin of your neck. You do your best to do as he says, taking a few deep breaths and letting your muscles grow relaxed against his body.

Mahito hums softly, pleased with your response. "Good girl. Now let me see what else I can do for you."

You gasp when his hands make their way down again, but this time going slightly lower than your hips, massaging the gloves of your ass.

"Shhh it's okay" Mahito hums out, "I've got you".

As he says this, Mahito's fingers find the hem of your skirt, gently pushing it upwards. He then reaches your panties, his fingers tracing the outline of your virgin pussy, making your body tremble. "You're so wet for me already. Did talking about your horny thoughts get you all worked up?" He teased.

You whimper softly "sorry" you apologize, unsure of what to say. "that's a little embarrassing..." You didn't want him to get turned off by how unused your body was to this type of attention.

Mahito's fingers dip into your panties, feeling the slickness of your arousal. He smirks against your ear "Embarrassing? No, it's quite endearing baby. You're excited for me to touch you. To be honest, that's hot as hell."

His praise makes you want more. You try your best to stay relaxed like he said, but you can't help softly grinding your hips against his hand.

Mahito's fingers slip out of your panties pulling them to the side. Placing his thumb and forefinger on your cunt, he gently part your lips, teasing the entrance of your pussy "You want me to finger you? To make you scream my name in pleasure? Let everyone upstairs hear you?"

"Please..." you whine out, feeling yourself grow wetter at his words, feeling yourself clench around nothing.

Mahito's thumb presses against your clit, while his forefinger begins to slowly enter you. He goes slow, savoring the tightness and wetness of your virgin pussy "Mmm, you're so tight...so perfect," he groans out, throwing his head back. You followed in suit, slightly arching your back and moaning out a little more loudly and high-pitched than intended. The foreign object inside you feels new and different, but it definitely doesn't feel bad.

Mahito smiles, hearing the pleasure in your voice. He begins to move his finger in and out of you, faster and harder. "Come on...move your head. Look at the person who's making you feel good for the first time"

You do as he says, anything to keep him going. As you lean back to sit down fully of his leg he smirks at you. Only one finger was in and you looked a mess. You had a slight sweaty look to you and you were panting. It'd look like you had just finished running a marathon if it wasn't for your eyes, half-closed in pleasure. "I knew you'd be a good little slut for me."

You open your mouth to object but only a moan comes out as mahito slides in a second finger. The stretch was painful at first until he did something that made you grip onto his wrist. He curled his fingers inside you, hitting a sensitive spot that you didn't know you had.

"You like that, don't you?" Mahito questions, but it's more of a statement. "Being filled up by my fingers? Feeling me touch you where no one else has?"

You whine loudly and he pumps his fingers in and out of you. "It feels so good Mahito... I love it so much!"

Mahito starts to feel you clenching more tightly around him and he smirks. He rubs your clit with his thumb, having forgotten that it was resting there in the first place.

Your moans grow louder and louder and all it takes is one, two, three swipes of his thumb on your clit before for cumming on his hand.

But mahito doesn't stop. No, his smirk turns to more of a sadistic one and he pumps his fingers faster, rubbing his thumb against your clit in hard, fast circles.

"N-no!" You babble out. "I need a minute, I can't take any more"

Mahito chuckles as you beg. "You can and you will. You're a big girl. Remember when you chugged that vodka? I think you can give me one more."

You squirm your hips, trying to get away, but Mahito's other arm wraps around your waist, keeping you in place.

Your grip on his wrist tightens and you look at him with pleading eyes. "Mahito please stop! I feel like I'm gonna pee!" You sob out, tears of overstimulation pricking at the corners of your eyes.

You immediately regret saying that because mahito starts giggling like a psycho and goes as far as to add a third finger.

"W-wait..!" You try to start, but the second Mahito curls all three fingers inside you, a hot gush of liquid shoots out of your pussy. Some of soaks into Mahito's jeans and some socks into the plush couch you both are on top of.

You sob, hot tears of pleasure and embarrassment running down your face.

Mahito has stopped giggling now and looks at you in concern. He slips his fingers out of you and pushes you underwear back to its rightful place, though it is a little wetter than before you came down to the basement. "I'm sorry baby, was that too much?" He wipes his cum-soaked hand on the sofa and uses the other one to wipe your tears.

"I just... didn't know what was going on... everything felt like it was too much" you sniffled out.

Mahito frowns when he realizes that he's done something more than make you feel pleasure. He made you feel unsure. He brings his clean hand to the back of your head and guides you down so that your head in in the crook of his neck. "Shh it's okay...I'm sorry I scared you." He strokes your head, keeping his promise that he would do that afterwards.

You smile softly and you feel yourself begin to relax again. That was until the basement door slams open and you hear footsteps pounding down the stairs.

You turn around wide eyed, and you blush shamefully when you make eye contact with Nobara, Maki trailing not far behind her.

You see rage in Nobara's eyes as she takes in your appearance, disheveled hair, post-crying eyes, mascara smearing off. But then maki whispers something to her that you can not hear and you see Nobara sniff the air.

Her angry face turns into a lopsided smirk.

"No...fucking...way. I thought you were getting murdered down here but it turns out you were getting your back blown out!" Nobara laughs at her own joke and Maki looks at the two of you, pushing up her glasses before speaking. "Just so you know, it reeks of sex in here. You both should probably spray some air freshener before coming back up."

You smile awkwardly, feeling like your face is on fire. Mahito just laughs and wraps his arms around you before saying, "that's a good tidbit. But why don't you two girl go back upstairs now. And make sure to close the door. I wasn't quite done with y/n," he says with a smirk.

#jjk #x reader #mahito #mahito x reader #mahito x reader smut #jjk smut

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peaky-shelby · 1 year

Text

NEW ROMANTICS | MBAPPÉ [14]

» summary: in which an arrogant and talented football player (the best of his time as some say) and a focused and harsh critic of a journalist are gonna have to find a way to co-exist.

» chapter 14: The Great War

» Writer's note: all I'm gonna say is have fun. Enjoy it while it lasts 💞

» Taglist: @moonchildohh @formulahoe @princetongirlll818 @mavieesttriste16 @kiwisa @godessstela @hummusxx @kodzuvk @pink-manz @corbyns-smile @ippid @jayruiewo265738 @blueanfield @mrs-bellingham @sorceresski @sooblovebot @okayymochi @army7g @j-rbps @heli991113 @markhyucksmells @chaotic-taco-collector-blog @i0veless @photmath @http-isabela @rainytelevisionfilmwagon

@formula101x @neymarloverxxx @cepolar @freespirit-51 @marialikescherries @superswaggycooch @lunasmindinwriting @shadysandwichghoul @contrastedfandom @alexxcorona113 @951am @jinsoulorbitzen12 @books-loverss @l0verl4ne @kypostsblog @bluberrycheezk @hottieluvr @calcaneous @444jodie @dudde-44 @neysgf @wallflowerjournal @p4rkyonce @toclic @kyliannnkkk @mad-die45 @mentalbaddie @karotland @et-in-arcadia-ego77 @kymb-10

Taylor took the night flight. She spent the morning saying goodbye to the ones she was closest to and promising Lily that she would be back soon. She meant it, she didn’t expect staying in Paris too long, her career there was over. She just wanted to put a better ending to it, perhaps find something new. There was a guy in a black suit holding up a sign with her name on it. She approached him, dragging her suitcase with her.

“I think that’s me” she smiled. “I didn’t know I’d have a car waiting for me.”

“Monsieur Mbappe sent me. Did you have a nice flight?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Follow me mademoiselle.”

“Merci.”

He led her out on the parking lot, towards a large black van. Little extra she thought but she kinda liked it too. He helped her put her bags on the back and then opened the door—

“AH!” She screamed as confetti sprayed on her face. She held on her chest and looked to her right, Neymar was sitting there, laughing. She laughed as well, the fear turning into nostalgia and happiness of seeing him again. But she could hear another laugh too and when she looked to her left, she saw Kylian, sitting by the window, smiling. “You are monsters.” She mumbled and launched herself at Neymar, giving him the tightest hug, she could master. He rubbed her back, holding her close to him. The two never even got to say a proper goodbye. He kissed her cheek and pulled back a little while the driver started the car.

“It’s nice to see you again Princessa!”

She smiled “Missed ya.”

“’m sorry about your Pa.”

She held back, of all the people she had heard saying the same thing, she knew that Neymar genuinely meant it. Suddenly she had no idea how to answer him. Thank God for Kylian that decided to interrupt, waving his hand in between them.

“Alright, I’m part of the surprise too, you know?”

She looked at him, how he sat across from them in this luxurious van, that was defiantly too much just to drive her home. Neymar gave her a little push, encouraging her to go sit next to him instead. She reached for Kylian’s hand and got up, he pulled her to his side, immediately igniting electricity between them. They looked in each other’s eyes, Kylian’s hand moved to her hair, picking out some of he confetti that had stuck on her hair, taking his time.

“Good flight?”

“Yeah. But I’m exhausted, please tell me you haven’t planned anything.”

“Nothing.” She narrowed her eyes. She had never met anyone with a better poker face than Kylian. “Galtier wants to see you tomorrow though.”

She groaned “god I don’t wanna have that conversation.”

“I’m sure it’ll be ok.” He smiled.

She wanted to kiss him. Taste him. She was struggling to stay appropriate.

“Man, just kiss already. You can cut the tension with a knife.”

She laughed, embarrassed at herself and leaned on Kylian’s shoulder, hiding herself. It was so weird to her that Neymar knew the whole truth, no matter how close to him she was. Kylian kissed her head, then his lips traced down to her cheek. Urging her to tilt her head back a little, so he’d be able to kiss her. Such an intimate moment, it was odd, doing it publicly for the first time.

“I’m glad you are here.” He whispered.

“Me too” she smiled.

They reached Kylian’s house a while after, Kylian and Neymar helped her carry her bags upstairs and they talked about all the games she had missed ever since she left, and how bad things had gotten with the management. None of the players were really happy about the situation. Taylor expected to meet darkness as Kylian opened the door, instead she was faced by screaming, balloons and drinks and familiar faces that were there to surprise her. She gasped, instantly reaching for Kylian’s hand. She laughed as she saw Leo, clapping for her, next to his Wife Antonella. Ramos and Kimpembe were also there, both of them holding a glass of beer in their hands.

“¡bienvenido de nuevo!” smiled Leo, approaching her slowly and giving her a comforting embrace.

“This wasn’t necessary.” She mumbled on his shoulder.

Ramos came and patted her shoulder, pulling her out of Leo’s arms into his and holding her tightly, almost suffocating her. “Missed you chipmunk!” She laughed at the name, who would have guessed that she would have missed hearing it. Then she heard a loud horn in her ear and she jumped away, turning around and seeing Kimpembe, laughing his ass off along with Neymar. She would have chased him if it wasn’t for his injury, she settled for chasing Neymar around the room instead, until she reached Kimpembe again and threw herself at him, embracing him. Each of the boys gave different kind of hugs, his was warm and comforting, like you were being hugged by your childhood friend.

“Stop scaring me.” She complained

“Can’t make any promises.”

As he drew away he noticed a little black shadow moving in the distance “Luna!” she gasped and went to pick her up. The cat tried to get away but Taylor picked her up, spinning her around and smooshing her face on her fur.

The next person that welcomed her was Marquinhos.

“How you doin’ cap?”

“It’s been shit around here!”

She smiled “I can see that.”

He hesitated “we need to talk, tomorrow when you get to campus.”

“I already have Galtier to worry about, must I have you too?”

“Yes.” He smiled.

Last person she saw was Verratti, who was hesitant to get near her at first. She caught him glancing a few times, decided that she could make the first move instead. She approached, holding her wine in her hand. “I don’t bite, you know?”

He smiled, thinking about it “maybe you should.” He said, while looking down. She had never seen him as shy before. “I’m sorry for what happened.”

She felt something in her heart lightening, a sense of relief after hearing his apology “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m the one that got her in the conferences, I didn’t think— The things she wrote about us nit trusting you, I should have never said them, but it was before I got to know you. I didn’t believe any of it by the time she published—"

“Do you know what Kylian did to stop her from writing the other article?” she asked, he looked up. She could read the worry behind his eyes, like he wasn’t meant to talk about this at all. Taylor got closer. “Was it just money?” he didn’t respond, he’d look at her like a puppy. “Come on, you owe me that much, just tell me. What did he do?”

He chewed his bottom lip, glanced at Kylian to make sure he wasn’t listening and got closer “I don’t know the whole story. He asked me to meet her, so I set it up and then they were alone. Ann never contacted me again, next thing I know she’s transferred to France National team.”

She calculated everything he was telling her. If Kylian had pulled strings to get her on the National team, it means he owed people favors and what’s worse it meant that sooner or later he’d bump onto her again. “So, you think he paid her?”

“I think it’s very likely.”

Taylor shot Kylian a look from across the room, he waved at her, smiling. Ignorant to the truths she had just learned.

Neymar and Leo were the last ones to leave. That way no one knew that Taylor never left Kylian’s apartment that night, except the ones that already knew the whole truth. Taylor was seating on the couch, leaning on its arm, while waving at the men. Kylian shut the door, slowly turning to her direction and smiling at her. “you ok?”

“Yeah” she smiled, nodding. He though she looked very adorable in that moment and walked over to her, kneeling in front of the outside arm of the couch. “it was nice to see all of them.” She reached for hoodie of sweatshirt, pulling him closer. “it’s nice to feel missed too.”

“You’ll see the rest of them tomorrow. I’ll drive you to campus, I have a meeting with the medics for my leg.”

“Evaluation?”

“Yeah, for Bayern game.”

She grinned, leaning her head to the side. “You know I’m never gonna be assistant coach on PSG again, right? Even if Galtier offers.”

He didn’t react to her question, like he had come to terms with that revelation before she even had to say it. “That doesn’t mean you can’t use your time there in order to build a fresh career.”

She cupped his face “I’m gonna open the website again. Under my name this time, I’ll focus on champions league.”

“My greatest rival is making a return?” He joked and she laughed, leaning her head on his.

“Yeah, and he is gonna be extra brutal this time around.” He gave her a peck, letting her know it was ok. If anything, he missed the motivation he’d get from all her articles.

“You want help setting it up?”

“No,” she shook her head “I’ll figure it out. Although I’ll build it way more professionally than it was before PSG. Maybe get my own Magazine?” she smiled as she said that last part.

“Look at you getting all excited.”

She shrugged “Pa was right. I’ve been terrified of wanting, dreaming big, taking risks without calculating every single move.”

He pushed her hair away from her ear. “And what do you want?”

She smirked, leaning closer “Long term, or short term?”

“Let’s go with long term first.” He played along. She placed her arms around his neck, looking away and pretending she was in deep thought.

“Long term I want my name to be remembered in this sport. Not sure how yet, but I want to write my way through until I reach exactly where I’m supposed to be. Maybe coaching again, in another team. Maybe in Barcelona—” she laughed as she said it, and he pecked the laugh away. Deepening the kiss, so he’d let her know that it wasn’t funny at all. It was possible, she could do anything she set her mind to, even softening, the insecure arrogant golden boy.

“What about short term?” he mumbled to her lips, giving it a light bite.

“You” she said in a quick breath, and he picked her up the next second, taking her to his bedroom. Their lips wouldn’t separate as he laid her on the bed, taking off her and his clothes like it was a reflex. There was something different about the way their bodies connected with one another after the night in her house, it wasn’t just sex, it wasn’t just pleasure, it was a need, it was love from both even if they’d never say it out loud. She feels pleasurably crushed under the weight of his power over her and her touch, her smell it had a narcotic sense for him, killing him and reviving him repeatedly and she is here. In his bedroom. In his space. What he’d do to keep her forever, he thought as his hands slid down her entire body, by now his palm was familiar with it, like her lines were scarred on his skin and every time he touched her, they fit together like puzzle pieces. She let out a moan, a breath of lust in his ear while he removed her underwear, uncovering her deepest desire; to feel him. He didn’t let her wait too long, he was inside her and she hoped she’d hear him saying it again. His way of saying I love you. She wanted to hear it but he didn’t say it and she never asked.

When they were done, she’d leave kisses on his chest and his arms, she couldn’t stop herself, it was like she could never get enough. Kylian would run his hands through her hair, that had gotten noticeably longer from the first time he met her.

“I think I’m developing an addiction to your body.” She confessed and his chest vibrated under her with laughter.

“That makes two of us.”

She placed her chin on the space between his breasts and raised her eyes, looked at him through her eyelashes, biting her lips.

“You know what they say about addictions.”

“We’ll be fine.” He reassured her.

“Do you ever think about how we got here?” she asked, snaking herself over him, her thumbs stroking the sides of his face. She realized she had never told him about how cute his cheekbones were, especially when he smiled. She leaned down and kissed his nose. “Such a pain in my ass” she mumbled.

“Still am!” he said proudly, slapping her right ass cheek and getting a laugh out of her as she dropped herself on him and he engulfed her in his arms. She kissed his neck, an open mouth kiss.

“Marcus told me about Ann.” She said on his skin, he closed his eyes. “he told me she was transferred on National, head writer. You wouldn’t have anything to do with it—” she raised her head and balanced it on her hand, her elbow deepening against the mattress. He tilted his head on the side to look at her. “Would you?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course, it does Kylian. You’ll have to be around her eventually, work with her, you think she is not gonna pull something like this again?” He turned his head to the ceiling; she instantly cupped it with her hand and forced him to look at her. “I don’t like you owing people like her favors because of me—and god knows how much money you gave her!”

“Why do you care so much about the money?”

“Because it feels like my integrity has been sold!” she explained. Lowering her head, embarrassed at herself. He hated seeing her like this, unable to help “I wanna give you half of it, at least.” He laughed at that, looking away. She slapped his shoulder “I’m being fucking serious Kylian! Stop laughing—” but he didn’t stop, although he tried. He looked at her.

“I didn’t give her any money—”

“I know you are lying!”

“Even if I did, you wouldn’t have to pay a dime—”

“Oh for fuck’s shake.” She got off the bed and put on his long shirt to cover herself, he tried to pull on the shirt to drag her down again but she slapped his hand off and walked in the bathroom.

“Babe!” he called and looked at the bathroom door, expecting her to show up again. She didn’t. he heard the water running instead. “Amor!” the word slipped his lips before he could think about it, like it was exactly what he was always meant to be calling her.

She heard it despite the running water. She was already knelt on the cold marbles on the floor when he said it, holding on the faucet lever, while the water was filling up the tub that they had used as a hiding place way too many times.

“I see it with Ney and his boy and the public relationships he has had in the past. It’s scary. To think that you will always bring discomfort to the ones you love. Sometimes it stops you from loving them enough.”

Could he ever lover her enough? Could she ever love him, she wondered what it’d be like. She heard him coming in, lowering his body behind her and then kissing the back of her neck and shoulder. She turned the water off and turned her body so she’d face him. He smiled at her, their forehead meeting halfway.

“I’m sorry” she whispered, looking anywhere but his eyes, his lifted her chin up with his finger, encouraging her to lock eyes with me and when she did, he leaned and kissed her. Not that her apology was necessary but he accepted it anyway. Then he pulled her into him, let their bodies tangle on the floor of the bathroom.

PSG TRAINING CAMPUS – GALTIER’S OFFICE

Her hands were sweating and she wished Kylian and Neymar were by her side. She’d mumble motivational speeches under her breath to keep herself encouraged and knocked on the door. Galtier called for her to come in shortly after and she stepped in the office, pretending like she had her shit together. Galtier got up when he saw her and walked around his desk to go to her. He took her hand in his and gave it a light shake.

“Ms. Wilock. My condolences for your father.”

“Thank you.” She smiled.

“Come, sit.” He pointed at the chair and walked back to his desk, to take his rightful place. “How you think we are doing without you so far?” he asked jokingly and Taylor sat down, smiling.

“Struggling?”

He was unprepared for her brutal honesty. He had forgotten she rarely filtered her thoughts before speaking them out loud.

“What about you without us?”

She snorted “It was odd adjusting back to a normal life away from the boys, however if this is about me coming back, it’s not happening.” Silence settled between them. He clicked his lips, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He smiled.

“I wasn’t going to offer you a place back on the coaching team. I was hoping you were open to other options”

“Like what?”

Galtier reached on the cupboard under his desk and took out a file, leaving it on top of the desk. He pushed it towards her. Taylor opened it and saw documents of young players. One of them was Kylian’s brother,

“We want you to work in the Academy. You can help us build the foundations. That way we can still keep you around and you’ll have a job that you can balance with writing and help while you’re here in Paris.”

She looked up at him “Did Kylian put you up to this?”

“no one can put me up to anything Ms. Wilock. You should know that by now.” He stood up “you got till tomorrow to give us an answer—”

“Sir, I don’t know how long I’m staying in Paris.”

“Perhaps this will tempt you to stay longer than you have planned.” She got up, unable to find the right words to argue. “I understand our first attempt of a partnership created problems” he raised his hand “you needn’t explain. But we would be foolish not to use you while we still can. So…” he walked around the desk to her, led her to his door while he spoke “Think about it, get back to me tomorrow.” Before she could even form a sentence she was out the door, standing like a lost kid in the mall where her parents had left her. She wasn’t even sure who was close to her when she exited his office, she just knew that he had shut the door and left her on the other side alone. She gulped, trying to imagine herself a teacher, well, it wasn’t much different, was it? Suddenly she felt a pair of hands on her shoulders and looked up. Kylian stood before her, a smile on his face. He knew, she thought. He was probably the one that planned it.

“So?” he asked hopefully. He must have realized that she wasn’t enjoying this as much as he was because his smile melted away and turned to worry just a few minutes later “You said no?”

“I didn’t say anything.” She responded quickly.

“Why not? It will pay good, it won’t take a lot of your time and you can leave anytime you want until you find something better.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you had this planned?” He bit his tongue. Let out a deep breath and made a step back. “I wasn’t prepared for this, returning to PSG is not something I wanted, I told you I wanted out—” he scoffed.

“I was just trying to help but I see now your decision is already made! Obviously you don’t care as much!” He turned to leave but she pulled his hand, keeping him in his place.

“That’s what you think? That I don’t wanna stay in PSG because I don’t care about you?” she hissed, moving closer so only he would hear. He didn’t respond and so she took that as an initiative to walk away.

PARKING LOT – LATER

Kylian headed to his car, Taylor’s words still echoing in his head. He didn’t expect to find her leaning on his vehicle and waiting for him but there she was, Neymar by her side, the two of them laughing about something like they used to. He approached slowly, fearing that she might disappear if he got too close to fast. But she smiled when she saw him, probably not to give any hints of their previous fight to Neymar.

“Left the girl waiting, man.” Joked Neymar.

Kylian looked at taylor “didn’t know she was waiting.”

Taylor forced a smile and nodded her head “I’m cold, let’s go.” She gave Neymar a quick kiss on the cheek and when Kylian wasn’t expecting she took his car keys and unlocked the car, getting on the driver’s seat before he could stop her. She got comfortable, smiling. Kylian gave her a confused look and got closer to the window.

“What are you doing?”

“I wanna drive!”

“Since when?”

“I have to start getting used to Paris streets.”

It took him a while for him to process what she said. He looked at Neymar, who in return patted his shoulder and told him to get in. He did just that. Sitting next to Taylor who started the engine like this had been her car all along. She was occupied trying to get used to the control panel and starting the car meanwhile he was staring at her. Suddenly he asked;

“Did you take the job?”

She smiled, maneuvered the car out of the parking spot while looking in the review mirror “I wasn’t going to. Then my boss called, he said he knew I was in Paris and wanted me to write an interview on Messi.”

“Doesn’t sound that bad.” He mumbled.

“That’s what I said” They were out on the highway now, Kylian had just started realizing that he wasn’t on the wheel, it was her and he started getting anxious because he had never really seen her drive before. He put on his seatbelt when he noticed her holding the steering wheel a little to tight and stepping on the gas while they waited for the red light to turn green. “Then he said; how about a day in the life of Antonella and Lionel Messi, your girlfriends are gonna love that.” When the light turned green, Taylor started driving fast, Kylian held on the door. His breathing getting quicker. “to which I said, how about you go fuck yourself—”

“Tay! Eyes on to road—”

“That’s where my eyes are! Paris streets, with you. And to be honest why don’t you go fuck yourself as well Kylian!”

“What did I do?” he complained but he knew she didn’t really meant it!

“You’re not an asshole anymore and it’s pissing me off because now all of a sudden I wanna stay with you—”

“Hold up—”

“No! I’m not holding up, I’m driving!”

“Babe—”

“Let me finish for fuck’s shake, you rambling, stupid idiot!”

“Are these supposed to be words of affirmation?” the volumes had gone up both of them yelling for no apparent reason.

“Yes! Cause that’s how it is with us, isn’t it?”

“It’s red!”

“I SEE IT!”

“The house was the other way!”

“Shut up!” she yelled.

“mon dieu, elle va nous tuer tous les deux” he mumbled and looked out of his window.

“I’m not killing anybody and yes I understand French now so cut it out- and listen for ones—you’re so convinced I wanted to leave PSG because I didn’t care or feel enough about you—” she scoffed “did it ever cross your arrogant little mind that maybe it cause I care about you enough—”

“What kind of logic is that—”

“Excuse me am I done speaking—”

“You made a pause!”

“I did not make a pause! My lips are still moving—you cut me off—and for you information it’s the kind of logic that I can find other teams like psg, psg is replaceable—you are not!” she stopped the car abruptly in front of a red light, Kylian moving a little forward. Silence. Just the car sounds filling the emptiness. He looked at her in awe, he wanted to kiss her right there and then. She was avoiding his eyes at any cost, staring at the red light as its color reflected on her face. Red as the wine she tasted on his lips, red as lipstick he loved seeing her in.

“What way’s the house?”

“Second to the right.” He said, still staring at her.

“Good.” She mumbled, still avoiding him.

They stayed like that until they reached the house, she parked the car next to all his other cars and turned the engine off, now there was not a single sound to focus on so she could ignore his burning stares. She got out of the car, shutting the door so loud that it made him jump. He got out a moment later and stood next to her, waiting for the elevator. She got in first when the doors opened and leaned against the mirror, he mimicked her and the two waited again. Always waiting, she thought. She was tired of it. Finally, they reached his floor and Kylian stepped forward she he’d unlock the door, she followed behind him, leaving all her stuff on the couch and heading in the kitchen immediately after to serve herself a nice glass of red wine. He hesitated before going in too, staying behind her.

“Cherie—”

“Don’t, please.” She whispered. Leaving her glass down and turning to face him “don’t say anything.” She moved closer “I’m so tired of us talking and analyzing everything only so we can get it wrong every fucking time—it shouldn’t be this hard!” She put her hands behind his neck, stroking it gently and pulling him in.

“It’s not!” he said, holding her face in his palm.

She looked at his lips, “kiss me then.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice” he smiled and leaned in, connecting his lips with hers. Then in the middle of the kiss she smiled, gripping on his shirt.

“I took the job.” She said and he pulled away to look at her face, unable to hide his smile and enjoyment. He picked her up, spinning her around on his kitchen while he understood why the city under him, that he had watched endless nights by himself, was called the city of love.

1 WEEK IN / KYLIAN'S HOUSE

Kylian dropped himself in the couch, holding a big bowl of chips on his hands while Taylor had her attention split between the Television, watching the first leg of Chelsea Vs. Dortmund and her computer where she’d write her notes.

“They said I could give it a try for a while.”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.” She responded, her eyes following the players on the screen. Waiting for halftime.

“You say that as a journalist or a girlfriend?” he asked. First time he had every used that word around her. She looked at him, her eyes remaining calm.

“Both. It’s a risk.” Kylian slid closer to her, reaching his arm behind her neck and leaning in. “I’m working.” She said and looked back at the screen. Just a few minutes until halftime. He kissed her shoulder.

“I hate you watching your ex when you’re with me.”

A grin ghosted over her face but she tried to hold it down. She continued typing, struggling to remain focused with Kylian’s breathing washing over her, his tongue sometimes messing with her ear, her skin… she started typing faster, with more pressure on the keyboard, biting her bottom lip as hard as she could. He finger creeped up around her, stroking her arm. The referee whistled for half time and taylor closed the cap on her computer and leaving it on the coffee table, turning to him, taking the bowl out of his hands and pushing him back so she’d be over him. He slapped her butt cheek, enjoying the view. “told you I’m working.”

“It’s lunch break.” He smiled and she lowered her head to kiss him, a heated kiss, proof that she didn’t care about mason’s thighs as much as she cared for his. She let her body fall in his and he took her weight, enjoying how it feels to have her on him, to be pressured by her. Her hand reached down to his thigh and he hissed as it made contact with his sore spot.

“I still think it’s a bad idea.”

He smiled “I’m gonna be ok.”

“You can’t play a whole game.”

“I wasn’t. I’ll just be on standby in case the need me.” He enjoyed the view of her eyes, his thumb going in circles on her cheekbone. “how’s it going with the kids?”

“You got lots of talent in the academy. Missing a little bit of discipline.” She smiled.

“Anyone ready for the big game?”

“Absolutely not. If it was up to me not even Ektike would have joined.” She rubbed her nose with his “there is one that reminds me of you.”

He grinned “you don’t say.”

“He’s got talent. And character. Lots of it.”

He knew exactly who she meant.

“Your brother’s gonna be a star one day.”

“That’s what I keep telling him. You two getting along?”

“Yeah. Unlike you he listens. I appreciate that about him.”

He laughed but she cut his laugh short by giving him a deep kiss. She kissed his cheek too and then hid her face on the crook of his neck, embracing his body completely. He kissed her hair.

“I saw you two together this morning. I wanted to join.”

“Its best that you didn’t.” she mumbled on his neck.

“I know.” He let his fingers wander up and down her spine “but that’s not the point. I wanted to say, I really liked the view.”

“Of me and your brother?”

” Yeah. And he really likes you, you know?”

“Does he know about us?”

“No. but I think I’d like it if he knew.”

“Not yet.”

“Ok.”

Taylor had to watch the rest of the game on a streaming platform the next day because eventually she fell asleep in his arms. It was one of the few times that they slept together without making love to each other first. Like they were building new routines together that weren’t involving only their bodies but their hearts too. And after she watched the game, she got ready to see her boys playing against Bayern. She was screaming from her seat, annoyed and disappointed at the same time. Anything she had managed to build with them was falling apart. There was hope when she saw Kylian joining, the last 15 minutes and she was scared he’d hurt himself bur also proud—

“WHAT IN THE FUCKING HELL? THAY WASN’T EVEN OFFSIDE!” She yelled. It was so loud that Antonella sitting next to her, jumped in her seat and pulled her hand to force her to sit down again. Taylor crumbled in her chair and puffed her cheeks, annoyed at the turn of events.

When the game was over Antonella helped her get on locker rooms, but even from outside she could hear everyone shouting at each other. She could recognize Kylian’s voice, speaking in French and cursing and even Messi was taking shots at people. Before the two women could get in the door slammed open and Neymar walked out, moving passed them without even saying anything. She could see Kylian in the corner arguing with Galtier and she decided to stay out of it until that conversation ended very heatedly also and Kylian walked out of the room even more made that Neymar was. She watched him and followed him until the reached the rooftop. She got a weird sense of déjà vu as she got up there, remembering the first night they ever looked in each other’s eyes with care.

“KY!” She yelled and waited for him to turn to her but he didn’t. He leaned on the marble wall and watched at the view beneath him, slapping his hand. She walked next to him, reaching for his arm. “What happened?”

“Il n'y a pas de connexion, il n'y a pas de gestion. Galtier ne fait rien pour aider et je suis fatigué. On m'avait promis quelque chose de plus et c'est vraiment horrible. Et personne ne fait rien pour y remédier !”

“Kylian slow down, I have no idea what you are saying—”

“I’m saying I want out!”

She made a step back as he said, her eyes softening and taking him in. She moved forward confidently and hugged him. She wanted to give him any comfort she could. He accepted the embrace and shrunk himself on her arms. “I’m tired” he confessed.

“I know.” She rubbed his back “let’s go home.”

2 WEEKS IN / KYLIAN'S HOUSE

He could feel the light from the computer warming his eyes despite the hour of the night and having his back on her. He turned around slightly, peaking at her and whatever she was writing. “You gonna sleep anytime soon?”

“Sure” she said but her eyes didn’t mover her eyes from the screen. Kylian checked on his phone on the night stand, it was already 3am and she had to be up in 4 hours for her class. He turned around completely facing her. He lifted his head and balanced it on his head, watching her.

“How about now?”

“Sleep, Kylian!” she told him

“I will when you do.”

“Have to finish this.”

“Why?”

“I just started rebuilding my platform. I can’t miss deadlines”

“You are the one that sets the deadlines.”

“I need to be consistent and you need to sleep, you have a game tomorrow.”

“You have a class before the game”

“God created coffee for a reason!”

“You’re not supposed to be drinking a lot of caffeine!”

Her fingers stopped on the keyboard. She narrowed her eyes, looked at him. “How do you know that?”

He looked away from her eyes “I spoke with one of the medics that has your history… I’m just trying to make sure history won’t repeat it’s self.” His gaze returned to her and she couldn’t really make out her expression, if she was touched by his gesture or if he had overstepped. Then she closed her eyes, like she was thinking. “You never speak about it. I never know what’s going on, how am I supposed to know if you need anything—”

She shut off her computer and left it on the side of the bed, leaning and kissing the fear off his lips, so he’d taste her appreciation instead.

“I never talk about it, cause its my life, its my routine. I never had to share it with anyone before, I’m not used to it.” She explained “but you can ask me anything, anytime.”

He pecked her lips. “Good to know you wanna share it. Are you gonna sleep now?”

She kissed his nose “no, but I’ll go on the living room so you can rest.” She went to move away but he pulled her hand, holding her close to him, he tangled his legs with hers and held her arms, moving as closer to her as possible “sleep. Please.” She sighed in his arms and closed her eyes; his warmth was tempting. His ocean hypnotizing. She smiled. She scratched his arm, her nails trailing over his veins. Funny, how much safety you could feel in another person’s arms.

“This could work” she said “my website. I’ve been getting follows on tiktok and more reads and it’s better now that I’m not hiding behind a nickname.”

He kissed the spot under hear ear “this could work too.” She tilted her head at him and he kissed her cheek.

“yeah I think it could.” She smiled.

Next morning Kylian left for his game, with a weird sense of happiness in his chest. The team had been through a hard couple of weeks and fights in the locker rooms but everyone seemed to be confident for win on this game against LOSC. The game started with a bang, and she couldn’t hold her excitement when she saw Kylian scoring the first goal. She wished she was down on the pitch like when she was assistant coach so she could run to them. Instead, she was up, on the vip section, supposedly invited by Messi, in reality she was there for Kylian. The happiness melted away when she saw Neymar tumbling on the ground, holding on his ankle. She jumped from her seat and watched while they carried him away “shit” she cursed under her breath, picked up all her stuff and put on her jacket.

“where you going?” Asked Antonella.

“Tell him I’ll be with Ney if he asks.”

She stayed with him on the medical room they had in the stadium, she was there to hear the bad news and when the doctors left, she held his hand while he cried. They moved him to his house before the game was even over, taylor drove with them.

“In what capacity?” asked the man in charge.

“she’s my personal coach.” Neymar said quickly. A lie technically, a truth for him.

She stayed with him, the medicine they had given him started to kick in slowly and she sat next to his bed, reading him messages he had gotten from family members.

“I’m tired.” He said and she could remember Kylian saying the same thing. Almost like this team was sucking the life out of them all. She used one of the wet towels the doctors left to wipe the sweat on his temple. She never thought, she’d have a brother to care for as much as she cared for Neymar.

“get some sleep. The boys will be here soon. I’ll let you know, if there are any updates on your exams, I’ll let you know.”

“Did we win?”

“Yeah. Leo made the win certain. It was a great goal.”

He forced a smile on his face and closed his eyes, laid his head on the side and eventually drifted off in the hypnosis of the pills.

It was about an hour later that Kylian and Leo came. Neymar’s house keeper let them in, and they walked upstairs to find both of them asleep on their respectable place. Kylian shook his head when he saw the position Taylor was sleeping in on the couch, half certain she’d get horrible neck pain. He walked over to her, shaking her gently. Taylor shot her head up, looking around until her eyes met Kylian’s.

“I’ve been calling you.”

“Sorry.” She murmured, stretching her body “out of battery”. She noticed Leo standing next to her and got up, rubbing her eyes. “He’s gonna need you.”

“I know.”

“What did the doctors say?” Asked Kylian.

“He might need surgery. He can let it heal by itself but there’s a risk something like that will happen again.”

He ran a hand down his face. “He’s missing the entire season?”

Leo shook his head, his hands placed on his hips and biting his tongue.

“Like I said; he’s going to need you.”

Kylian approached her, his hand creeping in on the small of her back. He kissed, the back of her head.

“You two go, I’ll stay with him.”

“Doctor’s are supposed to call by the end of the day, the phone’s there.” She pointed at Neymar’s nightstand and then at the bowl on the floor. “that’s for his cold sweat. Rub his head a couple of times, just be make sure he’s ok and if he wakes up the house keeper made soup for him and um—” she searched in her pocket and took out a small note “that’s in case he needs a nurse but you can call me too if he needs something—.”

“Tay—” Kylian squeezed her shoulders “he’ll be ok.”

She looked back at him and nodded, even though she didn’t really believe it.

They drove in his house later, taylor got out of her clothes as quickly as she could, huffing and puffing.

“Want me to get the water running?”

She glanced at him “Please.”

When he left the room, taylor opened her computer, she forgot she had left the website rentals open. Trying to take her mind off Neymar she started checking the Parisian apartments, knowing she’d need a bigger one for when Beth and Lily came to visit. She didn’t sense Kylian approaching her, standing behind her and seeing her research. “what are you looking for?”

She glanced between him and her screen “what does it look like?”

“Look like you are looking for an apartment, which makes no sense because you’re already staying here.”

She lowered her eyebrows, turned on her seat so she’d be looking on his side of the couch. “when did we agree that?”

“I thought the last two weeks made it obvious.”

She smiled “that’s sweet but I can’t stay here forever.”

“Why not?”

She laughed, unable to process that he was being serious “we’ve barely been together for two weeks and now we are moving in?” she sat on her knees to be as closer to his height as possible “are you out of your mind?”

“Is it more logical for you to be paying 1.500 euros a month for an apartment you’ll barely be in?”

She pushed his shoulder “what is that supposed to mean?”

He brushed her hair with his fingers “you know exactly what it’s supposed to mean!”

She blushed, lowering her head to hide her smile. He grinned at her reaction and reached for her hands “Beth and lily can come visit anytime they want.” She was always surprised at how well he read her mind. Stayed looking at him, expecting him to start laughing or something but he didn‘t. “come on, we’ll discuss it later, lets have a bath.” He pulled her hand and she got up, walking around the couch and letting him lead them to their bathroom.

“You never told me bout your big dream.” She said, the candles in the bathroom setting the mood for deep conversations. The two of them seating on each end of the bathtub across from each other, their legs touching under the water.

“hm?”

“Mine was Barcelona. What is yours? Cause if it’s just psg we have a problem.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “PSG could be more, you know?”

“It could. It doesn’t want to.”

He didn’t respond, leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling.

She rubbed his knee with her toe, comforting him. “I’ve heard something about Real Madrid, does it still stand?”

“It’s where I wanted to end up. But dreams change right?”

“Is that an excuse to stay at Paris?”

“I don’t know maybe.” He admitted.

“I think it’s easy, staying. You are comfortable. You’re the golden child while you are in Paris, the main star, anything else feels like a jungle to you.”

“Feels like I am building something with PSG, breaking records, making history. Like it could be something big for me and for them—”

She smiled and moved under the water closer to him. He opened his arms for her, welcoming her in his embrace, as she sat on his lap and stayed close to him. “Feels to me like you are just trying to build castles in the sand to me.” Her thumb stroked his cheekbone. “PSG promised you something and they are not delivering. It’s falling apart and it’s taking you down with it. No just you, all of the players.” She ran her fingers through his hair, massaging it gently and he closed his eyes, enjoying it “you’ll never show your true potential there, no one can because there’s not foundations to help players like you or Leo or Ney.” She sighed “I saw it while I was on the coaching staff and when I met Nssr.”

“You never told me how that went.”

“It was horrible.” She blurted out. Remembering the dinner and how shaken up she was when she left. “Because it proved to me how little respect there is for the sport.” She paused, biting her lip “I was wrong about you before I joined.” He widened his eyes and she smiled at his reaction “Don’t get all cocky, I wasn’t wrong about everything I still think you are an arrogant idiot—” he laughed “but they are worst. Point is… they got 3 of the best players in the world and they don’t know how to use them or discipline them” she scratched his chest gently while his hands made their way to her back, ghosting over her skin, sometimes going more down than they should. “Because they don’t want to discipline them. They just want to use them for promo… they don’t care about the game.”

“Is this you telling me you’re leaving?”

She gazed in his eyes, chewing her cheek from the inside “being in the academy I see how things work from the bottom and it’s just as corrupt as it on the top. So, yes, first chance I get and I’m out of there. And you should do the same.” She slipped closer “otherwise you are wasting a career for a glass house.”

3 WEEKS IN / KYLIAN'S HOUSE

“Their plane lands during the game.”

“Who organized that?” Asked Kylian, taking out the orange box from the fridge. Taylor was making eggs for both while he was setting up the table. A whole new routine that they had developed in the last week.

“They didn’t know smartass.” She said, putting the eggs on their plates and placing them on the table. They sat across from each other, taylor was surprised when she saw her pills next to her glass. She gave Kylian a quick look but he was oblivious to how much that meant to her. She doubted if he had even realized he did it, nowadays he would just take care of her automatically.

“I can send a car to pick them up.”

“No, lily is not gonna like that, she wants me to be there.” She looked at him “I’m sorry I know it’s supposed to be your big day tomorrow. Wanted to be there for the one hundred and first”

He chuckled “Ah it ok, you can go with the car then and I’ll meet you here after the game.” He kissed her cheek as he passed by her “You’ll be there for the one hundred and second.”

She smiled “How am I supposed to get in though if you’re still in the game?”

“I’ll make you a spare key today.” He was looking at his eggs while he spoke, like he didn’t just throw a bomb at her. Like the answer was simple as that.

“A key?” she asked.

He glanced up at her.

“for me?”

He took a big bite and chewed on it, ignoring the way she looked at him “I’ll tell Martha to make the spare room for the girls so it’s ready for tomorrow.”

“Can we go back to the Key please?”

He finally looked up, but he was confused “why you so worried about a key? You’re gonna need one anyway when I’m in Munich.” He filled his mouth with a last piece of bread and picked up his dish, putting quickly on the dishwasher. “Are you ready—” he stopped “why aren’t you eating your food—come on, we need to leave!” She looked at her dish and realized it was still there, the whole of it.

“Trying to swallow other things…” she mumbled.

He gave her a quick kiss before running into the bedroom. She looked at her pills and drank them down with her juice, wishing it was vodka instead.

He made her the spare key just like he said in the afternoon, she looked at it the whole night, while he was sleeping right next to her. Her computer laid on the edge of the bed, open on a page about PSG. Behind it was the unfinished article she was writing about the whole of PSG, starting from the management to the things she had seen during the academy. And over it the notifications she would get on social media would pop up, nonstop, her reads and reactions always going up.

She closed the computer and left it on the night stand, leaving the key on top of it and erased any distance between them by tying herself around him and listening to his sleepy breaths.

Little did she know, he was awake and he was at peace, finally having her as close. Little did she know, he knew exactly why she was freaking out about the key.

PARC DE PRINCE – THE NEXT NIGHT

“In the mood to break some records?” Asked Leo, coming up behind him while he was tying his shoelaces. Kylian glanced back at him smiling. He stood up, shaking off his nerves, he blew his cheeks.

“Always in the mood for that.”

Leo winked at him and shook his hand. “Good luck then.”

“Do you ever miss this thrill in Barcelona?” he asked suddenly and his teammate thought about it.

He nodded “Of course I do.”

“It was easier there, wasn’t it?”

Leo laughed, lowering his head “yeah. Much easier. But that’s because it was home. Not because of the records.”

“So, it’s not the records you miss? Or being number one?”

“That part had it’s pleasure, but you can break records anywhere Kylian.” He shrugged, scratching the back of his head “it’s who you break them with that makes it special.”

His words echoed in his mind when he scored on the net, fireworks lighted up over him and everyone cheered for the golden boy. Leo was one of the first people to run to him, everyone jumped on him, congratulating him by pressing him on the ground. He looked for her on the crowd only to remember that she was never there.

When the game was over, he celebrated with his family, hugged his breath and tried to forget about the person missing. He took pictures with the award and the entire team, even Neymar was there with his messy ankle and Kimpembe, injured as well. He was too busy looking at camera and it was too late when he realized which little girl was running up to him but he saw Lily before he saw Taylor—

“Oh my—” he gasped as the little girl jumped on him and hugged him. Everyone around was confused about the intruder, security even tried to get her back until Kylian signaled them to stop. He handed his award to Ethan and picked up Lily, laughing. “What on earth are you doing here?” he asked, but his eyes were already searching for Taylor. She was in the distance with Beth next to her, walking up to him. Neymar had already joined Taylor, introducing himself to Beth. Lily poked his nose, to get back his attention.

“Are you the best now?” she asked, smiling.

“What do you think?”

She shook her head up and down quickly, laughing. He looked back at Taylor.

“Thought you’d go straight to the house.”

She shrugged her shoulders “turns out we made it right on time.”

“She wanted to surprise you.” Blurted out Lily and taylor rolled her eyes. He gazed at Beth, holding Lily with one hand so he could shake her hand with the other.

“it’s nice to see you again. This is my brother Ethan.”

Beth shook his hand, smiling “Nice to meet you.”

Taylor walked over to Ethan, placing her arm around his neck “he’s a star in the making. Ethan, this is my family. Beth and Lily.”

Ethan nodded “I’ve heard a lot about you.” He looked between Kylian and Taylor “from both of them.”

Taylor gazed at Kylian, surprised at his brother’s revelation. But before she could ask about it, Kylian’s parents showed up. His father, she had barely spoken to him during her time as coach. She pulled away from Ethan quickly and cleared her throat, intimidated by his presence.

“Miss Wilock, happy to see you around again.”

She didn’t expect that. She smiled “Thank you sir.”

“Who is this little girl?”

“She’s little Wilock.” Said Taylor.

“First time in Paris?” he asked and lily nodded while biting her finger, the way that kids too.

“Mine too,” said Beth. “We are both excited.”

“Well then, you can come with us. We were going for a celebration dinner, Kylian, you don’t mind, do you?”

“Are we going to the Eiffel tower?”

“No but it’ll be just as high.”

“Mum, can we go?”

Beth looked at taylor, taylor looked at Kylian, Kylian let his mouth fall open, secretly hoping taylor wouldn’t deny the offer.

“If it’s not a problem we’d love to.” Answered Beth.

Lily started jumping on Kylian’s arms and he let her down, letting her walk ahead with her mother. Ethan and Kylian’s father moved ahead too. Taylor glanced at Kylian, while they walked next to each other, making sure to keep some distance.”

“Does he know about us?”

“Nope.”

She drew a thin line with her lips “that’s gonna go well.”

“Just keep a straight face.” He said and gave her a smile of encouragement. She stopped when she felt her phone buzzing. She took it out of her back pocket and looked at the number, it was British. She tried to recall if she knew it from anywhere then she heard Kylian calling “are you coming?”

Her finger ghosted over the decline and the acceptation button, she hit decline and pushed the phone back in her pocket and ran behind Kylian.

HELLO BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE!! Next chapter is the last 😭 can you believe it? Then we have an epilogue and then we officially say goodbye to each other. What things to we have left to discover? The phone call and dinner with the two families? Kylian as captain on the french team? Two people finally admitting their feelings? I don't wanna say goodbye 😭😭😭 who has been here since ch1 or when did y'all join us? Let's go down memory lane if y'all agree. Please please leave your thoughts and comments as always, means the world to me.🥺 I love you forever and ever xx

I'll be posting Blurbs of Kylian and Tay all week to add to the three weeks they've been together!! So send in requests!

#newromanticsfic #mbappe x reader #football writing #mbappe imagines #imagines #mbappe x oc #kylian mbappe one shot #kylian mbappe imagines

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punk-in-docs · 2 years

Text

🕷Wolf Men & Secret Heists🕷

Eddie Munson x Reader

9.2k words.

Behind closed doors and locked in shadows. Woven in between all these things, it seems a great burning crush is being harboured in the pair of your huge hearts.

“Hey.” You breathe. You almost sound nervous. You hate that you do.

In the half dark you can see Eddie’s eyes look stunning black. Big pretty tar pits that tug. His grin flicks into white.

“Hey.” He answers back.

Trying not to trip over where he stood. He’s certain you’d be able to hear the way his heart is pounding his ribs so hard, like it’s rattling against the barred window of his bones.

Or;

You and Eddie enjoy a rendezvous in a storage closet at school. Some inevitably dirty stuff happens-

Warning: There is smut in this! Fingering /sex references and all manner of dirty talk. follow the rest of the Super Freak series here-

Heels that click and clack on lino. That’s how you know your friend has arrived. She’s stomping up to your locker and to no one’s surprise- first thing she does?

She whines.

All scary padded shoulders in her bleached denim jacket glittering with rhinestones. Neon blonde hair piled up and bouncing. Plastic pink hoops rattle in her ears.

“My life stinks. I woke up with a zit on my chin. And I think I’m getting a fat ass.” Linda slumps against your locker with a scowl like her world simply must be ending.

“Good morning is the more traditional greeting.” You comment.

Side eyeing her, as you move her aside with your binder, to wrench open your locker. Actually getting some books out to do some learning.

She didn’t even bother to look pleased at the fact you were back and feeling much better- by the way. So nothing much had changed there.

Linda was still her vacuous-poison slinging self. School was the ever steady same. A crush of gossip, hormones, pooling levels of geekdom, and elitist social strata.

Your world was back to rights, so it seemed.

You rummaged in your locker for your weighty English textbooks. Linda shoved a stick of pink gum in her mouth. Shrewdly eyed you up and down as she slowly chewed. Judging you from under those periwinkle eye-shadowed lids. Long flick of mascara on her lashes. Neon pink heavily dusted on her cheekbones.

“Why do you look different?” She asks you with one raised brow. Trying to put her manicured finger on it.

“Do I?” You comment. Knowing full well you do. Maybe you allow yourself a small mercy of a half smile at that.

You’d left your hair down. Sprayed perfume on your wrists and neck again. Prettied up more than you would for school usually. Dare you say it, you’d even put on mascara this morning. Just a little indulgence.

You’d wanted to rectify the situation; the last time he saw you, would leave him the lingering memory of unshaved legs, untamed bed hair, and snoopy shorts. And you probably looked green from being sick.

You felt this outfit was a must, to clear the air. So to speak.

You’d dived submariner level deep into the back of your closet to find this dress. A simple cream button up with red flowers swirled all over. Little cute climbing roses. You wore it with just your white socks and your old sneakers.

Right day for a dress outside. It was that soupy kinda Indiana day that lingered, pressing sunshine down with stuffy mugginess.

You keep the real reason you’d prettied up very close to your chest. She’s already checking her hair in her compact. Despite the fact she probably checked it five seconds ago before climbing out Jonny’s wagon of a car.

“Laundry day?” Linda asked with a staining tone of judgement at the end of her question. Eyes on her own reflection. Not turned to you.

“Yeah.” You beam. Because it was easy to sway her. And that padded lie was far more preferable to the truth. Not that she’d bother at all.

You didn’t, couldn’t, pique her interest unless gossip or bitching was involved. You mainly leave that acidic, razor-studded ball in her court.

You missed the old Linda sometimes. That Linda.

The goof she’d been before High School and it’s noxious halls grabbed a hold of her. She used to love books. Nerdishly so. Always with the books. Wore a bright yellow camp fun time t-shirt and used to adore thrashing around your room to your Romeo Void cassettes. The way she used to chug a coke and burp afterwards cause she didn’t give a shit if it wasn’t ladylike.

Then it was like someone flipped a switch halfway through your freshman year.

Suddenly she was all about what was the right table to sit at. Worried about being visible. Started ranting about cute purses and funky tight pucci tops. The right clothes she went broke trying to buy, to stay current. Cause ew vintage clothes. What the fuck. This isn’t the 70’s anymore grandma.

She compromised instantly on who she would be. She grew up, apparently. You like to think you never did take that full compromise.

You missed the same scruffy kid as you. Joined at the hip like twins. With her mousy brunette and un-permed hair (shocking, unthinkable) the way she wore scuffed muddy kneed jeans and sneakers to school like you, and boys had been a distant and irritating spec on her radar.

The way she got more and more hung up on hot pink nail polish, hormones and chasing after scoring beer and trashy sex. How she’d rather be flipping through glossy fashion magazines and gossip columns than her actual studies.

Your friend, who she was in the before, would have been straight round to you like a shot, once upon a time if you’d been sick. Or not at school for even one class. She’d whine at you, and irritate, until you felt better.

She’d have slung her ass over to yours in an instant, burst through the door to raid your fridge. Sat criss cross applesauce on your bedroom carpet throwing flowery pillows and your teddies at you, because she was bored at school on her own. And how dare you-

Now all she wanted to do was pop pink bubbles of gum on the sidelines of her boyfriends basketball games, and natter away to preppy airhead cheerleaders, rather than put any effort into her own life.

She became the bitchy stooge you’d always sworn to hate when you were little kids. Erecting makeshift tents in your bedrooms and telling ghost stories.

No rectifying it now. She’s in way too over her permed head. Drawn to the dark side.

Her life now is lipsticks, new mini skirts, and blowjobs. And she revolves around her thug boyfriend like one of Jupiter’s moons. Heaven forfend she ever falls out of orbit.

You mourn it for a second. Looking at her inspecting her one very small zit, probing a finger to it, like its satan’s own hell spawn nesting on her face.

“I should be in fucking Notre Dame bell tower.” She grumps.

You dig in your locker some more. Shake your head with a sigh. Strong arming all your books in hand. Hunting for the one for your chemistry class that began in ten minutes. You shift stuff onto your hip.

“Paper bag over your head?” You suggest.

She scoffs at you. “Nice.” Knocks her elbow into your locker door to hit it up against you.

A shadow brushes past you. A disgusting greasy wash of assaulting Paco Rabanne stinks up the air. All spice and wood, overpowering.

You fight to roll your eyes. Her revolting boyfriend lumbered past you. All cologne and seriously no braincells.

“Baby.” She chirps all sweet. Demeanour swirling into sugary sweetness. They’re acting like they didn’t just see each other two minutes ago.

“Hey.” He gives her that lopsided too white grin.

She folds her arms out for him and he kisses her right up against the locker door. Tongue noises and mouthing, sucking making you feel suddenly like vomiting again. That wasn’t kissing. It was like he was trying to swallow her. Suck parts of her face off in slurpy chunks.

“What you doing after school tonight?” He asks close to her ear but loud enough for all to hear.

“You, probably.” She flirts. Eyeing him like he was a full steak dinner. Dragging her sharp nails down his letterman.

“Christ.” You wince in revulsion. They resume tangling and knotting their tongues.

“Can we help you?” Linda asks when they stop sucking face. Having heard your gripes. Her lips were red swollen already.

You glare, boredly. “Yes. Give me a larger sphere of personal space. Couple of hundred miles should do.”

“What’s up your ass, Picasso?” Jonny asks as he splays a hand against the locker near her shoulder. Her spit is gleaming wet on his lips. Charming.

He used that really clever arty nickname he’s assigned to you. You half wonder if it’s because he hasn’t got the mental acuity to learn your name. Or if he even bothered to know it. Probably couldn’t even spell it-

“No one as per usual.” Linda sighs in a cruel little jab.

You bite back the strong urge to kick her in the leg. You really do bite your tongue so hard it stings. You wanna shout:

Eddie Munson. That’s who, Linda. Eddie goddamn freak fucking Munson is currently so far up my ass. Matter of fact, he’s so balls deep I can feel his cock tickling in my throat. Kay?

If only you could say those words aloud. Open up your mouth and let them tumble past your teeth, unfurl from the bed of your tongue.

You could only imagine. Their faces would be pure comedy gold reacting to that news. You’d walk down these halls cackling and blast the finger at them.

Jonny pipes up to you.

“I got a buddy, Derek, whose looking for a date to the game. You’re like, kinda his type.” He offers up to you. Eyeing your chest when he remembered his buddy said something about liking big tits.

Your eyes sharpen with frost creeping in at the corners.

“I’d rather lick a filthy toilet bowl. Thank you.” You beam all sweet. Venom punctuating your smile.

“She doesn’t date jocks. Her idea of a hot date is a library group study session.” Linda explains.

Yes. That’s my idea of a blistering hot foursome, you think.

“Hey. The head librarian is a total hot fox. Maybe tonight is the night I’ll finally score.” You play around. Waggle your brows.

“Shit. You eat beaver?” Jonny asks dumbly. Laugh grazed on his voice.

You make a disgusted face. Of course that’s a sick term only a meat head jock would use.

“That would explain so much.” Linda tilts her head at you meanly. He mutters something to her and she laughs.

“Glad I can amuse.” You scathe.

They smile all bratty together, not listening to you, and then they go back to their mating ritual. She wraps her arm around his neck. Mussing those sweaty looking blonde curls of his.

They finally break apart. He’s wearing so much of her waxy pink lipstick. “I’ll swing by for you around seven- wear that pink thing I like.” He asks.

She giggles all squeaky. They kiss. Again.

You feel like you’re watching an exhibit at the zoo enclosure. Gag.

You shut your locker. You’ve heard enough. “See you in class. If you can remember to stop humping.”

They don’t even hear you. Rolling your eyes. They’d only break apart with brute force. Or if a teacher walks past and throws the safe sex advice at their backs. Telling them to disperse. This isn’t a brothel.

You start down the halls and away from hormone-and-braincell-dead central. Leaving them to it. You clutch your books and weave past people.

And you’re suddenly awfully cheered. Perked up by the sight a few locker rows down from you. Why, it’s your favourite ever metal head.

Eddie has his head shoved in his locker. Up on his tippy toes rifling through for something. Scooping his hand right to the back.

You know just from essences of his character you’d already gleaned, that his locker would be an absolute garbage tip.

Littered with trinkets and random mementos. DND dice. A pack of playing cards. A dead can of spray paint in chilli neon red. Cool pebbles or stones he’d found outside the trailer. Odd pencils and plastic figurines from cereal boxes and his Hellfire club. Loose erasers. Pencil shavings. Broken Metal cassettes.

Possibly long forgotten school text books, lost in amongst crumpled leafs of odd paper, scored with old ideas for campaigns. Old purple and red sharpies and dead ones he doesn’t use anymore but clings onto them anyway. For god knows whatever reason-

When you scoot up to his side and tap him gently on the leather shoulder. He shoots five feet in the air, like a startled firework that’s just been let off.

Bless the boy. You made him screech and jump. He jerks back and his shoulder slams into his open locker door.

He splays his ringed hand wide over his raging heart and calms when he sees it’s you. Huge puddles of muddy brown he has for eyes widened, big as saucers. Now they relax when he falls onto the shape of you.

Ceases screeching when he does see it’s you. Smile curls up the side of his mouth instead.

Cause, Holy shit, it’s you.

His voice breaks on the first word when he speaks. “Jesus fucking christ of Nazareth, Pencils.”

You flinch. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you Munson.”

He leans against his locker for support and laughs under his breath. “Holy hell. I’m not used to that. How stealthily do you move around. My god-“

His eyes fix onto yours. Eye contact that sets shimmers living inside your skin.

“I never considered myself as particularly covert.” You offer.

“Honey. Trust me. You could work for the CIA.”

You preen a little with the way he calls you honey.

“Not sure I’m entirely what they’re looking for you know.” You tilt your head and smile.

He smiles back. It’s magnetic.

Your smile just pulls things out of him. Cute sweet things like fluffy pink kittens and rose petals. He looks at you and it’s like, maybe it’s stupid as shit, but he feels like someone has finally found him.

“You didn’t die. I’m so relieved. You’re feeling better?” He asks all curious as he shuts his locker door.

Violet purple sharpie in hand. He uses the shutting of his door, as an excuse to sidle up close to your side.

You’re not going anywhere. You sought him out. Stood holding your books and talking to him and- god. This is like the fucking high school romance in some tacky movie. And he’s the lead.

You’re wearing a dress. He makes his twitchy eyes focus on your face. Because he’s so tempted to let his eyes soak and swim up and down the rest of you. And he’s trying so much not to act like a sexual slobbering deviant with you nearby.

Your hair was down. So pretty. It looked so soft. He bet it still smelled gorgeous too. Still wearing that tropical sweet bite of coconut from before. Your legs were bare and you wore your paint spattered sneakers. Sweet little red roses swirled on your dress.

“Much better actually. I had one hell of a great nurse.” You lean in an tease him a little.

“Florence.” You smile, saying it lowly.

He blushed. Dear god, how he blushed at that praise. His cheeks filled ruddy with it.

You realise you’ve caught him off guard and hooked this bizarre vulnerability out of him. Keeping him caught on his toes. Literally.

He bites his lip. “Yeah but I can’t promise I’d look good in nurses uniform, pencils.” He winced at the thought.

“I think you’d pull it off nicely.” You assume. He chuckles.

“Don’t think I have the equipment to fill it out.” He grins as he twirls the sharpie in his hand.

Nerves. Just silly infatuated nerves. He picks idly at the peeling metal stickers on his locker door with a thumb nail.

You’re stood near his locker in public, in full view of the eyes of everyone in this hallway. You’re here, you’re so cool about it. In ways he can’t be.

Stood there all cute, and there’s your perfume sneaking across to him like oranges and petals, and there’s flirting skated on your voice and your smile- holy fuck.

He didn’t think you’d want to openly come up to him in front of everyone like this. He’s so happy he’s not listening to those fetid bear traps of usual Munson anxiety littered in his head.

You want to kiss him so badly right now it’s driving you into madness. When his tongue darted out to wet his lips. You follow the movement almost hungrily. Those heaven looking lips. Now you’re feeling better, you can’t ignore it in this close vicinity.

You want Eddie.

And the look he returns back, seems like a full reciprocation on those wants.

“How’s our respective friend the dragon doing?” He asks. Otherwise he’ll just blush and stare at your lips.

He tries not to skate his eyes over your scooped neckline (he fails) He can’t help it. He’s a simple man composed of hormones and he’s dying, actually slowly crawling to a painful death, to see more of you under that dress.

“Currently wrapped around her ogre of a boyfriend.” You nudge your head over your shoulder. He peers.

“Ew. Now that’s gotta be unsanitary.” He drags his eyes down the lockers and quickly sees exactly what you meanHe puts one hand on his hip. Is very quick to focus his eyes back on you. Fuck that noise. You’re by far a prettier sight to rest his eyes on.

“They won’t need to show sex ed classes anymore. They’re one strawberry flavoured condom away from putting on a little dirty show.” You smirk. Pure horror at the notion etched on your face

Eddie smirks all wide in agreement. “And in the hallways too.” He tutts like a scandalised nun.

“Have they no shame?” He asks you in faked affronted mockery.

“Should try carpooling with her. Her hand so far up his leg it borders on a porno shoot.” You shudder.

“Your poor eyes.” He says worriedly. He does worry for them. You’d have to scrub that image away with stinging water and soap. Maybe he could help. Nurse Munson and all that-

He shoots forwards and cups the side of your head like he could pull out the foul memory by osmosis alone.

His warm hand on your head fired up so much passion in your blood. Your veins skip and pop and sing with the bliss of his touch. It’s insane.

There’s that tender eye contact again. The one that feels like the start of a wildfire in your heart. Swirls up and swells, desolated everything in it’s wake. Both bursting with things unsaid. Things you want to be done-

Undone is more like it.

You’re fully ready to admit you would like to be the one wrapped around Eddie this hallway with your horny tongues down each other’s throats. Hands crammed in back blue jean pockets. One last hickie before the class bell goes.

“Hey uhm. Do you have a free period today?” You ask him. Curious smile.

You’re shuffling things in your hands. You bring a pencil out the tucked pocket of your binder. Yellow legal pad on top of your pile.

“Mmmm. Maybe I’ve a three third. Why’s that?” He plays with you. Smiling at you with cheekiness all smug on his amused mouth.

Your smile grows to hear it. “Oh nothing big. I thought we could uh, don some rubber face masks and pull a bank job that’s all.”

He bubbles up with laughter. That straight shiny grin of his you’re head over heels for.

“Hey I call dibs on wolfman mask. Alright?”

He then howls a loud ‘Aroooooooo’ which makes the poor kid walking along next to you to stumble back into someone else, all skittish. Almost caused a pile up in the crushing throng of bodies walking past.

You both giggle about it when the poor kid can’t zoom away down the hall fast enough to get away from you.

“Another great movie by the way. I watched it so much as a kid I think Wayne thought I’d go nocturnal, sprout fur and fangs, and eat sheep on Friday nights.”

You chuckle. “Well. You know. A hobby is a hobby. He shouldn’t judge.”

“And I guess that leaves me with the choice of Clown mask or Michael Myers.” You decide. Tilting your head.

“I think you could pull it off pencils.” He flirts. “I have faith in your abilities.”

“So where we running to after this heist? I assume we’ll have to go underground. Assume new identities. Or hell. Let’s leave the country. Spend our spoils.” He narrows his eyes. Plays along.

“Ah see. I thought Tijuana.” You offer up.

He points at you. Brows raised under those bangs like he’s considering it. “I like Tequila. Let’s go for it.”

“Probably shouldn’t keep discussing it out in the open. Loose lips sink ships.” You warn.

“Honey, everyone here is not even paying the slightest attention to us. Not with Malibu Barbie and Ken putting on their National geographic reproduction special down there.”

As he turns and rants, you decide to surprise him by leaning right in and smacking a kiss right into his cheek. Up on your tiptoes to reach him. Apples and cigarettes mingled with old leather. Smoky scent of Eddie.

The look on his face: utterly priceless. Cheeks flaming red. Eyes stuck on you.

When you bite your lip still smirking and scribble on your pad of paper. Eddie thinks his heart may be about to actually fucking grind to a stop.

He needed a nurse now. Goddammit. A nurse. A cigarette. Defibrillator. A cold beer. In that order.

He thought it would be the booze or cigarettes that would get him, one day. Or the way he drives, that borders on escaped lunatic driven to maniacal suicide. But oh no.

It’s you that’s gonna get him. Gonna pump his pathetic little heart off it’s mortal coil.

Eddie, my boy. It’s always the pretty ones that will try and kill you.

He feels like his little overwhelmed heart is one large throbbing entity now ruling his entire freakin body.

Your stood so close your books almost brush into his chest where you hold them. Where you look down and scribble on your paper. You tear off the bottom of the paper and hand him the jagged slip.

“So. Maybe in your free, you can meet me. Here.” You tap the end your pencil to the paper you pressed into his hands.

He looks down at your neat loopy hand. Definitely had an artist’s slant about it. You’ve written directions on there;

Art department. Down the corridor. Closet opposite the Degas ballet rehearsal poster.

Eddies eyes flick back up to you. “Closet huh?”

He remembers with alarming alacrity what happened the last time the pair of you were in an enclosed dark space. Hands wandered and there was an insanely hot amount of making out.

He’d had that thought of you with fever hot hands on him peppered through his dreams for the last week. He may have jerked off to the memory of it a couple times. Hence why he’s just falling to pieces right here in front of you, now.

You offer a flirty look right back. Boldly you meet his gaze. “All heists should be planned in secret. And storage closets are kind of our thing now.”

“Damn. We have a thing.” He shakes his head at you. “Smooth talker.”

You blush and look down as you laugh at his crass joke. Maybe that’s exactly what you hoped.

Eddie is struggling to believe he’s the one to pull a blush out of a girl merely with his words. That’s never happened to him before. He liked the hell out of it.

“Count me in, I’ll be there.” He tucks the slip of paper in his pocket. Patting it after. Safe keeping. Breast pocket. Stuffed right close to his heart.

You nod. “Good. Because. Uh-“ You step right in and whisper those words to him. “I’ve been thinking about you a stupid unhealthy crazy amount.” You confess.

“That absolutely makes two of us.” He meets you head on in this crush.

“So I can’t be held responsible for my damages when I get you alone in the dark, again Munson.”

Eddie nearly falls over. And he’s stood leaning against a very hard, very solid stationary surface.

And he’s thought about some very very filthy shit with regards to you and darkened spaces. Things involving his bandanna tied around your eyes. Or binding your wrists. He thought about sucking and biting on your neck to hear more of those delicious yelps.

He thought about kissing you to absolute air starved death. About anything and every which way you could enjoy twisty hot n’ heavy sex, in numerous wild positions.

He swallows right now. And he really, reallyhas to fight the urge to shove his mouth onto yours, right here, and now. He wants to taste you. Slam your back to this locker and shove his tongue in the smiling cup of your mouth.

He wants under your dress. Pawing at you like a pervert. He feels like some parts of him will never recover from this. Ever.

“Goddamn pencils.” He whispers to you lowly. He almost moaned it. It shot straight to your gut. Lightning zap powerful.

Those dazzling chocolate drop eyes. He looks drunk with you. Hungry for you.

The shrill school Bell cuts into your heated atmosphere. You bite your lip and hate that you have to step back. More distance that you didn’t want or need. Fuck.

“See you there?” You step away. Voice laced with hope.

He’d tug you along there right now if he could.

“You betcha sweet lips I’ll see you there.” He grins. It’s maniacal and so sexy of him.

You join the crowds and melt into them as you walk away. Unable to resist leaving him with a smile flicked over your shoulder.

When you get back to Linda she didn’t even know you’d gone.

Eddie watches you the whole time before he had to peel his eyes away, and turn his mind to definitely less important things. Picking through crowds for you.

Mirrors on the ceiling. Pink champagne on ice. Welcome to Hotel California. Ready a room for one please-

Cause it’s sappy as fuck, he’s well aware, but he never wants to check out of or quit this feeling you leave in him. He’s scrounging for more. Always more. Hopefully come his free he can have it.

Free period better hurry it’s ass along-

Ballerinas. Where the ever living fuck were these damn ballerinas.

Eddie wanders along the arty corridors. Looking very out of place as he had done the last time. Paper scrunched in his clammy palms. Golden ticket.

When people appear walking the other way, heading for him, he ducks and squirrels it over to the nearest display. Hair whipping behind him. Wallet chain tapping his Jean thigh.

Pretends to be very seriously studying the artwork pinned to the cork boards on the walls. Graphite smudged fruit bowls. Interesting

Hands behind his back. Peering around at the people shuffling past him.

They continue on down the hall with their sketchbooks in hand. Bumping into each other and telling jokes and utterly engulfed in their conversation.

They don’t give him so much as a cursory glance. Like he’s suddenly melded as one with the walls. All the better.

He stands with his hands behind his back and leans back from his hips. Swaying to watch them walk away and stoutly ignore the lingering metal head.

When they disappear out the doors, he’s on the move before they’re even ripped out of sight. Trying to be stealthy and quick about this. He scurries along like a scampering cat. Worried a teacher is gonna catch him and then he’s gonna have to slink his sorry ass outta here.

Zips at top speed down the hallways. Nimble on his sneakered feet. Most of the classroom doors were shut. Noise happening behind them. Art classes being dictated. Creations flourishing under tip of graphite pencil scraping on paper.

The humming whirl of pottery wheels down at the end of the hall. That same smell of sticky old paint and dry clay dust. Sad pot plant table to the side again. In all its droopy unloved glory.

Posters with names of artists he’s never heard of whizz him by. His eyes pick apart every one. Blue almond branches all twisted and nutty brown. Not the one he needsthough-

“Ballerinas.” He hums to himself.

Tutus and plié’s and all that shit. Eyes speedily scanning the walls. Flicking around in the way that makes him look manic. And then-

He sees it. Inconspicuously tacked to the wall. Mouldy mustard walls on a drab background only punctuated with the milky blue light of ballet dancers. He grins as he shoves the paper back in his pocket.

His eyes flick from that poster to the door opposite. Shabby old thing. The old sign on it looked weathered. Bold printed letters that read ‘Storage.’ He bites his lower lip in a smile.

Bingo, baby.

He’s at the door like a flash. Twisting his head around shoulder to shoulder to see if there’s anyone. Hair whipping around his eager face.

He shoves that handle so hard and slips inside the closet, it’s a wonder he didn’t break the thing.

His eyes adjust to the darkness inside. There’s old drying racks. Shelves for storage. Old paint tins. Old cloth canvases. Rolled up painted scenery curtains from the canteen stage, bunched up to one side. Dusted in spiderwebs and forgotten. Some wash of blue dotted with snow from a Nativity scene. Some foggy green garden from a tenth grade Shakespeare play from long ago.

He steps forwards. Eyes fading comfortably into the darkness. And there you are.

You’d put watermelon lip smacker on. Fluffed your hair. Rubbed a little dribble of perfume at your wrists.

Biting your lip all nervous and fiddling with your skirt. Floundering on the spot at the end by a low bench table. The space seems to be crushing down on you both. The realisation you’re truly alone again comes stifling as a vice.

Behind closed doors and locked in shadows. Woven in between all these things, it seems a great burning crush is being harboured in the pair of your huge hearts.

“Hey.” You breathe. You almost sound nervous. You hate that you do.

In the half dark you can see Eddie’s eyes look stunning black. Big pretty tar pits that tug. His grin flicks into white.

“Hey.” He answers back.

Trying not to trip over where he stood. He’s certain you’d be able to hear the way his heart is pounding his ribs so hard, like it’s rattling against the barred window of his bones.

“Funny seeing you in here.” He comments. That flash of his bone dry wryness rearing its head. He picks his way through the dark to you. Hands lingering on his hips.

He sees the smirk it draws from you. Eyes glitter in the dim.

“Yeah. Often hang out in here on the off chance someone wanders in.” You shrugged. Humour laced your voice.

“Like a spider, building her clever web.” Eddie widens his eyes.

Swaggers nearer to you. Closing in. His stomach tightens in want with every step his legs eat up.

“Very metal. Very sexy.” He adds. Tilting his head and his smirk at you. He hears how that made your breath hitch.

“Guess that makes you my prey then doesn’t it?” You tease.

He’s one step away. Moving closer to you in that dancy-swirly way he does. Other people walk. You’d have to come up with a whole new word for the way Eddie Munson moves.

“Oh. Happily baby.” He drawls. He’s right in front of you.

Your breath is getting scarce. Lungs shrinking in your chest like weedy little deflated balloons.

The eye contact can only be described as the most insanely hot thing you’ve ever felt. Tugging yanking warm static bursting in your belly.

“You uh. You, look really pretty today, by the way.” He says so earnestly. Makes your heart squeeze and flip. Your cheeks are blood hot. Rushing full with it.

He gently places a comfortable hand over your hipbone. Eyes glued to yours to check this is ok. Every inch he covers he’ll always be checking that it fits safely into the parameters of your boundaries.

“Better than snoopy bed shorts?” You ask.

“I’m a fan of both. As I believe I said once, it’s not your clothes I’m looking at. It’s the girl under them.”

“That’s sweet.” You beam.

He slides fowards. Hips crushed to yours. You cup the side of his cheek. Feeling the slight push of stubble. His hands smoothed over your hips. Settled back on the dip of you there.

“Although- I’d quite like to see more of the girl under them too. Key word being, under.” He flirts boldly.

“Stop talking already and kiss me, Munson.” You laugh.

“See, your cunning plan of lying in wait worked, Ms. Black widow. You got me…”

Because even when he’s zoning in to kiss you, he still has to make noise about it. Of course. He’s like a heat lamp that never shuts up-

You shut him up indefinitely - or for who knows how long - not very long you bet - when you slant your smiling mouth across his.

Keeping him there as you smile against his mouth. Hand cupping the back of that wild haired head, the brain inside that seemingly that never stops churning.

Maybe you could make it still and calm for just a little while-

Eddie moans into your mouth and fully wraps you closer. Arms crossing over your back. Fully seating you inside the safe bands of his arms, crushed in the enclosure of his chest.

You stumble back and you pull him in with you. Arm around his neck and brushing that DIO patch. When you pull away to gasp for air, he wastes no time. Nosing at your neck to make your knees quake.

“I missed you like, an insane fucking amount, pencils.” He says inbetween mouthing at your jaw and under your ear. Kissing and sucking. Biting gently and soothing with his lips.

Your heart is slamming for attention in your hipbones. You’d let it slip from your memory how magical this boys lips are.

The night after he climbed out your window, when you woke up in the morning, alone. That hit hard. Of course you didn’t expect him to stay. But half of you wondered.

For just a second you pawed at the pillow next to you. Fingertips sinking into the worn old cotton. Still clinging with the scent of cigarettes and apples. Your chest swallowed up your heart cause- you just ached after him. Such a loud messy ball of kinetic energy that made such a pulsing groaning absence when he wasn’t there.

You wanted to just listen to him breathe down the phone to you. Spend hours and hours wasting time listening to the shuffle and shift crackle of the line and his manic laugh down the other end. Just making him break into a smile turns your whole day on it’s head. Tips you inside out and throws you round.

You can’t love him small. Or quietly. And you’ve never realised that before now. And that emotion is running into you now, headlong, like a fucking freight train.

“I missed you too.” You say. Clutching at his shoulders like you needed him to keep you rooted to this earth.

And your heart clenched cause it was so true it hurt. You’re almost in agony with it.

Sensing the neediness in your voice, he wraps you up in a kiss again. Each other’s spit skated on your lips.

It’s filthy and simply glorious.

“How much did you miss me?” He grins. All playful and toying with you even though your all wrapped up into him. Seeking quantifiable terms.

You pull his face in again and kiss him in a way you hope comes across as suitably needy answer.

This damn much, you dope.

Thumb stroking over his cheekbone. Fingertips sliding into his hair. He huffs in pleasure with the dirty way you kiss. Eyes rolling back in his head.

You’re kissing him open. Licking into his mouth. Finding his tongue with your own in a way that gets him hooked.

“Eddie.” You whine against his mouth. Almost whimper his name. Pressing it to his teeth.

Okay. His heart may actually fucking explode. Top of his head is gonna pop off like a champagne cork.

His hips roll onto you. Long slow roll. Languid smooth like bourbon. Pressing the start of a very hard erection into your belly. Stiff against his zipper.

His hands slip down your waist and he claws into the cheeks of your ass. You give him another one of those delicious sounding whines.

“Fuck.” Comes tumbling out his mouth when he realises he was grinding shamelessly into you. He shifts to pull back to say something-

“Shit-fuck- sorry, I didn’t uh mean to-”

He’s not going anywhere. Your hands yank into his lapels and then there’s this moan from you that spills into his mouth. You speak the words to his mouth. Sharing the same air. You give him a tangible direction he can follow.

“Fuck Eddie. Don’t stop.”

His knees almost give way. Thankfully, he’s got you to lean into.

“Mmm god fucking fuck, pencils the things I wanna do to you…” He mumbles. His voice dipping low and breaking with need as he grinds those hips into you once again.

“Yeah?” You smile when he ducks to hungrily suck at your neck again. “Why don’t you tell me about those things. I’d love to hear them.”

You cup his head. Let him wander all over you. Mashing your lips to his with no musicality. All hunger. But just anything anything anything for that graze of friction.

You reel him in and you’re winding your pelvis in a circle against his. He almost trembles with the pleasure of it. He groans into your lips and devours your mouth as you push your hips together.

“Filthy things. Wanna grab your tits and lick your nipples. I-oh Jesus. I wanna, hmm, finger you until you wet my whole hand, baby. Can’t get enough of you. I wanna get you off again and again.” He sighs.

His reward for his filthy wants is your hand sneaking to the front of his jeans and cupping his stiff bulge. His whole body jerks like a live wire shock.

“I want all of that.” You tell him. Matching him step for step in this desire. Your fingers spread out, cupping the whole length of him. Palming his balls too. The pain of it being through the denim is like a half sensation and to his shame it turns him on more.

“You got me thinking filthy too. I’ve dreamt about what it would be like for you to work your dick into me. Stretch me open.” Cause he feels girthy. Maybe you could have a flip side to this freak nickname. Sex freak.

“Shit.” He whines.

Closing his eyes against your neck. Ringed fingers wrapping right around your wrist. You got him almost drooling down your collarbone.

“Fuck baby, yeah. Touch me.” He murmurs desperately.

Guiding your hand to rub against his cock even harder. He almost choked when you fiddled and clunked with buckles to get his belt undone and slipped your hand inside. Stroking over the barrier of his underwear. His hips rutted to you.

You met that rhythm with winding thrusts and roll of your own hips. So damn good.

“You can touch me, too.” You tell him.

Oh god. You’re a dream. He’s dreaming. Slap him awake somebody-

And then before he can ever register fully what’s happening, you take his hand and slip it right up under your skirts.

Rest in peace to his little senseless head. His brain may aswell be melting out his ears by now.

“Damn. okay. Fuck.” He bites his lip all swirling with nerves and excitement.

He was never one to deny a lady in distress. And when you place his hand right over the crotch of your sopping hot cotton panties, he can’t quite believe his heart is still ticking. His breath shudders through his throat.

His stomach physically swoops like it’s riding a tilt-a-whirl when he scoops his fingers under the barrier of your panties and finds you so slick and hot. He runs two fingertips through plump gummy lips and his dick has never been this hard- he swears.

You gasp out when he sinks those fingers deeper.

“Sorry.” He pants. He stops. Desperate black eyes shining at you. Spit coating his raw pink lower lip. His rings must have been too cold against your pussy.

“It was a good moan.” You promise in a purr. Your nipples are skipping with electricity. So hard they fully ache for touch. His fingers felt amazing. You urge him on.

He slithers them deeper, curling up and slotting deep. Muffled his moan against your shoulder. Your hand cupping his balls. Those were pretty damn big too.

He feels drunk. Pumping his fingers into you, this feels better than any damn high he’s had.

“How do you- what do you like?” He manages to ask as he eyes the way his hand is bumping through your panties and your skirts. Rolling to your pussy in a comfortable pattern. But he needs to find out what it would take for you to cum.

That fact he’s so excitable, and yet still wanting to know what it will take for your orgasm, makes you clench down on him.

He bites his lip at the feeling of your pussy suddenly strangling his fingers. Shit that was hot.

You reach for his hand. His pressure was heavenly, but you fine tune the angle of his fingers. Sinking them deeper, getting him to curl them just a little more-

Then he finds that spot that makes a yelp fly out your mouth.

He smothers you with a smug kiss to shut you up. He does not wanna get caught by a teacher in a dark closet with his fingers halfway up your pussy.

“You wanna get us caught honey? Cause I sure as shit don’t. You got an orgasm to give me.” He grins with newfound confidence making him brave.

He slows and curls and stretched his fingers. Sloppy squelches begin to get louder and louder. You’re getting his fingers wetter and wetter. It’s addictive.

“Like that?” He asks, sloppy hot against your mouth. Tongue sticking your lower lip.

“Fuck yes.” You pant. Face screwing up into ecstasy. Brows pulling up in the middle. Mouth dropping open. Eyes rolling up.

You widen your legs and let him finger the hell out of you. And holy god it was so good.

You can feel the callused tips of his fingers decadently flicking that godforsaken spot deep in your walls.

The way his rings add an extra jolt of friction and another layer of texture against the mouth of your cunt. How you must be getting those things on his fingers so wet cause you’ve never been this sloppy or loud before.

Granted you’ve only done this to yourself a few times. You’ve achieved the main goal of course- to cum. But this is so much more pleasure somehow. His fingers are bigger and he’s taking the time to explore and learn you. It’s ridiculously sexy of him.

Your hands grab for him. Whining for more, for that extra touch that is guaranteed to get you there, you take his other hand and push his thumb into the soaking folds of your mons. Guiding him to find your clit.

When you gently swirl the pad of his thumb around it, you cry out loud again and it makes him throb in his jeans. Hips thrusting forwards to him.

His stomach clenched and knotted in want knowing he’s making you writhe in bliss on the ends of his fingers.

“Take what you need honey. So fucking pretty for me. Bet you look so pretty when you cum. Couldn’t stop thinking about that.” He kisses up your jaw. Cleverly using his thumb and two fingers to drive you insane.

He’s fully ready to admit he’s thought about you flushed and naked and sweaty in his stained bed. Maybe those wet stains would be from you.

He lived with you inside his eyelids at night, picturing you naked, as he was desperately squeezing and tugging his own cock and just trying to imagine the way you’d sigh his name and the way you’d taste on the bed of his tongue.

How it would feel to have you in your hands and knees for him in his bed. Nails on the wall scratching down his band posters. Cock buried so deep you’d hiccup sobs with it. His hands clawing your hips and ass as he slammed you down on his dick and felt you cum around him, shrieking his name like a curse, toes clenching.

Something shredding loud and filthy, A little Sabbath maybe, playing on his stereo to mask the broken sound of your cries. As he curled over your back and worked his cock into you.

“Eddie.” You whine for him. Voice a weak gaspy stutter. Spreading your legs around his hips as he stands closer. Pressing right in so he can kiss you.

“So wet for me baby. Think I’m gonna get my wish of you wetting my whole hand aren’t I?”

“Yeah- yeahyeah.” You can’t nod fast enough. Poor baby he’s got you drunk on the thrust and drag of his fingers.

He can’t help it. You’re frying his brain. He has to kiss you. Wants to swallow you while. He needs touch. Needs.

He wants your nipples grazing hard on his hot tongue. Soft tits mashed in his face. Your pussy he’s cupping in his hands. Your ass. Your lips. He fully needs every part of you cause that’s just the way he wants to love you. Love you to strangling death.

Your cries intensify. You’re close. Drawing closer.

“Oh god please say you can come over to my place one night. Please, pencils. I can’t take it if you don’t.” He mumbles against your open moaning mouth. Kissing you and shoving his tongue in your mouth.

You push yours to meet it dumbly. Nodding. You break away to gasp.

“Okay- don’t stop. When?” You manage to scrape together the braincells to ask.

“Whenever you want I don’t care, oh-shit you’re so hot.” He felt you squeeze down on him.

You’ve got him so good he’s babbling. “Whenever. Come over whenever. Stay the night. Stay the whole weekend. Stay forever-“

“Keep doing this and kissing me and I’ll never leave.” You say as you clash for a kiss again. Bodies rocking.

“I can do that.” He mumbles inbetween heavy breaths. Huge great smile on his lips.

Both Eddie’s hands working you so cleverly. You will say this for the boy, he may hate school, but he’s damn sure a quick study.

He doesn’t know what’s louder. Your moans, or the sloppy squelches he’s fucking out of you.

When you start to tremble and clap your hand over the back of his, his eyes don’t know where to land. He drinks in the way your face twists into an expression that almost looks like pain.

“Close. M’so fuckin close.” You warn him. Your voice is wounded.

“Shit. You cumming?” He checks.

Your answer is in the form of a cry. You can’t even form the words. They don’t make it out your mouth. You can only cry and shudder. The shape of his name ready to come out your mouth as you clench and clench-

Eddie mashes his mouth to yours. Hungrily kisses you though the shaking whirling torrent of your orgasm.

He drinks in your delicious whines and kisses your lips raw whilst you cum hard on his hand. His thumb slowly swirls to a stop on your clit. Wringing out every last burst of pleasure that he can. Ceases the hard thrusts of his fingers.

You did wet his hand after all. He can feel your slick coating his fingers. Some splashed down on his palm between the webs of his fingers.

He doesn’t even care that he didn’t get to finish. Watching you tumble headlong into bliss - because of him - was more than enough.

“Damn.” Eddie watches in rapt fascinated pleasure as you struggle for breath and your chest heaves.

The ends of your fingers tingling where you clutched his scratchy denim shoulders. Your head shot to little floaty scrunched stars and noisy crunching static.

“Holy f-“ Eddie cuts you off. Smears into your mouth with a kiss that takes all your remaining breath. Sucks it right out your soul. Brings his hand around your back. His soaked fingers rest against your thigh.

“Fucking drenched me.” He noses into your cheek. Kissing down your jaw. He can’t resist your neck and he doesn’t. You’re sure the burning patches of wet on your skin are some pretty decent hickies.

“Not my fault you’re a quick learner with talented fingers.” You smug into a lingering peck you place on his lips.

He wiggles them into your thighs. He really was dripping. Wetly slapping your skin. “Pure magic.” He smirks.

You sag forwards into him. Ease the strain in your burning thighs.

“I’m trying to wrap my head around the fact I just made the hottest girl ever, cum in an school storage closet.”

“Not your average Friday?” You sigh. Teasing.

He pinches your thigh for that. “Menace.” He chuckles into your neck. Holding you close. Sighing in bliss as he lays his nose into your hair and smells that coconut scent again. He’s dreamt about that too. Everything about you is delightful and he’s dozy drunk on every essence.

“So. Any plans tomorrow night?” You ask as he kindly pets your pussy one last time.

Draped your panties back to their rightful place. You bite your lip as he brushes his fingers against you through them. You were more soaked than before.

“None at all. Well, a bank heist. But that’s not til next week.” He plays.

“Your place? Scary Movies? I’ll bring pizza and beer.”

“Fine. But I’m buying the pizza baby.”

“You just made me cum. Pizza is most definitely on me.”

That draws an amazed and blushy laugh out of him. “You sure you’re real?” He checks.

“Definitely. I am no mirage.” You answer as you reach your hand around that skinny trim waist of his and cup his ass through his back pocket.

You bite your lip with glee. It makes him smile and his hips jerk into you.

“Alright. Alright. Damn. Menace. What am I getting myself into here-“ He wonders.

“I don’t know but I really like where this is heading.” You admit.

“Yeah? Me too.” He looks at you and his grin slowly climbs across his cheeks. So sweet.

You tenderly look at each other a moment and it’s like the whole rest of this world can go get fucked.

“Had you better get back out there before someone notices you’re missing?” He asks Pointing his thumb to the closet door. After fumbling with his fly and his own belt.

“Shit. Probably.” You answer glumly. Sighing as you untangle yourself and get used to your weight on your own two feet again.

Eddie smooths your skirts down. But you think it’s a cheap and yet sweet excuse to cup your ass some more. You chuckle with it and he slings your body forwards into another kiss.

Waddling you both across, joined to the door. Swaying side to side like penguins. Hands in his hair as you kiss him again. Leathered arms wrapping around your waist.

He pushes you up against the back of the closet door, kisses you so deep. It makes you smile. One more. Just one more.

“Call by around 6.” Eddie offers.

“You bet.” He pecks you so sweetly for that.

“I think you got drugs in these lips of yours you know, Pencils.” He says when he can’t pull away from making out with you. Rolls his hips into yours naughtily.

“Corny, Munson.” You smile. But you won’t pretend that compliment doesn’t make your stomach sizzle.

He scoops you away from the door and you twist to open it. His mouth sneaks to your ear. Chin resting on your shoulder.

“Tell me it’s stuck and we can stay in here for hours.” He sneaks his hands up your thighs again.

“You’re terrible.” You twist back.

He grins with lusty lidded eyes aimed your way.

“That’s not what you said five minutes ago sweetie.” He preens. Chest all puffed up with the fact he made you orgasm.

You jiggle the handle and it crunches and swings open with a creak.

“Rats. Foiled again.” He curses.

You step out into the hallway. Out the shadowed clutches of the closet. You peer around checking the coast is clear.

You creep out with Eddie a hairs breadth behind you. Chin on your shoulder. His hands comfortably on your hips again. Watching the sway of your bare legs and cute skirts.

A sudden voice to your left made you both shoot out your skin. Eddie yelped again. Leaping to pull you close but then realised that would probably be inappropriate in front of a teacher.

His hands slipped for you and then waved jerky in the air and fell away. Awkwardly fidgeting to his sides.

“Shouldn’t you both be in class?” Came the sudden and dowdy interjection.

Mrs. Clary, the ninth grade art teacher stood looking at the pair of you with suspicion through her gold rimmed glasses, linked by a shimmering chain around her neck.

She wore ankle length skirts and a brown cardigan over a beige blouse. A short sweep of a nutty brown bob streaked with silver framed her frowning face. A little frumpy in her appearance but she was a complete stick in the mud. You certainly didn’t miss any of her classes.

“Mrs Clary.” You answer her with due politeness.

She’s busy frowning at Eddie. “What are you doing here, Mr. Munson?” Her eyes narrow. Mouth pinched at the puckering corners. His rep around the school was well cemented as trouble.

“Just-“ He floundered and his head hopped around seeking for an answer.

“… came to help this lovely art student here get something out the…closet.” Is the best excuse he can come up with.

“Get what?” She presses. Looks from him to you.

You dig your nails your hand to keep from bursting into a smile. Your face is itching with the need to not laugh. You chew your lip so hard. Hoping the lie isn’t etched over your face.

“Something. Uh- really heavy. From the very top shelf.” You jump in to defend him.

“Yes. That’s better.” He shook his finger pointing at you. Then he lays on the charm real thick.

“I was wandering my merry innocent way past and I wondered if she might need help.”

He meets your eyes and how you don’t lose it, you’ve no idea.

“Mmhmm. Yep.” You agree quickly.

“Did you get what you were looking for?” Mrs Clary asks. Clearly unimpressed.

“I sure as hell did.” Eddie beams like a letch.

You snicker.

“Back to class right this second.” She warned shrilly. Barking her order.

“Yes, commander.” He bows. Saluting.

You scurry away and Eddie shares a look with you before he goes. Being shooed away like a disobedient loping stray.

An ear splitting wolf whistle echoes down the corridor. It made Mrs Clary leap into the air in fright. Clutching her chest.

You look over your shoulder, with hot cheeks and catch the sight of that maniacal grin splitting his face. You can’t help chuckling.

Mrs Clary sighs in sheer moody irritation. “That boy is nothing but trouble. Steer clear.” She snips at you.

He wiggled his fingers in a silly wave and a wink as he dances out the doors. Hair flapping behind him.

If this isn’t love then you’re an absolute fool.

🕷 It may be of interest - but there’s a next part now 🕷

#eddie x female reader #eddie munson x oc #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x reader #stranger things season four #i would die for this man #punkwrites #super freak series #eddie munson x original character #eddie munson my beloved #eddie my boy #eddie my beloved

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iamthecomet · 1 year

Text

Mushy May Day 6

Picnic (Ft. Murder Ghoulettes) Pairing: Cirrus/Cumulus Rating: M for Murder Featuring: The girls deserve a picnic every once in a while. Murder ghoulettes. Blood. Kissing. Ghoulettes in love. Word Count: 700+ Read it under the cut, or on AO3.

The sister is pretty. A petite thing, with curves that would usually make Cirrus’ mouth go dry. She drags her fingers through her golden hair and smiles at Cumulus like she’s the moon. She’s Cumulus’ type. Naive. Trusting. Excitable.

Cirrus stands back, watches. She likes to watch. Likes to see the way Cumulus leans in, smiles wide and bright. How she bounces on her toes as they talk. The girl mirrors her enthusiasm, face breaking out into a wide grin as Cumulus reaches out to touch her.

“We’re going for a picnic,” Cumulus purrs at her. Big eyes trained on the sister, smile widening. “We’d love if you joined us.”

The picnic basket in Cirrus’ hand is empty. The girl doesn’t need to do know that.

It’s a short walk. Far enough into the orchard that they can’t see the Abbey anymore. Far enough that if the girl gets a chance to scream no one will hear her. She won’t get the chance though. Cumulus never lets them see it coming. Cirrus can’t decide if Cumulus does it out of mercy—or if she just likes the way their faces drop in surprise.

She’d bet on the latter.

It’s easy. It’s always easy. The girl tags along like a puppy, her hand pressed into Cumulus’. Giggling at the attention, grinning back at Cirrus like she’s in for the best night of her life—like she has never been happier.

Cirrus would maybe feel bad about it if she wasn’t so hungry. She coos, reaching out to stroke her fingers along the delicate line of the girl’s jaw. Feeling the flutter of her pulse beneath her fingers. The girl blushes, deep pink flushing over freckled cheeks. She smells like honeysuckle.

Cirrus’ mouth is already watering. The kill is quick. It always is. The buildup is the long part. The soft way Cumulus and Cirrus touch her, the way they look at her as they lay the blanket down. The way Cumulus curls around her and points up to the apple blossoms on the tree. Presses fleeting kisses into her golden hair, nuzzles her nose against that fluttering pulse.

Then there’s blood. Arterial spray. And the girl is dropping limp into Cumulus’ arms. When Cumulus pulls away her lips are carmine.

Cirrus can’t help but kiss her. Can’t help but sweep her tongue over Cumulus’ plush lower lip and taste the last moments of that Sibling’s happiness against her flesh.

The rest is methodic, an easy rhythm they fall into without speaking. When they’ve had their fill they lay under the early spring sun, warm and satiated.

Cirrus could stay here forever. She would if she didn’t have a job, duties. If Papa wouldn’t come looking for them after a while. This, she’s sure, is the closest a hell beast can get to heaven. Cumulus’ body is pressed tight to hers, soft and pliant under her fingers. Their tails curled together, heads resting against each other as they lay on the blanket and look up at the cloudless sky. She raises Cumulus’ fingers to her lips and kisses the blood from them. Cumulus turns her head and laughs softly into Cirrus’ dark hair.

“I love these days with you,” Cumulus sighs.

“We could have more of them,” Cirrus offers even though she knows it isn’t true. Only so many disappearances can be swept under the rug. It will be a month or more before they can do this again. Before Cirrus can kiss the blood splattered over Cumulus’ neck. Before she can feel like this, sun warm and full, and at ease. Cumulus purrs against her, pulling her closer. Cirrus’ toes graze over blood slick grass as she shifts. “Next time, you can pick,” Cumulus promises. Cirrus shakes her head. She presses a kiss between Cumulus’ horns.

“You have better taste,” Cirrus lies. In reality, Cirrus thinks they have equally good taste. Different. Cumulus likes them innocent, happy, drugged on their own happy hormones before she kills them. Cirrus likes the opposite, a little fear, a little anger, the taste of their adrenaline bursting over her tongue. But really, she’d rather watch Cumulus do the killing. Loves to watch her work, the way she touches, the way she smiles. How her body moves when she’s getting ready. Loves to watch the blood drip down Cumulus’ chin, and smear across her cheeks.

Cirrus doesn’t need to pick, doesn’t need to chase, doesn’t need their fear as long as she can watch Cumulus work.

She’s never seen anything so beautiful.

Cumulus scoffs, knows the truth, but doesn’t try to push against it, doesn’t try to argue or insist. Cirrus can feel her grin against her neck, feels the slight prick of her fangs as she drags her teeth under Cirrus’ jaw. “You spoil me.”

Cirrus nods. “Always.”

#comet writes #mushy may #murder ghouls #murder ghoulettes #cirrus ghoulette #cumulus ghoulette #cirrus/cumulus #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction

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fixfoxnox · 9 months

Text

Pyre - Part 2

Description: Roach takes drastic steps to get information on one of his targets.

Warnings: Torture, graphic violence, skinning, breaking bones, blood, mentions of removal of nails

Word Count: 9k

Read it on Ao3

"What rage will usher me swallow the enemy

Buy innocence, buy innocence

Lanterns illumine me incense from memory

Rise innocence, rise innocence"

"Ransom" by Son Lux

Roach shivered under the spray of the cold water. It was almost overwhelming with the way that it bit into his skin, sinking into his bones to chill him to his core. He didn’t dare turn the hot water on, no matter how tempting the thought of warm steam might be.

He knew what would happen. It always sounded tempting, but then he would turn the hot water on and, with the first pleasant sting of it on his skin, panic would set in. The steam itself didn’t help. The heat would fill his lungs like smoke and he would find himself unable to breathe. It wasn’t pleasant to take a cold shower, but it kept him from spiraling in the way a hot shower would force him to.

He was careful with his hands, running them over the scarred flesh of his arms and legs as slowly as he could. They were long since healed. Long since the blistering charred flesh that they once were. It didn’t matter. He’d learned to be careful with them then and he’d never grown out of it.

Slowly, the cold water carried away all of the dirt and grime that lay over his skin. The blood that had dried to his arms and hands disappeared with only a little scrubbing. He was careful as he did this, methodical. He made sure to get every last speck of red from his skin. He didn’t want the memory of a man pleading for mercy to linger over his skin in the same way that it seemed to linger over his mind.

He was long past the days of standing in the cold spray of the shower for hours after an outing, contemplating whether what he was doing was right or not. He was in the right. He’d accepted that. Sometimes it was odd to say…odd to think. Killing people, torturing them on the occasions when he would need information, it all felt wrong when he’d first started. Now…now the end was in sight. Now he was closer than ever to seeing how right he’d been.

Just like in his first life, all of the men in this life had been just as guilty. Just as corrupt. He didn’t take pleasure in their deaths. It wasn’t who he was. But, when he stood outside and saw the world still moving forward with fewer and fewer issues, a world that wasn’t plagued by the same issues that the world of his first life had been forced to deal with, he knew that what he was doing was right.

He moved through the rest of his shower quickly, not allowing himself to dwell too much on the sight of the blood and dirt washing down the drain or the events of his previous night. It wasn’t worth dwelling on, it never was.

He dried himself just as carefully as he’d showered, letting the softness of the towel lightly move over his skin, picking up the water in its path. He tried not to look too hard at the mottled pink skin along his body. He tried not to focus too hard on the pinched and puckered skin that covered where two gaping bullet wounds had once been. He knew that if he thought about them too much, he’d be able to feel them again. He knew he’d become enraged again. He didn’t want to be angry. Not now.

Getting dressed was a much easier task than showering. The comfort of a warm pair of relaxing pajamas always seemed to help calm him down after a mission. Loose sleep pants and a long sleeve shirt that was certainly too big for him provided comfort. They hung off of him, but the long sleeves did the job that Roach needed them to. They covered up what he needed them to.

He could hear Jackson typing away as he made his way into the small den area of their little home. His friend was quick to turn to him with a bright smile, immediately warming Roach’s chest and relaxing him a bit. He trusted Jackson. If Jackson was okay, then he was okay.

“I made you some coffee,” he pointed toward the small and cracked mug that sat on their rickety table. Roach was pleased to see that his friend hadn’t added anything to it. That and he’d let the cup cool for quite a bit of time.

Roach took several grateful little sips while marching around the living room for several moments. He was trying to shake off that last bit of adrenaline from his mission that always seemed to stick around. As usual, Jackson hardly paid his quick pacing any mind, simply going back to his quick typing on the computer.

There was nothing wrong with the silence in the small room. There was never anything off with silence lingering between the two men. They understood each other and they understood that sometimes the answer was to allow themselves a moment of peace in the chaos that they called their lives. For Roach, that meant calmly pacing the room while sipping at bitter coffee. For Jackson, it meant typing away at his computer, taking in as much information as he could as quickly as possible.

The silence was good for them, but it also meant that it was much more noticeable for Roach when his friend suddenly stopped typing. He let several long minutes go by before turning his head to see what was going on, he found Jackson already looking at him with a bright grin on his face.

“Well,” he took another sip at his coffee, “You look like you’ve just hit something big.”

“I did,” Jackson crossed his arms over his chest, “I’m good like that, you know?”

“Good is a strong word,” Roach teased. He made his way over to Jackson’s computer system and crouched down at his friend’s side, letting his eyes trail over the screen carefully. “What am I looking at?”

“What you are looking at,” Jackson clicked on an image off to the side, bringing up a picture of a US military official, “is Makarov’s mole.” Roach froze, his entire body going tense as he stared at the picture in front of him. This man was Makarov’s mole, one of the people they’d been searching for since…well, practically since they’d started this.

They’d been working their way through their list. They’d kill a lot of big names, people they’d worried about. Al Asad. Zhakaev. Rojas. Any and all of them who were still around to cause trouble and they’d slowly taken them out. They’d been working their way higher and higher in the ranks of their list and, after a year, they were finally down to only a few names left. A few names with a lot of trouble that came with them.

Philip Graves, General Shepherd, Vladimir Makarov.

Graves and Shepherd were a simple matter of planning. The men were close with the 141, they were working together. Roach knew that there would be no simple way to kill them and that, as soon as they did, they’d be on the 141’s radar. Which brought him to Vladimir Makarov. They couldn’t risk the 141 catching them before they had Makarov, so they had to know where Makarov was and what he was doing before they could finally move to take out their final three.

It had been months that they’d been trying to track him down. Months of Roach just quietly taking out any terrorists or bad guys who showed up on the news. Months of hunting people down and torturing them for any information they had on Makarov. Months and months until they’d finally figured out that Makarov had a mole within the military.

And now? Now they’d found him. Now all they had to do was take what they needed. Excitement seemed to sear through Roach’s veins at the thought. It bubbled up in his chest and swirled together with a healthy dose of anxiety to pull at his throat. It almost choked him with its intensity.

“Who is he?”

“Crownover,” Jackson answered easily, “His name is Crownover, and, excellent news for us, he has an apartment that he stays at.”

“Alone and easy to pick off,” Roach nodded his head slowly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “How long to get me a ticket and a new passport?”

“A day,” Jackson answered quickly. “I’ll get everything settled. You should rest up, you’ve had a busy week.”

“Nothing that I’m not used to,” Roach responded. He stood back up fully, stretching his arms into the sky to twist and let his body pop satisfyingly. “I still have to clean my gear and everything.”

“Well,” Jackson reached off to the side of one of his computers and pulled out a small little black box with a pair of earbuds already attached to it, “Your boys had a mission again. I recorded their comms for you, as usual. You can listen to it while you clean your gear and rest.”

Roach took the offered player into his hands, holding it gently. “Thanks…uh, just let me know when everything is ready.”

Neither of them said anything else as Roach stepped off toward one of the back rooms, the player still held gently in his hands. It was his most prized possession and he always treated it as such. The little thing had hours upon hours of recordings, all from missions and meetings between the 141.

At times, Roach felt odd about listening to them like he did. At times, he felt guilty and like nothing more than a creep. These people had lives without him, they didn’t know him like he knew them. It didn’t matter. He cared about them and he wanted to be sure they were safe. He also, selfishly, just wanted to have a piece of them. He knew he would likely never get the chance to have them in any other way. He knew he’d already lost his chance to return to Ghost, he knew that his returning crush on Soap meant nothing now. So, he’d decided he would take one thing for himself.

He unraveled the headphones from around the player and put them in. He hit play before slipping the small black box into his pocket to begin to move around the room. He had things to do.

There was no sound at first, but he knew from experience that it usually took a few moments before the recording would start. He had enough time to pull his weapons out and sit down at a table to begin cleaning his sniper before the audio finally kicked in.

“Oh, come on, don’t look too upset LT!”

There was a deep sigh before the familiar timber of Ghost’s voice buzzed through Roach’s ears, “Focus, sergeant. We’re on the clock.”

A small smile tugged at Roach’s lips as he heard Soap snort, “On the clock? We’re staring at an empty field with snipers.”

“Exactly,” Ghost reminded him, “An empty field that we’re meant to be watching. Not chatting.”

“We can do both.”

“Johnny.”

Roach gave a small chuckle as he worked through methodically taking apart and cleaning his sniper, fixing and tweaking any little things that he noticed as he worked. It was nice like this, in an odd way. Just listening to Ghost and Soap’s voices, hearing them speak so happily to one another.

There was no fighting. Neither of them seemed weighed down by the terror of their pasts. Soap was younger, he hadn’t lost anyone yet. He didn’t have the responsibility of an entire team on his shoulders. Roach was grateful for it. Ghost still had that edge to his voice, the one that told Roach that he’d gone through something, just the same as he had in his first life. Still, though, he was calmer, less weighed down by the rage and terror that had seemed to plague his Simon.

Roach liked listening to them. It made him happy to hear them being so happy. It reminded him that the men that he cared so deeply for, the men that he…loved so incredibly much, they were alive and happy here. That was important to him. So he would listen to remind himself, even if, on occasion, listening would hurt his heart.

“Oh, come on,” Roach could hear the grin in Soap’s voice, “That’s not fair Ghost.”

“Seems to be the only way to get you quiet sometimes,” Roach could hear the amusement in Ghost’s voice, it twirled together with a sense of adoration that made his heart squeeze painfully in his chest. His hands froze where they were piecing back together his sniper, he tried to ignore the shake in them. “You’ve gone red, bit hot there Johnny?”

“You’re the worst,” Soap groaned a bit, “I can’t believe I agreed to date you.”

“You’re the one who asked me?”

“That’s not important.”

“It feels important.”

“That’s just because you-”

“Eyes front.” Just like that, the chatter between the two men went quiet and, with it, the tension in Roach’s chest was allowed to ease. He was happy that the two men had found one another, really, he was, but it didn’t mean that he wasn’t hurt. It didn’t mean that his heart wasn’t broken by the fact that these two men, men who he cared for, didn’t know who he was. They were everything to him and they had no concept of his existence.

Roach knew it was better that way. Knowing didn’t stop his chest from hurting or his hands from shaking.

Roach tugged at the edge of his face mask, making sure that it was still properly in place, naturally obscuring half of his face. Next was his cap, a simple non-descript blue one that he tugged down to obscure the upper half of his face. He made sure to keep his eyes lowered to the ground, ensuring that his cap would block any camera’s that might catch his face.

He was silent, leaning against the wall of the subway he was on, his eyes focused on his phone. He couldn’t exactly talk to Jackson out loud in a crowded subway, but he could shoot the man quick messages over his little burner phone. It would be discarded as soon as he finished up the work he had for the day.

He gave a few quick confirmation texts toward Jackson as the subway pulled to a stop, letting him know that he’d be heading toward the apartment building that his target was in.

It was only a few minutes of a silent walk to the large and clearly expensive apartments that his target lived in. It was a large building with cameras covering nearly every square foot of the place. Roach didn’t pay them any mind, he knew that Jackson had them on an hour loop. He wouldn’t show up on the footage.

He just moved up to the front entrance of the building, never hesitating. Hesitating drew people’s attention, he knew that well enough. Instead, he marched up to the building and the little scanner they had. Only people who lived in the apartments could get in, they were given a cute little keycard when they moved in for safety. Jackson and Roach had learned over the years that, if you knew how to do it, getting a keycard wasn’t any sort of problem.

For this trip, it just meant finding himself an easy mark and picking their pockets in a crowded distracting location, like the subway.

He pulled the card he’d swiped from one of the building’s residents and gave it a quick swipe before casually moving inside the building. As soon as he did, he pulled his phone out, pretending to be focused on something on the screen as he moved toward the elevator, it would keep the people at the front desks from trying to talk to him.

The elevator ride up was silent. Roach’s bag felt heavy, it always did at times like this. Times when he would sneak in somewhere in the middle of the night to do things he’d never believed himself to be capable of. Things change, he did too. It didn’t make it any easier for him to accept the guilt that came with what he was doing.

He couldn’t linger on it. He couldn’t let it stop him, so he brushed it off as the elevator opened up for him, allowing him to move through the hallway of the top floor. He had things to focus on, there was no room for guilt. Not now.

He walked through the hallway casually, taking in the numbers on the doors as he moved past. He found his target’s apartment relatively easy. Apartment 605. He strolled past it, moving further down the hall until he reached the next apartment. 606.

He stopped there, moving close to the door casually, his hands quickly pulling the pouch that his picks were in from his pocket. He pulled two things out, he knew what locks were used on the doors beforehand, so he knew exactly which ones to use. He was able to push the door open only a few moments after.

The apartment was empty. A bare thing that had yet to be rented out for an exorbitant price to some wealthy person who would cover it in minimalistic beige furniture and call it a home. Now, it was just a plain apartment with hardwood floors that gave only a small noise as Roach moved across them.

Roach didn’t spend too long dwelling on the room. He had a job to do, a job with a time limit. It was already late into the night, he needed to move. So, he didn’t hesitate to move over to the sliding glass doors of the balcony, unlocking and opening them slowly before carefully stepping out. He slid the doors shut behind him.

There was a good four-foot gap between the two balconies and a good hundred-foot drop to the ground if he missed his jump. He focused his attention on the other balcony, keeping his eyes from shooting downward like they wanted to. Seeing the fall he could take would only make him nervous, nerves were killer in a situation like this.

He was careful as he climbed over the railing of the balcony before turning to face the other balcony. He gave himself a long moment to just look at it, working up his energy silently. As soon as his brain had minimized the gap, he jumped. There was no room for hesitation, no room for him to question his choice as he launched himself through the air and managed to roughly land at the edge of the balcony.

One of his feet slipped as he landed, sending his body dragging downward. His hands managed to just grab tight to the railing and he held himself for a moment just by his arm. He grit his teeth in annoyance, mentally berating himself for his shit landing before pulling himself back up and climbing over the railing.

He didn’t allow himself a moment to recover from nearly falling, he knew it would only waste his time. So instead his lock picks came back out and, moments later, he was silently sliding the door to his target’s balcony open. He stepped inside silently, his keen eyes trailing across the darkness of the silent apartment.

He slipped into the shadows easily, keeping his footsteps silent as he trekked his way back toward where he knew his target’s bedroom was. It was easy enough, he’d studied the layout of the apartment before ever daring to even set foot in the building. He had to be prepared and prepared meant doing his due diligence with the research.

As he moved toward the back room he paused. There was something, a slight noise. His ears picked it up. Movement, a minute sound in the floorboards. Clothes rustling together. He stayed still for a second before continuing forward, down the hall, and toward the room where he knew his target was waiting for him.

He kept his footsteps quiet up until he got close to the door, then he let himself be heard. One, two footsteps. He paused in front of the door for several moments before reaching forward to begin turning the knob. He did it carefully. Slowly. Finally, he pushed the door open.

In an instant, there was a bat flying toward his face. He reacted quickly, dropping down to avoid getting hit. He could feel the air from the bat as it flew over his head and he could hear it as it loudly slammed into the doorframe. He moved quickly then, jumping up to shove himself against the doorframe, trapping the bat against his body. He gave a quick kick to the man in front of him, sending him stumbling backward.

The move was enough to knock the bat loose from the man’s hands. In a moment Roach had turned the bat into his own hands. He didn’t give the man any time to think before swinging it hard, knocking him out with a bad cut on his face and likely a concussion.

He stared at the man for a long moment before dropping the bat to the ground next to his body. He wouldn’t need it for what came next.

By the time the man finally woke up, Roach had finished setting everything up.

All the doors were locked with towels shoved into all the cracks he could find. It wasn’t much, but it would help keep the sound from the apartment down. Hopefully enough to buy Roach more time to get what he needed from the man.

He’d tied his target up. Placed him in a chair and wrapped him tight with rope and knots that would only tighten the more that he struggled. A gag had been shoved into his mouth, just something to help keep him quiet as Roach worked.

Finally, he’d dragged a table into the room. Just a small table, but one that would work for his display. He’d learned early into what he was doing that half of the battle, half of what made people give in to his questions was the display. If they could see what you had, see what you’d brought to hurt them with, they’d be more likely to start talking before things could ever get that far.

Roach had laid his display on the table. Simple things, all of it, but frightening if you knew that there was a possibility of torture coming your way. Knives, pliers, a blowtorch, needles, wire, and a revolver with the bullets laid out neatly beside it. There were more things, things that he never really intended to use, but things that he would use if it came to it. After all, he would have the information he needed, no matter the cost.

He could hear the man behind him begin to struggle as he finished setting up the last of his knives. He didn’t hurry, he didn’t move any quicker, he just kept his pace, making sure everything looked neat and allowing the man to make his bonds tighter with his own struggling. After a long moment of just listening to the panicked noises, he finally turned around to lean against the table and watch the man with careful eyes.

“You know,” he spoke lowly, finally allowing himself a moment to talk after continuing to watch the man struggle, to watch his binds growing tighter and tighter, “the more you struggle, the tighter those things are going to get.” He tilted his head at the man as he began screaming through his gag. After a moment, he sighed and picked up one of the knives from the table. He flipped it around in his hands for a moment, feeling the man’s eyes follow the movement.

He was showing just how good he could be with the weapon. Just how much control he had over the blade. Finally, he stepped toward the man.

He circled him slowly, still flipping the knife in his hand. When he made his way behind the man he stopped. Slowly he started to undo the knot holding the gag in place. Before it could be fully untied, he held the knife to the man’s cheek, pressing it tight to the flesh. Not enough to break skin, just enough to make a point.

“I’m going to take this off. If you scream,” he pressed the knife just a bit closer, “Well, you understand.” With that, he pulled the gag away from the man’s mouth. Nothing was said at first. Roach just circled back around to the table, dropping the gag next to his knives before turning to once again lean up against it and stare at the man.

They just stared at one another for several moments before the man broke. He turned his eyes away and Roach could see the way that his jaw clenched before he asked, “Who are you?”

Roach shook his head, “That doesn’t matter.”

“Alright,” the man shook his head, “What do you want? The numbers to the safe? My cards? What?”

A low chuckle pulled from Roach’s throat. “Sergeant Major Crownover,” he pushed away from the table, “what I want, is information.”

Crownover seemed to hesitate at that, his eyes looking over Roach carefully, “Who are you then? AQ? Russian?”

Roach gave a bit out laugh at those words. “Well,” he started carefully, crossing his arms over his chest, “If I was Russian, I’m sure I wouldn’t have to do this to get information out of you. Only offer a decent sum.”

“And what the hell does that mean?”

“Makarov,” Roach said finally, “I’m here for information on Makarov.”

Roach could see the brief flash of panic that went across his face. He tried to cover it up, but Roach had seen it. Roach knew. He knew that Jackson’s intel had been correct. He knew that this man was Makarov’s mole. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Wrong answer.” Roach twirled the knife between his fingers again, “Let’s try this again. I know that you’ve been feeding information to Makarov. So what I want,” he tilted his head, “is what you know about Makarov and where you’ve been keeping all of your correspondence with him.”

“I,” Crownover seethed, “am a member of the United States military! You think I would be colluding with a Russian terrorist?”

“I don’t think, I know.” Roach turned and grabbed the gag from the table. In a quick move, he stepped forward and grabbed tight to Crownover’s jaw, forcing it open. He harshly shoved the material back into the man’s mouth before dropping into a squat in front of him. “You might want to bite down on that.”

In one quick move, he brought the knife down, purposefully stabbing it directly into the wood of the chair, just between the man’s legs. Crownover gave a frightened yelp at the move, his eyes wide and his breathing heavy as he stared down to where the knife was uncomfortably close to his crotch.

Roach stared for a long moment before moving forward to grab at Crownover’s hand. He pulled it forward harshly, hearing the man gasp in pain as the ropes around him tightened at the movement. He carefully grabbed one of his fingers, pulling it back just enough that the other would know what he was threatening with. “Do you want to tell me what I want to know?”

Crownover watched him with wide frightened eyes, his breathing heavy. Still, he shook his head no. In an instant, Roach jerked the finger back, snapping it backward with a sickening crack. He didn’t react as the man in front of him screamed through his gag at the pain, tears gathering in his eyes. He just watched him carefully, trying to decide what his next course of action would be.

He decided when the man’s eyes fell to him, glaring at him through his tears. He was still too combatant. Roach reached forward to grab another finger, ignoring the desperate shaking of Crownover’s head in favor of snapping the finger back to join the other.

He let Crownover cry as he stood from his kneeled position. He didn’t pay any mind to the sobs as he returned to his little table of tools, leaning back against it to watch the man. Once it seemed he was at least somewhat calm, Roach asked, “Ready to talk now?”

To his surprise, Crownover gave a quick and desperate nod. He narrowed his eyes at the man for a moment. He didn’t believe that he was actually willing to give him any sort of information, not yet at least. Makarov wouldn’t have chosen someone who would be so quick to spill. Still, he stepped forward to yank the gag from the man’s mouth.

“Okay,” Crownover gasped through his tears, “listen, I’ll tell you what I know about Makarov. I’ll tell you what I know, but I don’t work with him! I only know what I’m told!”

Roach scoffed at the words, “Liar.”

He stepped forward. “Wait ple-” Roach cut the man off by shoving the gag back into his mouth, causing him to violently gag on the fabric. He stooped down to pull the knife from the chair, twirling it in his hand again before stabbing it down once more. This time, he was aiming for blood.

The knife slid through the skin of Crownover’s hand with sickening ease, pulling a scream from the man’s throat. Roach held the knife there for a moment before beginning to slowly twist the blade, tearing skin and forcing bone to move and scrape against the metal. The response was one that Roach expected, desperate screaming and desperate attempts to pull away, only making the pain worse for him.

It was a natural reaction, only added to when Roach took a step back before lifting his foot and bringing it down in an arched kick against Crownover’s shin. A small snap filled the air and, though the leg looked fairly normal, Roach could tell from the resulting shriek from the man that he’d broken his leg.

“You really shouldn’t lie to me,” Roach pulled the knife from the man’s hand, leaving a bloody gaping hole in his wake, “It won’t go well for you.”

He turned back to the table, tossing the knife onto the display before picking up the blowtorch he’d brought with him. With a quick press of a button, there was fire spewing from one end of the little thing. He stepped forward and, before Crownover even had a chance to beg, he spewed the fire out onto the gaping wound in the man’s hand, effectively cauterizing it.

Even when he was sure the fire had licked every part of the wound, he held it there for a moment longer, letting it bubble and blister the skin in a way that was all too familiar to him. He grew sick at the sight of it, a bubbling of anxiety resting in the base of his throat and threatening to make him keel over with its intensity.

He turned the flame off and turned back to the table, taking a calming breath as he did and trying to ignore the way that his own body seemed to burn at the sight he’d forced upon himself. He carefully set the blowtorch back down and took another deep breath before grabbing the knife once again and returning to Crownover's side.

It was going to take Roach time to break him, he had to utilize the time that he had.

Roach took his time, carefully peeling at the skin on Crownover’s arm. He was cutting in long strips, ignoring the way that the man was sobbing. With every piece of skin that he removed, he made a point to drop it in the man’s lap, letting him see and feel the result of his continued refusal just to tell Roach what he wanted to know.

It was a slow process, slow and methodical. Roach had to be careful as he carved up the man’s arm, taking him apart piece by piece while watching to make sure that he wasn’t losing too much blood. Roach had to ensure that his cuts weren’t going too deep. The last thing he needed was to nick something important.

With every slow glide and cut of his knife, he could hear quiet sobs from the man tied to the chair. Roach didn’t pay him any mind, he knew that the pain was necessary for what he was doing. He understood the pain that the man was dealing with. It hadn’t stopped him from breaking fingers and toes, tearing nails from the skin, cutting into flesh, and removing pieces where he saw fit.

It was a bloody affair, as most things like this usually were. Roach found the crimson staining his arms and his hands. It dripped down his body to splash onto the plastic he’d laid below Crownover’s chair. Roach wanted it off of his skin already. He wanted to scrub himself raw and tear his skin away until it was completely new, until no memory of this would lay over his skin to haunt him. He knew it wasn’t possible.

The blood seemed to seep beneath his skin and take hold in the very fabric of who he was. It dug its claws into his skin and infected him with a deep settling guilt that burned like a blistering fire just next to the anger that had been ignited there so many years ago. As usual, the anger swallowed the guilt whole, using it to stoke its flames.

The sound of a light buzzing broke Roach from his deep thoughts. He paused where he was, listening to it for a long moment. The knife in his hand didn’t waver, he just kept it still where it was, digging into the skin of the bleeding man beside him. After a long moment of listening to the buzzing, he stood up.

The knife was pulled from Crownover’s skin and Roach made a point to hardly look at him as he made his way back to the little table he’d set up. The knife was discarded in favor of his little disposable phone.

He clicked the button to answer but didn’t say anything. He just listened as Jackson’s voice hit his ears, “You’ve got police coming to your location. A neighbor must have heard something. You need to finish up and quick, whether you have the information or not.”

Roach paused for a moment, “How long do I have?”

“ETA six minutes.”

“Right.” With that, he hung the phone up and turned back to the table. He had six minutes, which meant it was time for his last resort. He picked up the revolver from the table and a single bullet for it.

He turned back to Crownover, making sure that the man was watching as he loaded the bullet into the chamber before snapping it closed. He gave the chamber one good spin. He knew the revolver well enough, it was often his trump card in situations like this. Situations where he had to work quick.

The thing about the revolver, he’d learned, was that there was an extra aspect of fear that came with it. He could use a regular pistol. Just load a few blanks into it and let the men know how many chances they had. It wasn’t like a revolver though. The revolver came with seeing, with watching your chances tick down with every turn of the chamber. Knowing that the next could have the bullet that would end your life in it.

Fear was Roach’s friend. He’d learned that early on in his new job. Fear was Roach’s friend and a revolver brought fear with it in the form of a ticking clock.

“You know what this is I assume,” Roach held the weapon up for Crownover to see. “We’ve been playing with knives too long. You still won’t talk. So, this is the deal now. Five chances.” He stepped closer to Crownover and pointed the gun to his forehead. He could see as the man began to shake and panic again. “Five chances to tell me what I want to know. Nod if you understand.”

Crownover gave a shaky nod and, with that, Roach stepped forward to yank the gag from his mouth and drop it into his lap with the pile of skin he’d taken. “Where do you keep your correspondence with Makarov?”

The man gave a small sob and shook his head as he responded, “Please, please I don’t work with Makarov.” Roach pulled the trigger, watching closely as Crownover jumped at the little click that the gun gave.

He didn’t acknowledge the click, he just raised an eyebrow at Crownover before asking again, “Where do you keep your correspondence with Makarov?”

There was a short moment of quiet. Roach motioned with his gun, causing the man to jump again before he spoke, “I swear I don’t-”

Roach didn’t even let him finish before pulling the trigger. Another click, another jump. “Lying won’t get you anywhere.” Roach took another step forward before dropping into a crouch in front of Crownover. “This can go so much easier for you if you just tell me what I want to know.” He tilted his head, “I’ll let you live, you can take your money and disappear somewhere where Makarov can’t find you. All you have to do is tell me where you keep your little communicator.”

He watched Crownover for a long moment. The man avoided his gaze, turning his face fully away from him. Roach could see his lips press close together. He was forcing himself to stay quiet, refusing to answer. Roach gave him another few moments before casually pulling the trigger on the gun twice.

The move sent Crownover’s head whipping toward him, his eyes wide with fear. “It’s easy. Just tell me what I want to know.”

“He’ll kill me,” the man practically sobbed the words out. Roach didn’t give him any sympathy, he just stood up and leaned closer, pressing the gun tight to the underside of Crownover’s chin before pulling the trigger again. Another click.

“And,” Roach spoke carefully, “I’ll kill you if you don’t. You can either tell me and have a chance to live, or keep a terrorist safe and die right here as nothing more than a pathetic broken man.”

The two men locked eyes for a long moment and Roach could see as the man pressed tight to his gun finally stopped fighting. He could see the moment he decided to give in. “My desk on base. There’s a secret compartment with everything in it. Files, my computer, even Makarov’s number.”

Roach pushed himself away from the man and returned to the table. With quick movements, he started to shove everything that he could back into the bag he’d brought with him. The gloves he’d worn while cutting into the man’s skin were quickly yanked off and shoved into the bag as well. His jacket was thrown on over his clothes to hide any blood on his arms and shirt.

Next came the mask, then the hat until finally, he could slip his bag back over his shoulders. He gave one last check that he’d grabbed everything before snatching up his disposable phone and dialing Jackson.

“Thank you,” Crownover gave a small call as the phone was ringing. His voice grated on Roach’s ears and caused him to pause where he was. “Thank you, thank you!”

There was no hesitation when Roach turned, swiftly pointed the gun, and pulled the trigger. He didn’t wait around to watch Crownover slump over in his seat, he knew that the man was dead. Instead, he tucked the gun into the waistband of his pants before moving quickly through the small apartment and back toward the sliding glass door.

It was as he was locking the sliding glass behind him that Jackson picked up. “The stuff we need is on base.”

“Well fuck,” Roach climbed over the railing as he’d done earlier, but this time he didn’t even hesitate to make the jump. It worked out much better than his last jump had and soon enough he was slipping back inside the dark bare apartment he’d snuck in through, closing the sliding glass behind him. “What do you want to do?”

“I’m going on base,” Roach took the time to sling his bag off and shove the revolver inside, “I need you to erase me from the system after they swipe my card. You know they’ll ping a dead military member suddenly showing up on base.”

“Easy enough,” Roach could hear the hesitation in his friend's voice around the sound of the police banging on the door next to his, “What about you, though? I mean going on base seems like a death wish, even for you.”

“I’ll be fine,” Roach started toward the apartment door, readjusting his mask and hat as he did, “Just watch the database, yeah?”

With that, he hung the phone up and slipped it into his pocket. He gave himself a deep calming breath before pushing the door to the apartment open and slipping out. He didn’t try to run, he didn’t even move quickly, instead, he just turned around and pretended to lock the door to the apartment.

As he’d expected, one of the policemen stopped him, “Sir! Excuse me, sir! What are you doing?”

Roach turned to look at him with wide eyes, he let himself lean around the officer to look at the various police members piling into Crownover’s apartment. “I, um, what’s going on?”

“That’s not important. What are you doing up at this time sir, it’s late.” Roach turned away from the door fully then, facing the officer. He made sure to keep up the appearance of curiosity, looking around the man nervously.

“I’m a nurse,” he explained carefully, “Someone had a family emergency, I’m heading in to cover the rest of their shift for them.” The officer seemed to relax at his words.

“Alright, well, best if you get on then,” with that, the officer guided him toward the elevator. Roach followed but kept glancing over at the other police officers milling around Crownover’s apartment. He knew it made him look less suspicious to be curious. Everyone was curious when they saw police.

“Thank you, sir,” Roach stepped past the officer into the elevator and clicked the button for the bottom floor, “I hope everything is alright.” With that, the doors shut and Roach was once again left in blissful silence.

He took the chance to lean back against the wall of the elevator, taking several deep and calming breaths as he did. This was not ideal for how getting the information would have gone, but Roach wasn’t willing to wait any longer. He was ready to get rid of Makarov, he was ready to get rid of Shepherd, and he was ready to finally get rid of Graves. If that meant taking a risk and stepping foot on base? Then he would be more than willing to do it.

“Sergeant Gary Sanderson,” The man at the front gate acknowledged him and gave a quick swipe of his card before handing it back, “You’re here a little late?”

“Just forgot something,” Roach gave the man a quick smile from the driver's seat of his rental, “Flying back home to see family in the morning, last chance, you know?”

The man gave a chuckle, “I get you man, go on in.” With that, he tapped the button allowing the gate of the base to open in front of Roach’s vehicle. Roach gave him an appreciative wave before driving through the open gate and carefully navigating his way into a distant parking spot. He made sure there were other cars around his, knowing that it would make his vehicle look less noticeable.

As usual, he did his best to move casually, acting as though nothing was out of place as he made his way up to the building Jackson had directed him toward. He’d done a quick look over the layout of the building, but not his usual study. So he could only hope that his memory wasn’t serving him wrong as he swiped his card, stepped into the building, and took a hard left down the hall.

He felt almost naked walking down the halls without his hat or mask on. He knew that nothing was hiding his appearance from the various cameras placed along the base’s hallway. He had to trust that Jackson had managed to get into the system and loop the camera’s like he normally would. It didn’t make him feel any more comfortable.

After a long walk of following the careful instructions that were written lightly in his memory, he was able to breathe a sigh of relief as he spotted the neat plaque on a door that read “Sgt. Major Crownover.”

He made his way over to the door, subtly pulling his picks from his pocket as he did. It was fairly easy to get the door to open under his swift hands, something he thought the military should be just a bit embarrassed about.

Roach didn’t bother to turn on the lights in the room. He knew it would only bring attention to him. Instead, he shut the door behind him and navigated his way through the dark using only the light streaming in through the single window in the room to see his path.

He moved carefully toward the desk in the room, letting his hand slowly trail across the edge of it, following its turns until he was pulling the desk chair out from under it and ducking down to feel along the underside. He felt around for a long moment, tracing the underside with careful slow strokes of his fingers. After a long moment, his hands felt along the edge of a lip in the wood.

He paused before pressing up against it. There was a click and a small piece of the desk next to him slid out. He stared at it for a short moment before reaching over to pull out the contents of the secret drawer. It wasn’t much, just a few files, a small computer, and a phone. Roach grabbed them all quickly and tucked them against his chest. The phone was slipped into his pocket before he shoved the drawer closed and pushed himself up from the floor.

He was quick to slip out of the office then, locking it behind him before beginning to retrace his steps toward the front of the building. He kept the vials and computer tucked close to his chest, trying to ensure that they stayed out of sight of anyone whose wandering eyes might fall to him.

It seemed that luck was, mostly, on his side as he managed to make it out to his vehicle without any problems. He was quick to tuck the things he’d found down beside his seat, ensuring that they wouldn’t be seen in case he was stopped.

He was quick to begin toward the exit of the base, his hands shaking enough that he forced himself to grip tight to the steering wheel, trying to keep it from being too noticeable as he pulled up to the gate once again. He rolled his window down, meeting the gaze of the man from earlier with an easy smile.

“Get what you needed man?”

Roach gave an easy nod to the man, “Yeah, like I said, super easy grab.” He gave a short chuckle that the other man matched.

“Right, well, mind if I see what you grabbed? Just for safety’s sake, you know?” Roach flinched slightly at the words, but he was quick to brush it off. It was a question he hadn’t exactly expected and he wasn’t really sure what to say at the moment.

His bag had been dropped off at the hotel to avoid any suspicion, so all he really had was what was in the car with him, that of course being the items from Crownover’s office. He cleared his throat nervously, “Sure man.”

He thought for a long moment before carefully pulling the phone from his pocket. It was the one from Crownover’s office, the one that likely had sensitive information on it. Still, it looked like a regular phone and would hopefully go under the man’s radar without any issue.

He held it up into the light with a slight chuckle, “My phone. Probably didn’t need to go out of state without this bad boy.”

To his relief, the man only chuckled and gave a nod. “I get you man, that wouldn’t have been good.” He reached over and pressed the button, opening the gate for Roach carefully, “Have a good night man.”

“You too, bud.” With that, Roach drove through the gate, a terrible sense of relief falling over him.

His entire body was shaking and he knew from experience that it wasn’t likely to stop any time soon. After all, being back on a military base, especially when he was meant to be dead? It wasn’t exactly a pleasant experience.

“Roach, hey, Roach! Dude you need to wake up right fucking now.”

The panic in Jackson’s voice worked its way through Roach’s system and, before he could even register what was happening, he was bolting up in bed. He struggled against the covers for a moment before tripping out of the shitty little bed he was in. He nearly fell flat on his face but managed to save himself enough that he only slammed his knee painfully onto the ground.

He bounced back from it quickly, jumping to his feet and ignoring the dull ache in his knee to rush toward the entrance of the room and follow Jackson’s quick movements into their living room. He did his best to blink the sleep out of his eyes and focus his bleary gaze onto the screens at Jackson’s workstation.

“Did you figure something out about Makarov?”

“I’m working on that, but we have a bigger issue.” Jackson clicked around a bit on his computer before bringing up a photo of a man that Roach didn’t recognize.

He stared for a long moment before glancing at Jackson. “Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

“Major Hassan Zayani,” Jackson turned to Roach, “Your 141 boys are hunting him right now.” Roach stared at his friend for a moment. He still didn’t understand what Jackson was getting at. “He has American missiles. You know I’ve been monitoring AQ’s comms, right?”

“Right,” Roach folded his arms across his chest. He had an idea of where this was going. It wasn’t anything he was bothered by, he’d always be willing to help take out another terrorist. Still, he couldn’t see what about this was so important.

“They got the missiles from Shadow Company. Shepherd was sending them to Russian loyalists to help against the Ultranationalists. Ultranationalists got wind of it and…now we’re here.”

Something clicked in Roach’s mind. “The 141,” Roach hesitated for a moment, his heart picked up speed, “They don’t know, do they?” Jackson gave him a careful look before shaking his head. “Shit.”

Roach pushed himself back from the desk and started to pace around the living room, panic flooding through him. Shepherd had betrayed his country. Shadow Company knew. The 141 didn’t. The situation rang as all too familiar to him and he could feel a bubbling of panic rising in his chest. He knew what this was. He knew what this meant.

“Roach,” Jackson spoke carefully, “We have the information on Makarov. I’m working through it. We’ll get what we need to know.” He paused for a second. The silence seemed to drag on as Roach paced. “Roach…I think it’s time.”

The words froze Roach in his place. It was one thing to know that it would eventually come to this. It was one thing to know that he would find himself here, at the end goal. It didn’t mean that it wasn’t surreal to actually find himself here. Part of him, he supposed, never thought he’d get this far.

Part of him was still sure he’d died three years back, shot and burned in a hole in the middle of a massacred town. Part of him was sure that this life had ended the same way that his first had. He supposed that it was somewhat true. A part of him had died three years ago. The life he’d wanted ended in the same way that his first had.

Now he found himself nearing the end. The end of the line. The end of what he’d promised himself while tucked into a chair with blistering burns across his skin. In a way, it was like he was dying again.

“Where are they going?”

“Mexico. Las Almas. They’re working with Mexican Special Forces.” Jackson seemed to hesitate for a moment before adding, “It seems like it’s only Soap and Ghost right now.”

Roach closed his eyes at the words, his jaw clenching harshly. He took a moment of quiet to calm himself, trying to focus on the road ahead. He couldn’t let himself think of Soap and Ghost. He couldn’t let himself think of the 141. He knew it would only make him hesitate. There was no more room for hesitation. Not now. Not ever.

“Right,” Roach turned to Jackson, “Get me into Las Almas. See if you can find where Hasan has the other missiles they’re looking for. As soon as I’m known to the 141 we’ll need to get that information to Laswell.”

“Who are you taking first?” Jackson watched him closely, “I can figure out where Shepherd-”

“No,” Roach shook his head slowly and met Jackson’s eyes, “It has to be Graves. Graves first. Then Shepherd. Then Makarov.”

There was a long moment of silence that lingered between them before Jackson gave a careful nod, his face solemn. They both knew what this meant. “I’ll get you into Las Almas.” With that, the two men set to work.

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