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toxicanonymity · 7 months

Text

stop playing

3.8k, (dark) slasher!Joel x f!reader

Ty @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog for the slasher joel edit and movie poster. And @iamasaddie for the big girthy wrench and the mood board on the master list.

slasher Joel master list | spotify playlist

SUMMARY: Joel fixes and returns your car, pays you a visit, and stuffs you full of his cock and more. WARNINGS: I8+ unsafe dubcon P in V, creampie, m masturbation, crude language and degradation, knifeplay, superficial injury (cut), incidental pussy slap, fisting (be the change you want to see in the world), penetration with wrench A/N: If something sounds unappealing to you, please quietly skip the fic. This blog is kink-positive. Comments that could have a kink shaming effect may be removed, regardless of intent. Asks: @xdaddysprincessxx and 🔧 anon, ty

“Not here to make love to ya, sweetheart.” His cock twitches against your hand. ”That what ya want?” You can hear the smile in his voice.

You shake your head no, catching his scruff against your cheek. “want ya to fuck me.”

He chuckles, then puts on an air of sympathy. “Shame. . .that’d be nice. . .” His breath hot on your ear. “Shouldn’t’a left me.” You try to move and he pins you by your wrists.

------------

Joel is in his garage, under your car, finishing up. Yeah, he didn’t just tow it, he fixed it. Bet you're an ungrateful bitch about it. You're a brat, but god damn, you can take a dick. He’s never had anyone sink right down and ride him like that. He vividly recalls the sensation of being swallowed up. As blood rushes south, his cock strains his jumpsuit, still crusty with your combined juices. Every time he sees or smells it he thinks of how it all leaked out of your used up hole. He wipes his bicep on his forehead, then palms his growing bulge. He manages to ignore it while he finishes the repair, then rolls out from under your car.

He sits up on the roller, holding his big, heavy wrench against his thigh. He looks down at his arousal. He wonders if he's getting a beer belly as he sucks in his stomach to better see his engorged bulge. He unzips his jumpsuit all the way and pulls his T-shirt out from sticking under his pecs. Then he stands up with a groan and adjusts himself.

He sets his wrench aside and goes to the dingy old bathroom. His mom tried to make it nice, so there's soap and lotion and a little candle, but it hasn't been cleaned in forever. In the filthy mirror, he has motor oil all over his hands, and some on the side of his face. He takes his sleeves off and presses the hardness in his jumpsuit against the low sink as he washes up, then he takes his cock out and holds it in his hand. It's so fat he can barely get his own massive hand around it if he squeezes. You took it like a cock taking queen. He imagines that's what you are as he pumps the lotion into his hand.

He begins to stroke his raging erection and stares at himself in the mirror as he does it. The mirror lets him see a lot. His jumpsuit is hanging down, mostly out of the picture, the hems of his sleeves skimming the nasty floor as he strokes his cock. His hair is messed up. He rakes his free hand back through it. His forehead is sweating again as he runs his fist up and down his length. Cheeks are flushed, lips slightly parted, head tilted back as he's beginning to grunt softly with the stroke of his hand. His white t-shirt, stained with oil, stretches over his strong chest and little belly with a little dip of looser fabric in between, under his pecs. His sleeves barely contain his arms and his forearm flexes as he jerks it.

With his other hand, he takes his boxers under his massive balls so he can see those too. He tilts his head down, casting a shadow over his eyes, mouth hanging open, breathing heavily. He wets his lips and moans approaching the finish. He looks at his cock in the mirror and pictures you sucking his balls. Nasty little sex kitten sucking them so good. For a moment, picturing you between his knees, he feels like you want him. . . until his thoughts are jolted back to how you left him. His jaw clenches and he wonders what to do with you. When you're only good for one thing, you better be real good at it. Cunt. He jerks himself thinking about how you probably take so many cocks. He wonders how much you could take.

He takes a deep breath, his cock twitches in his hand, and he groans as he cums into the sink. As he finishes coming, he makes eye contact with himself in the mirror. Under his weathered face, for a moment he sees a younger, sadder man before his nose twitches into a snarl and he rinses the cum down the sink.

As he goes to leave the bathroom, half his footsteps are clicking. Something is stuck in the bottom of his work boot. He lifts his foot to look at the sole, and he pries a tooth from between the rubber ridges. He tosses it in the toilet on his way out.

. . .

Joel changes out of his uniform, showers, and puts on jeans and a tight t-shirt. It’s dusk when he gets in your driver's seat and starts your car. Empty coke bottles, goody's pain relief, fast food receipts, empty packets of gum. There’s plenty of personal information about you, too. He could take you tonight, if he felt like it. Fuck you and dump you. Oh, not figuratively, literally. If he feels like it. If only you hadn’t left him. . . he would’ve let you go.

He pulls up google maps and types in your address. It’s a long ass drive, an hour and a half, but might be worth it, he thinks. “What the hell were ya doin’ out here,” he mutters to himself. He knows the answer– whoring. Of course your gas tank is empty. He’ll fill it up on your dime. He hasn’t decided what to do with you when he puts the car in reverse. He'll figure it out on the way.

As he's driving off, the heavy wrench slides off the roof of your car. "God damnit," he mutters and stops to pick it up. Before he gets back in the car, he pats his pocket and makes sure he has his switchblade. He calls his mom on the way to your house and tells her he needs to swing by for his extra key to the car. She asks him to stay for dinner.

—---------------

It’s only been a few days. You’ve been driving Joel’s car. You know he’ll come for it eventually, and that’s okay, you think. Depending on how pissed he is about you leaving him handcuffed on his bed and stealing his car. You think about him constantly, and it always turns you on. It’s making you irritable, living in a constant state of arousal. What’s wrong with you? He could kill you. He might still. And yet, you have half a mind to drive all the way back to his sad little camper just to chain him up and ride him again.

You’re home alone, watching TV when you hear a car park outside, then a car door closes. You look out the window and it’s your car. Your heart flutters. Then you hear another car door open and shut–Joel’s car–and the engine starts. He drives away in his car without so much as a glance toward your house. Your heart sinks and you’re disgusted with yourself.

You go out to your car and there’s a piece of paper under your windshield wiper. You unfold it and it says, “Take care, sweetheart.” There’s something on the other side. You turn it over. It’s a drawing. You can’t tell what it is until you turn it to the side and a chill runs down your spine–not just from the content, but the quality. It looks like a kid could have drawn it, but it’s so crude. The focal point is a detailed vagina, clit, hole, labia, and all, liquid leaking out of it. In much less detail, there are two legs spread with knees up, tits, and behind the tits, a picasso type face you presume is supposed to be you, based on the hair. Uneven eyes.

Something’s wrong with him. And, of course, something’s wrong with you–Because your heart sank when he drove away, but it sank more when you read, “take care.”

—

You think about him even more after that. Non-stop. You convince yourself he was never going to kill you. He was trying to scare you. It was a fucked up game. You wash the grisly t-shirt he gave you–rendered pointless with slashes through the front, and stains. You wear it and wash it and wear it and wash it, and it’s so fucked up.

A week or two later, you’re taking a walk in leggings and a tank top. You’re walking by some woods in an undeveloped stretch of your neighborhood, right before a big, vacant lot when you get an unsettling feeling. You jog the rest of the way home.

When you’re standing in front of your fridge cooling off with a cold glass of water, you hear metal on metal and look over to see your sliding glass door being pried open. Joel’s imposing form pauses in the doorway. Then he turns and tosses the crowbar outside. He shuts the door behind him. He’s holding a huge wrench and his other hand is flexing around nothing, fingers slightly wiggling. He’s wearing his mechanic jumpsuit and a scowl.

His voice is deep and gravely. “Miss me, sweetheart?”

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask as his boots thud ominously toward you. He’s so imposing, muscles begging for more room in his uniform. His nose twitches one side of his mouth into a smile, then he tilts his head and wets his lips. He lifts the wrench and lets the end of it fall heavily into his other massive hand. You stand frozen against the kitchen counter. You let him pin you to it with his hips, and that's not all. He puts the wrench down with a loud clunk on the faux granite. Then he plants his massive hands on either side of you, caging you to the counter. He presses his pelvis into you and the warmth of his semi-hard bulge makes you tingle. His belly presses into your middle. Your heart races. You wedge your hand between you and palm his bulge.

He laughs, nearly silently, then brings his mouth to your ear. “M’not here to make love to ya, sweetheart.” His cock twitches against your hand. ”That what ya want?”

You shake your head no and say, “want ya to fuck me.”

He chuckles, then puts on an air of sympathy. “Shame. . .that’d be nice. . .” His breath hot on your ear. “Shouldn’t’a left me.”

You try to move and he pins you by your wrists. You knee his groin and when he falls backward, you run around the counter. He comes after you with a switchblade. You trip over a pair of shoes and he grabs a fistful of your shirt on your way to the floor, lessening your impact. You’re face-down on the carpet.

“Stop fuckin’ playin’,” he growls. He doesn’t let go of your shirt. He stabs through the fabric and slices all the way down to the bottom hem, then turns the blade upward and cuts the collar in one quick snap. You squirm under him. He puts all his weight on you, pushing his hard bulge against your ass. Then he lifts his pelvis off you, straddles your thigh, and shoves his hand between your legs, digging between your mound and the carpet to feel you through your leggings. You know they’re already damp. Joel opens and shuts his hand over your cunt, plucking the stretchy fabric out from your body and snapping it back against your pussy. Then he gets up on his knees, pulls the spandex out one last time, and stabs through it. He rips a big hole in the crotch. And he keeps stabbing and slicing at the fabric between your legs and then he nicks your inner thigh and you yelp.

“sorry, sweetheart.” he backs down your leg and gives the booboo a kiss. He slices the seat of your leggings more carefully, ripping them all the way open, then he presses the flat of the knife against one buttcheek, separating your crack more.

“Stop playin’,” he reminds you.

“Okay,” you whimper and stop fighting.

He puts his weight back on top of you, with his belly on your back and his knees straddling your thighs and his cock hard against your ass. He cups your exposed cunt and growls when he feels how wet you are. “There’s my sex kitten,” he murmurs. “Pussy’s dyin’ for it, ain’t she.”

“Just fuck me already,” you whine, disturbed by what a lack of sexual interest could possibly mean for you. Then you taunt, “Unless you can’t.”

He runs his thick fingers through your wet folds, then pushes one, then two, then three fat digits into you. He slowly pumps them and his cock swells against you. You twitch around him.

He sighs and says, “Course I can” and unzips his jumpsuit. “Only ‘cause I feel like it.” He spits loudly, then notches at your entrance and he’s even wider than you remember. He shoves himself into you, parting your core with his absurd girth.

“Mmmfuck,” he grunts. He retreats slightly then plunges in and you gasp as he bottoms out. “That what ya want?”

You get wetter around his cock and he begins to fuck you at a steady rhythm with your face pressed into the carpet. His hand engulfs the back of one knee to nudge it on the carpet, spreading your legs open more. He grunts as he pounds into you with the thickest cock you’ve ever had, even thicker than you remember.

“Nasty girl,” he rasps as the heft of his cock splits you open. “Take it like a real cockslut, don’t ya?”

Your nipples harden at his words and you whimper.

“But damn you can ride it, too,” he pants.

He grunts and moans as he buries his girth in you.

“More,” you whine, unsure why you have the constant urge to provoke him.

He pounds you harder and faster, grunting like an animal with his broad cock stabbing into you, massive balls slapping your skin through the tatters of your torn leggings.

“More,” you beg.

“Careful,” he warns. “Cause I’ll give ya more.”

His hips snap into you, stuffing you so full of cock, rearranging your guts.

“More,” you pant and his hips slow. He thrusts his fat cock into you slower then takes it out entirely. The void he leaves is jolting and the air is cold on your dripping cunt.

“Fuckin’ warned ya,” he bites. “Turn over and keep your mouth shut.” He forces you onto your back so you can see him. He slices through your sleeves and collars and you flinch with the knife near your neck. He tears your shirt off. “Give ya more,” he mutters. He straddles your right leg so his right hand is closest to your cunt. He slaps your pussy and rubs his flattened fingers around in your ample slick. Then he wipes it on his cock. He repeats the action until he’s satisfied with his lube. Then he spits on his cock again and slowly strokes himself with his left hand.

He pumps his cock with his left hand, and with his right hand, he puts three fingers in a triangular formation and wedges them into your cunt while it’s still stretched from his cock. He pushes his three fingers in and out, curling them, moving them side to side, stretching you slowly. Your body catches up with him, and your cunt gets even wetter. You’ll probably shrivel his fingertips at this rate. He pulls his fingers almost all the way out, then adds his pinky to the others and begins to wedge all four of them into you, clustered together barely inside your entrance. He puts his thumb on your clit. All four of his fat digits push into you and you moan.

“Ooh she likes it,” he coos. “Ever had your gash this full?” You spasm at his crudeness. “Mm?” He thumbs your clit and keeps stroking himself with his left hand.

You shake your head no. His four move in and out of you, and his eyes glue to your cunt, watching you take them. He thumbs your clit faster and your back arches. Your cunt relaxes more, like you want to swallow him whole.

He scowls, sliding all four of his fingers in and out of you as your body keeps you moist. Then he slides them out and pauses. He spits on his thumb, despite how sopping wet you are. He wedges his thumb between his fingers, so his thumb and pinky are touching each other, clustered with the three middle digits. Then he begins to push his hand into you. You groan at the stretch. His hand is massive, and gorgeous. You look at the other hand wrapped around his cock. It’s veiny–they both are, the hand and his cock. He adjusts his position and his massive balls rest on your thigh.

“Wanted more, didn’t ya?” he asks. He’s only buried his fingers to the second knuckle, with the bottom half of each digit still outside your cunt. He subtly twists his hand from side to side wriggling it into you. “Yeah, you can take it,” he says. Thank god you’re so shamefully wet for this psycho. “That’s my sex kitten.” He lets go of his cock and plants his hand on the floor for leverage, leaning over you. His hand pushes further into you, and you feel his major knuckles prodding at your poor, stretched hole. He pauses as though taking in the sight. He moans and his eyelids are half shut watching your dripping cunt stretch obscenely around his hand. “Fuck that’s hot,” he breathes, then he pushes the rest of his hand into you.

The stretch burns when his major knuckles crest your hole, with the heel of his palm still outside you. You whimper and he keeps going. He pushes his hand in, making your hole grow even wider. Your cunt stretches and swallows his hand—his whole hand. The heel of his palm nudges your g-spot, and his knuckles push against your walls. He’s buried to the wrist now. “Fuck, yeah,” he breathes. “God damn. . .hungry, ain’t she?” He pushes in a little further. Your walls hug his massive hand and don’t want to let go. You’re shocked by the moisture just pouring into your core, like your body wants more, more, more.

“What’s wrong with ya, huh?” You wish you knew. “Lemme ruin your clothes, ruin your hole.” He breathes heavier, grinds his cock against your thigh, and keeps the hand inside you mostly still. He clenches the hand inside you and his breathing falters. He slightly twists his hand. He starts to withdraw it, then pushes it back in before the knuckles emerge from your hole. He does this a few times, partly out and back in, and your walls squeeze him. You writhe under him. Then, he begins to wriggle his hand out of you. “Fuck, you should see this, baby.” He sits up straighter and takes his cock in his left hand again. “Ohh, fuck,” he breathes. “Spread wide open around my hand.” his thumb slips out first and he puts it back on your clit. You whimper.

“Yeah, ya like that?” he rubs you with his thumb, four fingers still inside you. Your hips lift into him. “Good girl,” he whispers, rubbing you rhythmically. You look at his fat cock in his hand, leaking precum, and you want it back so bad. “Not yet,” he shakes his head. He moves his four fingers inside you and thumbs your clit, watching between your legs with his mouth hanging open, saliva pooling at the corners of his lips. The tension builds and builds with his thumb on your clit until you begin to clench around his hand and he groans as your walls clamp down on him. “Ohhh,” he moans. “Good girl, oh fuck.” When you’ve finished spasming around his hand, he slides it out the rest of the way. When it’s out, he gives a low whistle and lightly taps your cunt with the backs of his fingers. “Don’t worry,” he reassures you. “Ain’t gonna leave ya empty.” He picks up his massive wrench and admires the wide end of it, a little bigger than his fist.

You’re dumbstruck. It’s nasty, it’s gross, but your body wants it, really bad. It’s like a dream where you can’t make yourself talk. You don’t move. You just look at it, clit throbbing as he brings the fat end of the wrench to your deflated, weeping cunt. He uses his left hand to spread you open and hold you open, then the cold metal makes you wince and your whole body erupts in goosebumps. His left hand helps, sticking his fingers in with the wrench and using them to tug your entrance around it as he wriggles the wrench into you. He’s gentler than you expect. He works the wide end of the tool all the way into you. It feels so dangerous and crude, but at least it’s smooth. It doesn’t scratch, thank god. It’s a little awkward, the way parts of it jut out, but at least the metal is smooth. And having it inside you is somehow exhilerating

“And just like that,” he marvels, “ya took it.” He raises his eyebrows. “Damn.”

“It’s fucking cold,” you complain.

He begins to fuck you with it in short little thrusts, watching your cunt take it. You’re stretched around the metal. The danger, the obscenity of it turns you on, but you find yourself staring at his cock, wanting it back. He lazily strokes himself with his left fist. He follows your eyes and says, “Had enough, huh?”

You nod.

“Want my big fat cock back?”

You nod.

“Alright, kitten.” He carefully wedges the wrench out of you and inhales sharply watching it emerge obscenely from your stretched out hole. He watches your body begin to pull itself back together as he puts the wrench down and gets between your legs. He lines up and shoves all the way into you, sliding easily to the hilt. He begins to rail you unrestrained. “Not too bad,” he pants, sliding in and out of you easily. This time, he feels like an average sized man. “Fuck,” he breathes, already close. “Don’t worry. Won’t leave ya empty.” He slows down a little and seems to be holding his breath. “fill ya up now,” he pants. “Much as this cumsock can take.” Your cunt twitches. “That’s right.”

He slams into you and erupts, pulsing massively into your worn-out hole, and a second climax sneaks up on you. Your hips lift into his and he groans. He hovers over you as he cums, and you admire his face, barely keeping your eyes open with waves of pleasure crashing through your core.

When his balls are empty. He hovers over you for a moment, gives a subtle but demented smile, eyes sparkling. Then he pulls out.

“Whew.” He sits back on his heels, and tucks his massive cock back into his jumpsuit. Your legs are still spread. He brings his face close to your cunt and says “all fucked out.” He gives it a pat with the backs of his fingers again. “Mmm.” He zips up his suit and braces his hands on his thighs. He stands up with a groan.

“Why did you come here?” you ask him.

He ignores the question, picks up the wrench, and leaves you on the floor.

----

Thank you so much for reading and interacting!! Love you guys. Happy Friday the 13th, and Happy Halloween.

#dark!joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #slasher!joel #slasher!joel ☠️#slasher!joel miller #serial killer!joel miller #tw dubcon #toxicanonymity ☠️

1K notes · View notes

dancingbirdie · 6 months

Note

Hello there! I adore your fics and how you wrote Astarion! I was hoping you could write something around the succubus scene? I know you get comforted by Astarion later on in the game regarding it, but due to his own trauma and backstory I would have liked to see him stand up for Tav and protect them during that scene itself, instead of just standing by while Tav is being manipulated 🙈

If you could do something around that, it would heal me! 😂🙏

Hi, anon! I hope you enjoy. I really liked your prompt, but I'll admit it did get a bit darker than I had originally thought I'd write it.

Please take note of the content warnings before you read! As always, comments and reacts are appreciated.

No Self-Sacrifices

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader/Tav

Word Count: 1.7K

Warnings/Tags: Discussion/description of dissociation, implied sexual assault, mentions of Astarion's past, descriptions of violence, blood, mild gore, death, angst.

*****

“Why don’t we play a game?” the Raphael-look-alike called to you seductively from the ridiculously lavish bed. “You win, I give you everything you desire. But you’ll enjoy yourself more if you lose.”

Astarion began to sense that all too familiar, uneasy feeling coiling itself tight inside his chest. The premonition that something was about to go utterly, horribly wrong. He risked a glance toward your allies, Lae’zel and Halsin, but they appeared just as woefully confused as you did. As if you all weren’t aware of the trap you’d just walked into.

“What’s the game?” he heard you ask. He could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.

“It’s a surprise! Off with your clothes,” the devil commanded.

There could be no doubt as to what would take place. Surely, Astarion thought, none of his companions could be so blind as to not see what was about to happen.

Astarion watched as you bit your lip, hesitating. How you looked wildly about the room, as if you were searching for any last-minute way to avoid this. With his preternatural senses, he couldn’t help but be aware of how your heart rate spiked to a frenzied pulsing as you stood there, terrified of what was to come.

He watched in horror as your shoulders slumped almost imperceptibly. Defeated. Resolving to go through with this. And as you began removing your clothes, his vision turned nearly as red as the fiend on the mattress before you.

“Good, little thief, good,” the monster crooned, totally unaware of Astarion’s brewing rage. “Keep going like this, and you’ll get to live. You’ll be crying out my name soon, you’d better know it. I am Haarlep, Raphael’s personal incubus…”

The incubus - Haarlep - prattled on while Astarion continued to seethe with barely-contained fury. His fingers twitched, itching – almost of their own accord – to reach for the crossbow strapped to his back. He began shifting back and forth on the balls of his feet, restless. He caught the glare Lae’zel was leveling at him from his periphery and turned his head slightly to meet it.

She gave a slight, but obvious, shake of the head. A silent command to stand down. Then he felt the tadpole squirm in his brain, while a voice that was distinctly Lae’zel’s echoed in his mind.

Don’t act rashly, vampire. We need to gather more information before we strike.

Astarion nearly laughed aloud. The audacity of this Githyanki, willing to let her comrade be violated in such a way. After all they had done for her. For this party. And yet, part of him knew he shouldn’t be so surprised. After all, he had known plenty of “heroes” who had let equally horrible fates befall others without so much as lifting a finger to help them.

“It matters not to me.” Your deadened reply to Haarlep brought Astarion back to the present moment. He recognized that tone of voice. Knew when someone was trying to dissociate. To disconnect their mind from their body. He knew all too well what that feeling was like. And it was nearly as horrible to watch as it was to experience it for himself.

“Very well, I will be Raphael himself,” Haarlep continued. “All of him. Now, on the bed. Lie back.”

Astarion made his decision when he saw you begin to take stilted steps toward the bed. Covering yourself with your hands, trying to maintain some modicum of modesty as you climbed up.

With Haarlep’s attention solely on you, he reached behind him for the crossbow. His index finger felt for the trigger as he pulled it around before him. One swift flick, and an arrow was suddenly lodged in the incubus’ left pectoral.

Chaos erupted as imps suddenly appeared throughout the room, responding to Haarlep’s distressed cry. You toppled off the bed, head knocking onto the floor, as the fiend raged above you, trying to right themselves and extract the arrow from their chest.

“Tsk’va,” Lae’zel cursed in Gith, hefting her sword over her shoulder and barreling toward the first enemy in sight. “To battle it is, then!”

Halsin shifted quickly into his bear shape and let loose a formidable roar, charging for another group of imps across the room.

But Astarion only had eyes for Haarlep. He stalked slowly toward the bed, unsheathing the twin blades from his back as he did so.

You watched as he gave one brief, wicked smile before utter carnage ensued.

*****

“Kainyak! Your foolishness nearly cost us all our lives,” Lae’zel spat venomously toward Astarion while she wiped her blade free of the fetid black imp blood. “I should strike you down now for acting with such stupidity.”

To his credit, Astarion barely seemed to acknowledge the Githyanki’s formidable censuring. You watched as he slipped his daggers back into the sheaths at the small of his back and readjusted his armor. He picked up his crossbow and shook it free of blood before strapping it back between his shoulder blades.

“You still have all your limbs intact, Lae’zel,” he replied airly. It was a stark contrast to the way he was standing, body as taut as a bowstring. “And wasn’t that bloodshed so much more satisfying than watching the incubus violate our dear party leader?”

Lae’zel’s mouth snapped shut, but she continued to glare. The vampire had a point, though she was loath to admit it.

“I, for one, prefer this outcome to the alternative that was before us,” Halsin agreed, rising from where he had been crouched after dismissing his ursine form. He glanced your way but averted his eyes quickly, to your confusion.

“Best get dressed, darling,” Astarion drawled, coming over to where you still lay prone on the floor. “As delicious as I find your birthday suit to be, I’d wager you’ll fare better in this wretched place with a little more clothing on.”

He held out a hand to help you rise to your feet. You observed him cautiously, trying to discern the emotion behind his carefully schooled expression.

“Why?” you whispered.

He squinted at you, one brow quirked. “Are you seriously asking me why armor is prudent to have on, in a place like this?” He chuckled before adding, “gods, you must’ve smacked your head harder than I thought.”

“No,” you retorted, refusing to be deterred by his cheeky banter. “I mean, why did you attack Haarlep? You’re never one to be spoiling for a fight.”

Astarion scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest as if insulted. “Careful, darling. You’re almost making me out to be a pacifist.”

“You know what I meant, Astarion,” you grumbled as you began donning your leather breeches and jerkin.

“And would you have preferred to be fucked by that incubus instead?” Astarion bit out derisively.

Your head whipped up to meet his gaze, hearing the sudden change in his tone.

“Of course not,” you scowled. “But you could sense how powerful they were. It seemed like the only way to ensure your all’s safety.”

Astarion grimaced. “So you would have just laid down and taken it? For us?”

“I’m not saying I would have enjoyed it,” you hissed. “But to keep you safe? Keep them safe?” you gestured to Lae’zel and Halsin across the room, polishing and re-polishing their weapons as they attempted not to overhear your barely-whispered argument.

“Of course,” you concluded, voice resolute.

“Don’t be a fucking martyr. Not for me. Not for them. Not for anyone,” Astarion growled.

Your brows shot toward your hairline in surprise.

“We know what we signed up for when we joined this rag-tag group,” he continued, tone icy. “I’d rather fight a hundred fiends than watch you debase yourself to save anyone, including myself.”

You let loose a mirthless laugh, feeling angry, embarrassed and too completely exposed. Before you could think better of it, your retort was flying past your lips.

“You know, Astarion, you have a fucking funny way of showing appreciation for your partner who was willing to be violated in order to keep you safe.”

It was the wrong thing to say. You immediately knew it, and so did the rest of the party. Suddenly it was like the air had been sucked from the room.

Crimson eyes bored into your own as Astarion took a step forward to meet you, chest to chest. You glared up at him, refusing to back down. Refusing to be chastised for your willingness to protect him.

The shared air between you was charged. You could almost feel the electricity surging.

“Need I remind you? I’ve been violated enough times over the past 200 years to know how unequivocally monstrous it is,” he intoned, his voice pitched dangerously low. “I will promise you this. I am finished with having it happen to me, in front of me, or for me.”

Words escaped you. It was all you could do to maintain eye contact with him, feeling the conviction in his tone. The anger that had sustained you up until this point had all but disappeared. In its place was something far more demure.

“So yes, I fired the first shot that pierced that devil’s skin. Then I eviscerated their neck with my teeth,” he crooned, reverently tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. You shivered at his touch, at his dulcet tone that was describing such violence.

“And I slit his throat with glee,” he continued, cupping your cheek in his palm. “I would do it again. And again. And again. Because I will never witness abuse like what was about to happen, ever again.”

He swept the pad of his thumb over the hollow under your eye, his gaze flicking rapidly over your face. As though he were subconsciously checking you over for any nicks, cuts, or bruises.

“Do you understand?” he whispered softly. His voice was still laced with rage, but you could tell it was not directed toward you. Really, it never had been.

The entire situation had obviously touched the most sensitive pressure point within him. Had triggered his urge to fight, to protect, to resist. You couldn’t be angry with him for that. Never. Not one bit.

You gulped before nodding slightly. “I understand now. I’m sorry.”

You lifted your hand to cover his where it was still cupping your face. Turning slightly, you planted a kiss against his palm.

“No self-sacrificing on my watch, darling, agreed?” he murmured, wrapping his other arm around your waist in a solid embrace.

“Agreed,” you confirmed, returning his embrace before venturing on through the House of Hope.

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whumblr · 3 months

Text

Ball and chain

Whumpee meekly walked along, resigned, hands cuffed in front of them, two henchmen clinging to both arms as they were marched into the large room. Like they were both walking them down the aisle.

Except the man who they were tied to was all but bliss. And did not accept any form of seperation.

And he now stood waiting for them in the middle of the room. He turned and his eyes immediately fixed on Whumpee. Myeah... they were in trouble.

The man barely contained himself, his jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, and his rage plain to see in his eyes, swirling about like thunderclouds.

You'd think that, with all the trouble they caused, he would be glad to see the back of them... instead of sending out a search team and dragging them back to their cell.

They stopped right in front of him and Whumpee swore they saw something twitch in his jaw. His eyes bored into theirs, but they didn't look away.

"Leave," Whumper growled.

The two men gladly let go of their arms and turned to leave the room.

Whumpee however followed suit: they spun on their heels and made to follow them out. But before they could even take one step, a hand clamped around their shoulder.

"Not you, you goddamned little gargoyle, what makes you think I was talking to you."

Willfully ignoring the fingers digging into their shoulder, Whumpee simply watched, a little rueful, as the henchmen succesfully made their way out, leaving them alone here. Then they turned around again, shrugging the hand off with the softest huff.

"Well, you were looking at me, so..."

General whump tag: @firewheeesky @myfriendcallsmeasickwoman19 @whumpawink @painsandconfusion @whumpifi @auroragehenna

#whump #whump drabble #whump prompt #recapture #malicious compliance whumpee #failed escape #bastard whumpee #defiant whumpee #implied so much trouble #implied beating from hell #shouldve just let them escape man...#my writing #my prompts

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anika-ann · 5 months

Text

Back and Forth - part 1

Part 1 - Snap Back

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 7400

Chapter summary:

In which the mission goes to hell and you and Steve clash. Again.

Series masterlist

Warnings: blood, canon-typical violence, mention of gunshot wounds, hints of unhealthy relationship to pain, mention of death, some angst

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

Steve Rogers was a very large man. Over two hundred pounds of muscle, over six feet three tall, he towered and loomed and hovered above everything and everyone. And yet, his body seemed too small to contain the huge ball of righteous anger, too small to contain the magnitude of the jerk he was being at the moment.

It must have been one of his greatest talents.

And you understood. You understood why he was pacing around, his face the perfect storm with lightning flashing from his eyes, his voice thundering; the mission was a failure, fire and destruction left behind without the important data retrieved. Hell, you understood a little too well how much of that was your fault therefore he had every right to be angry with you.

And yet. Yet, you couldn’t comprehend how that supposedly righteous man spitted around words full of rage when he was to blame himself too.

He was the one to pull you out. He was the one to shake you and break your concentration before your spectre, able to waltz behind locked doors without a key, could deliver the drive to another agent. He was the one to make you snap back, your astral projection dissipating.

Yes, your spectre had been barely walking. Yes, it had got shot in the gut and you really damn felt it. Yes, you – it, really – had been hanging on a tread, with you already at peace with the fact that once you’d snap back, you’d wake up in a hospital bed, because your body wouldn’t handle the strain. Yes, maybe you would have failed anyway, snapping back before you could do what you were supposed to. But now you’d never know, would you?

Because Steven Grant Rogers, Mr. Captain America with the ego of the size of his very moniker, couldn’t have handled you straying from his explicit order to get out earlier.

You were still shaky on your feet, barely having beaten your dizziness and having been walking the fine line of consciousness for way too long, hurting like hell the whole time, but good god, did you have the energy to fight that blonde disaster screaming you down. Especially since he was doing so in front of everyone as you remained seated on the stretcher and kept pulling at the i.v. with custom-made saline to get it from your arm and make the situation at least a bit less humiliating for you.

The audacity. The audacity it had to take for him to call you reckless and scold you for not disappearing faster despite the fact there had been another set of files that caught you eye and needed to be copied. His utter confidence that his plan was as flawless as the first kiss in the early era Taylor Swift songs; confidence that you would have got out safely and the Hydra agent would have never caught you off guard if you just listened to your Captain.

Well fuck your Captain.

You knew you were a failure. You knew that in the end, you were to blame for not getting the intel out in time before the base blown up, the flash drive lying somewhere in the corridor abandoned. Tony Stark might like to tell you that with your abilities defied the basic laws of physics, namely the law of conservation of matter and energy, but you didn’t defy them that much. You couldn’t carry things back by simply grabbing them as the spectre and snapping back to your real body; you had tried countless times, but that wasn’t how things worked, even if you wanted them to – and surely Captain Rogers did as well.

But he was the one to make you snap back. And he was able to do that, because despite the poorly masked hate he appeared to feel towards you at times, he still often made the strategic decision to be the one protecting your actual body; your paraconscious, softly levitating body, completely vulnerable to an attack. Apparently, he was the only one who could be trusted to do it after all.

Whoever called him a golden boy and actually meant it had to be an idiot.

“You should have let me do it! I would have been able to get it to Lincoln or someone else!” you argued, hands pushing at the stretcher to stand up at last, wincing at the ghost of a sharp pain tearing at your abdomen. Never mind that, that was nothing new – Rogers’ unsolicited attack and complete lack of accountability were.

He only scoffed at your argument, crossing his arms on his stupidly wide chest. The bragger. The impossible cannot-do-wrong arse-

“Would you? You were going to pass out! I know the signs by now-”

“So what?!”

“So what?!” he echoed on full volume, throwing his arm out just as wildly as the whole tantrum. “I carried you out of there because you couldn’t walk!”

How dared he-

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned regret, lowering your voice as you finally managed to rise to your feet. “I must have been such a terrible imposition to your superstrength!”

“That’s not the problem and you know it!”

Then what was his problem, you wanted to ask, but you knew that question was futile. You knew the answer already and it was annoyingly fitting to a considerably newer Talor Swift song: it was you. You were the problem he had. And the even bigger problem was that he couldn’t have you delivered back express to Coulson, because lately it seemed this team needed someone with the ability to project more than the new SHIELD did. He was stuck with you; with your apparently incapable ass.

“Do I?!” you questioned. “Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t just walk off a massive blood loss!”

Rogers winced as you spitted out the words; good. Maybe he’d think twice before yelling at you next time when the Quinjet hadn’t even touched the ground yet and everyone could watch your failure in HD since he served it to them on a silver platter.

You winced too as you breathed in deeply and fresh claws of pain dug into your abdomen again; really not good. But not unusual, even as there was no trace of the bullet wound on your body – because it wasn’t your actual body that got hit, not really. Still, the pain remained.

Yet, that was nothing to stop you from staring at Rogers as he glared at you with hard eyes, leaning forward, jaw so damn tense you might cut yourself on the tendons if you touched it.

“You wouldn’t have suffered-- that if you’d have just followed orders!”

“Oh really?! Get over yourself, oh Mighty Captain!”

“Get over-” he repeated as if he couldn’t comprehend you just said that, breathing in deeply to ground himself and failing spectacularly since his voice was still full of accusation. “You should have brought us intel and instead we have nothing!”

You stepped forward to get your retort across almost as quickly as you felt everything in you recoil in guilt – because Rogers was right. Of course, he was right. And you knew that. You wanted to scream and cry and throw up and take a damn nap or maybe just wake up from this fucked up dream but you couldn’t, could you?

You could barely do anything.

“Well, I’m sorry! Okay?! I couldn’t do it and I’m fucking sorry! I know I fucked up! I should have pushed through more, I know, and you have no idea how pissed I am at me! But maybe I would have been just fine, if--- you shouldn’t have stopped me!”

“I wouldn’t have to snap you back if you just did what you were supposed to do!”

You grinded your teeth. Stupid, big-headed pig-headed supersoldier, if he had had any idea-

“What were you going to say just now?” he demanded, standing even taller than before, the mask of anger and disappointment shifting towards challenge.

Fight me. Yell back. Try telling me I’m wrong, when you know I’m not.

Goddamn him. He was so damn self-assured, so overconfident it would get him killed one day and you’d be there to watch like a useless dumbass, because you couldn’t do the one thing every single agent on this team should do: have your teammates’ back.

But you couldn’t tell him that. You couldn’t.

Your shoulders sagged, exhaustion washing over you.

“Doesn’t matter,” you said, minding your volume even as most Avengers and other agents got the memo and tried to give you as much privacy as possible. Bless that useless gesture. “I told you, I’m sorry. I know I need to learn to push myself more despite the pain when the stakes are high, but it’s…” You caught a flash of a new emotion you couldn’t decipher in his eyes and you looked away, scoffing, frustration flaring up again. “Why am I even telling you, what would you know about that, huh?”

What would the perfectly mighty walk-it-off Captain know about you peasants and your struggles. Ziltch. He was perfection personified, never wrong, never weak, never-

The sharp intake of breath had you snap your gaze back – and your heart stumbled in your chest. One brief glance at him and you regretted your words instantly. For one, you were too well-aware of the fact that they were bullshit. For two, you might as well wave a red cloth in front of an already enraged bull.

Steve Rogers bristled, teeth practically bared like those of an animal; he snarled like one too, but it was the tone that had cut you. The tone said so much more than his actual words and that message was like a muleta for you for a change.

“Is that what you think? You think I don’t feel pain?!”

“Maybe you don’t feel anything at all!” you snapped, throwing your arms up, gritting your teeth and closing your fists at the sharp bite at your belly at the movement. For fuck’s sake- “It sure as hell looks like it to me, to everyone! Especially since you’re yelling at me right now! I know I fucked up but it’s not easy on me either!”

The realization that he was acting like an asshole must have been quick – he froze for but a split second – but the fact he cared little for that was even faster, his counterattack coming in hot.

“Well, allow me to correct you, agent, I do feel pain – and I don’t have the luxury to switch it off when I snap back into my real body because I only have one!”

And you laughed. The burst of sardonic laugh tasted like hysteria on your tongue, actual tears burning in your eyes.

Switch it off. Switch it off as you pleased. God, that was funny. That was hilarious. So hilarious you wanted to cry. You pretended that the palm that you lifted to your face was to muffle the laughter and not to check whether some of your tears didn’t escape.

“Ooooh, ohohohooo, you think being me is so great, don’t you? Walk a mile in my shoes, Captain, we’ll see how you’ll like it!” you spat, laughing again. “But I’m sure you wouldn’t only walk, would you? You’d fucking dance en pointe and throw in a few grands jetés en tournant just for the kicks, huh? Because you are Mr.Perfect!”

Despite your challenging words, his demeanour changed in as if you snapped your fingers and the reason for that had your chest tighten in panic.

He noticed the tears. You could tell because he blinked, eyes suddenly roaming your face, his voice falling so quiet you barely heard it all of sudden; but perhaps that was only due to the ringing in your ears, the pulsing in your temples.

“That’s not--- I didn’t mean to--“

You cared shit about what he meant or didn’t mean at the moment. He saw you weak. Again. Not only you had failed, hadn’t handled the mission physically, now you were falling apart mentally right in front of him.

He was going to bench you. Worse, he was going to send you express to Coulson despite needing someone with your abilities and he would never ask you to join the Avengers again.

Fight. Show him you have the fire. Show him you’ve got what it takes. Don’t let him think you gave up.

“Well guess what, Captain, I feel pain too and I don’t have the luxury to heal in a few seconds!”

“I don’t heal that-“ he objected lowly and that was the last drop. The last drop and you cracked.

“I KNOW, okay?! You heal faster than anyone, but you still need to heal, because you can get hurt and you can get killed!” His eyes went wide and you gulped; he heard your voice break. Fuck. “Even if you don’t act like it, because you’re the mighty Captain, after all-“ you added quickly to divert his attention.

And the distraction worked. Too bad it didn’t work for you, words still spilling since the dam had been broken.

“Would you stop calling me-“

“Not all of us can be perfect soldiers, the ultimate heroes! Not all of us can do what you do, just push through everything! We fail, we hurt and we barely survive only to disappoint people like you!” you cried out.

It was the line about disappointment, you were certain – something in his expression shifted again and this time, all fight left your body for good, something inside you breaking. The new emotion on his face almost looked like compassion and you didn’t need that. You didn’t need the demigod amongst men and women to pity you and feel for you, especially not now. Not now when you didn’t deserve it because he was right and now this? You hadn’t been fast enough and strong enough – and he might have scolded you for in front of everyone, but now it seemed as if he regretted that because he needed to be the bigger person just to be fucking more perfect and you couldn’t bear it. You never could.

There was a reason why you always jumped to defence when he showed disappointment in you.

Your voice came out as but a whisper, but you made sure it was firm one. “I failed. I disappointed you and everyone else, I know. I’m sorry. I shall accept the punishment as you see fit even if that doesn’t make up for my failure.”

Nor blind nor deaf, Steve’s demeanour changed too; his eyes were suddenly as kind as his words and that was the worst part.

“I have no doubt you tried your best, Spectre, and that’s all we can ever do. The only punishment which will come is one for not following orders.”

You couldn’t help it. You should have, since you were already in such a mess, most of it of your own making, but hearing him utter those words, him of all people. The irony. You scoffed.

And like a charm, all of his benevolence evaporated in an instant; his back straightened, head held high.

“You’ve got anything to say?”

The words prickled at your tongue but you swallowed them. No. Don’t say it.

“No, sir.” Good girl.

“Clearly, you do,” Rogers opposed, eyes dark as they watched you sharply.

Well, then. Bad girl it was.

“Do I? Fine. You’re a big fat hypocrite.”

You might have as well stuck a bar into a bee hive and poked around, aiming for the queen. Rogers went from slightly annoyed to ballistic in a split second, back in your face.

“Excuse me?!”

“Excused. I bet you were aaaaaaall about following orders in your time, weren’t you?” you mocked him, knowing you were so on point it had to burn him – that was, if he took a moment to actually consider your words, the words of the inferior, painfully imperfect being. “Even now. Never reckless, never out of line if you feel like it’s the right thing to do. Never pushy with your superstrength, never just removing people who stand in your way, because you can and you will get away with it, because you are the saint who does no wrong, not at all-“

It was his turn to scoff, his eyes burning with bright blue flame of righteousness – and disdain.

“You think being me is so great, don’t you?” he threw back your earlier words, bitter, clearly regretting the sympathy he had found for you earlier. He crossed his arms on his chest again, shaking his head, a sardonic smile on his lips. “You have me all figured out.”

“Yes. Yes, I do. So I know you’d do the same in my place and I know that’s why you’re so angry with me. We always get mad when we’re offered a mirror, don’t we?” you pressed, mirroring his bitter smile indeed.

Something flashed in his eyes, voice dropping low. Dangerously low. “I am angry. You have no idea, Spectre.”

Good. Then you had at least something in common.

“Well, so am I. You have no authority to decide when I have enough-“

“As your captain, I actually do-” he interjected, raising his voice again and you just rolled your eyes.

You were insanely grateful for the familiar sensation of slight popping in your ears, the gentle swing of the floor under your feet. You’d be more grateful for it if you didn’t have to stifle a cry, when your body naturally attempted to balance it out and didn’t feel the burn in your abdomen, but you couldn’t always get what you wanted, could you?

Case on a damn point.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, right,” you said, looking straight into your captain’s eyes, sticking your chin out defiantly, saccharine voice of obedience dripping from your lips, heavy with sarcasm. “Well, if you, sir, have anything else to say, say it now, because we’re landing and I’m about to take a shower and sleep for a week. That is if I am allowed. Or do I need to submit an official request?”

You couldn’t tell whether he wanted to shout again or do exactly what you suggested you would do; because suddenly he, too, seemed dead tired, as if your shouting match exhausted him more than the mission or your failure. He stared at you, silent, for a few long moments – a few too many, almost enough to make you feel guilty again for calling him out on his bullshit, enough to make you consider apologizing for that.

Then he sighed. “No, you don’t, Agent. I hope you’ll rest well.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a shocked beat. His voice was surprisingly soft and sincere, his gaze roaming over you head to toe, seemingly concerned.

Did you just break him? Kindness was far from uncommon in him – once you’d calm down, you’d be more inclined to believe that again, you knew as much – but the sudden change genuinely startled you.

“Uhm… thanks,” you muttered, too taken aback to talk back as you walked backwards. He truly looked worn down to a bone, his brain no doubt racing, already figuring out how to fix the mess you had left behind. He looked like he needed a goddamn nap himself. Except you didn’t think he’d take it; that was part of his problem.

Hypocrite.

You swallowed the you too and simply nodded sharply before you walked away, emotions swirling wildly; and at the centre of them all, remorse and puzzlement, wrapped in a familiar sensation of agony.

Winter Soldier was a moniker Steve Rogers loathed; but the reputation which came with that name was not unearned.

When Bucky appeared behind his shoulder out of nowhere, no sound having been made, Steve nearly jumped out of his skin; and it was a true testament to how upset he was that he hadn’t heard Bucky sneak up on him despite his slightly enhanced senses.

“Well, that went spectacularly,” Bucky hummed, instantly making Steve groan internally.

He did not want to deal with this – he wanted to forget about this whole ordeal. The fact itself that Bucky was cheery about a sleeper Hydra cell simply because he had an opportunity to tease him about what had just gone down only added to his annoyance.

He was tired. He was mad. He was confused. He was disappointed – both in you and himself. He was… frustrated. So frustrated; then again, those emotions and the last one in general were no news in your presence, much like many others, but those in particular he wanted to ponder over even less.

“Bucky, don’t,” he warned his friend lowly, glancing at him from the corner of his eye as they made a slow way out of the jet.

It was a waste of words, really: Steve didn’t know what he was thinking, believing the warning would actually discourage Bucky from speaking.

“You know, maybe if you told her that the main reason why you’re so pissed-“

“Buck-“

“- is the fact that she’s challenging your authority which makes you question yourself, and that you’re terrified every time she gets hurt or loses consciousness, be it her projection or, god forbid, her real body, because you care juuuust a little too much for her, then maybe… “

Steve loved his best friend; but if looks could kill, the one he shot him at the verbalized implications, however truthful, could have murdered him on spot.

“Just saying,” Bucky said, shrugging as he kept up with Steve’s sudden strut, a grin audible in his voice. “Communication is key.”

“You need to stop hanging out with Sam,” Steve grumbled. “And I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Bucky snorted, causing Steve’s head to whip in his direction in annoyance. Didn’t Bucky have a lady to tend to? Why did he have to stick around and poke around Steve’s already exhausted brain and feed the already messy whirlwind of emotion? Oh right. Bucky would say it was payback for all the years Bucky spent saving Steve’s puny ass from the back alleys.

“Right. Just like you had no idea what she was talking about when she called you a hypocrite, because you wouldn’t do the same, try to deliver all the files you could even if it meant you’d bleed the heck out, right? Your real body, that is, because you only have one…”

Goddamnit Bucky.

“Bucky, that’s enough.”

“Nope,” his friend quipped, smiling charmingly at the group of agents they passed in the hallway and briefly, Steve imagined what they had to look like; a brooding Captain practically running away from the sunshine-like Winter Soldier. Clint would call them comedy gold; and Steve didn’t give a damn. Today had been a clusterfuck of disasters with you and him in the centre of it.

“It’s enough when I say it’s enough,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. Steve just shot him another glare as they rounded the corner, the corridor now blissfully empty. And sadly, endless with nowhere to hide. “Too bad, punk. You might be the Captain, but you’re still my friend. I’ll be bothering your reckless ass and call you out till the end of the line. And I’m telling you – you two need to get your shit together and make up. And maybe you should finally tell her you’d like to make out. But if I were you, I’d start with that apology.”

Steve stopped so abruptly Bucky nearly collided with him. The flare or anger – because goddammit was Bucky right in certain things and it was truly bothersome to hear those – licked at his gut. As he turned to give his most loyal and precious friend a piece of his mind in return, he found him with a knowing smirk on his face. Why were they friends again?

“Really? An apology?” Steve questioned, the idea absurd even as guilt had already joined the party a while ago. “For what exactly? She should have--- one of those days, she’s gonna-” Steve swallowed against the lump in his throat. He did not like the way the sentence could end. How you could end. But he’d scream at you again before he’d admit that; you brought out that side of him for some reason. You brought out a lot of things, most of them unpleasant. Most of them. “She should have followed orders.”

Bucky’s eyebrows jumped to his hairline – which wasn’t too high given how much he’d let his hair grow, but it still served the purpose of irritating Steve.

“Sure she should. And if you have always followed orders, I’d be dead.”

Steve winced as if he got punched in the gut, all flames of anger put out at once. Bucky just shrugged, unbothered by his hypothetical death.

“That’s a fact, punk. And here’s another: your mother would have boxed your ears for treating a lady the way you just did.”

And this isn’t you, Steve heard the unspoken words and with those he couldn’t argue.

The truth was, Steve didn’t recognize himself around you. He hadn’t more than once but it had never got as intense as it had just now. He felt almost possessed, an astral projection of his own, except he couldn’t control it as it raised its voice like that, in front of the whole team no less. And the worst thing was, it wasn’t a projection; the blame was entirely on him as he failed to contain the onslaught of emotion so sharp and large that he just let it all out. Almost all of it.

The one urge he tried to contain was the one to just slam you to a wall and scream the whole truth before he’d vent his frustration with you in a completely different way, with nips of teeth on that lower lip of yours, always pouting a bit when you got into one of your not so frequent but not so rare arguments, having you scream his name in ecstasy instead of defiance, a breathy whine of Mighty Captain without the snark. He was sure that would have raised a few eyebrows, but hopefully the room would clear in three seconds flat after your back would have hit the wall.

In all honesty, the whole scene had been surreal as it was; Steve had had trouble recognizing you as well. You had disagreed with him a few times, yes, you challenged his authority and questioned his decisions, yes; he had a pretty strong feeling that he was most definitely not your favourite person and more often than not, he didn’t quite understand you – but you had never so blatantly disobeyed an order. You had never endangered a mission or your teammates, never played this much of a Russian roulette, even if one might call you an overachiever which sometimes came with a bit of recklessness by default.

It was true that you could be unpredictable at times; one day you followed instructions to a tee, dutiful, meticulous even; another day, you stood firmly in opposition. One day you dotted on others in almost an overbearing quality, another day it was like you evaporated from the face of Earth, completely absent. But what came over you today, Steve had had no idea – you had been not only reckless, but to a great point, careless. Steve’s mind was blown, but not in the good sense.

That said, he was not pleased with himself either, particularly with the fact was that he had acted impulsively during the mission too. You were definitely right to call him out on it; but that didn’t mean he liked it.

He glanced at Bucky, who was watching him with one corner of his lips still raised knowingly, only fuelling Steve’s ire. Despite all that, Steve knew Bucky was right. And unlike when he was in your presence, he didn’t feel the need to deny that completely.

Sarah Rogers, god rest her precious soul, would have been profoundly disappointed in his behaviour and she would have let him hear it too, despite the infinite kindness and forgiveness she had carried in her heart.

“I know,” Steve sighed. “I shouldn’t have--- she’s just so- I-“

“I know, punk,” Bucky said forgivingly. “I know. That girl has some serious fire in her and she’s not the easiest to deal with, even if she means well, no doubt. Who does that only remind me of…?”

Steve glared at him, unimpressed – he was aware, thank you very much. Not only opposites attracted. Though he was quite certain this attraction was one-sided; and completely insane.

Bucky just grinned and patted Steve’s shoulder.

“Take a nap, Steve. We all deserve one, even if things didn’t go as planned. We’ll get them next time – as a team. Share some of that burden you strap to your shoulders every time to strap on that shield, would you? It can do wonders, believe me.”

“You really do need to stop hanging out with Sam and spend more time with Nat,” Steve uttered, a small smile gracing his lips.

“Shut up, punk, you love me mental health conscious.”

A full grin attacked Steve’s lips now, troubles forgotten momentarily, unlike the fact why Bucky Barnes was his best friend.

“Jury’s out, jerk”

Even as you felt the fire of rage slowly dying, you tried to feed it; because it kept you on your feet. You had not in fact went to lie down, even as you felt those feet dragging more than walking to Natasha Romanoff’ office. She didn’t spend too much time in it, always having better things to do than paperwork, but you knew she’d want her report to be done as fast as possible to move on exactly to those more important things.

And you knew that as long as she was there, her office was conveniently the best place to talk, the camera system disabled.

“Well, hello,” the redhead hummed as she had Jarvis let you storm in, breathless for more than one reason.

Your abdomen was throbbing, but you didn’t have time for that. It wasn’t like you were going to bleed out from a non-existent wound.

“We need to go back there and fix it.”

The infamous Black Widow only raised her eyebrow at your dishevelled state and frantic words, leaning back into her chair. You admitted you had to be a sight to the devil himself since you probably looked like hell, but you rarely let that stop you.

“Water under bridge, Spectre. The base is blown so there’s nothing to go back to and the rest of them will go deep under-“

You shook your head, stalking to her desk, leaning onto your hands, fingers spasming at the bite of pain. Bad idea. And bad phrasing.

“No, Natasha, we—” She scanned you head to toe, her other eyebrow arching as well as you had boldly invaded her space, practically asking to be removed. Violently. You didn’t have the energy to lean back, not right away. You weren’t friends, so you had no right to be so close, but she’d get over it, you were sure. The worst thing to happen would be her breaking off your wrist or something. “What I mean is that we have to act now and get those files. All of them.”

Her gaze zeroed on your face, unnervingly searching and seeing, head tilting to side in genuine curiosity.

“What exactly was in those files that it made you hesitate? You rarely ignore orders,” she stated matter-of-factly, causing you to retreat and step back. Oh. Crap. Black Widow in offensive. She walked around the desk, leaning her weight onto it, crossing her arms over her chest. “What did you see, Spectre?”

You gulped; there was no way around it, even as panic made your breathing even harder. There were so many things wrong with what you were about to say and you had no capacity to analyse why you felt the way you felt about it, let alone why you felt even worse about the fact you were the reason why you hadn’t got the intel to others.

“Steve’s initials.”

Even as her brows had smoothened, they arched again now, eyes growing wide. You swallowed against the lump in your throat.

“I tried to copy it and just opened it for a bit, too immersed to notice the unfriendly. Naturally, I got the bullet for my trouble before I neutralized him, but that’s beside the point,” you said, not missing the corner of her lips twitching. “They were… Natasha, they weren’t just some photos or whatever. Those were… they were inventing some shit. It was physics, chemistry, half of the things I didn’t understand, but I don’t think they were replicating the serum – I think they were trying to neutralize it, neutralize Steve specifically.”

And there was no way I was going to leave that there, was left unspoken, but she heard it. Of course she did; this was Natasha Romanoff you were talking to. She didn’t need you two to be friends to read between the lines of what you were saying.

“I see,” she said slowly, the damn intensity of her gaze not relenting. “And you didn’t tell Steve that when he was yelling you down, because…?”

“It was irrelevant.”

“Bullshit.”

“He wouldn’t believe me.”

She scoffed, glaring you down. “That’s bullshit too and you know it.”

Okay, that was fair. But believing was a lot different from taking action. His damn pride would have still had him snapping you back to your real body even if you had yelled at him through the comms what kind of intel you had been carrying on the drive before he messed it up for you – and him. What the heck had he been thinking, breaking your concentration like that? The utter confusion at his actions – because surely it couldn’t have been he had been so angry with you to endanger the mission – only made the matter of your fight worse.

Natasha was right, however – that was just water under bridge. You sure as hell weren’t about to go ask him what possessed him to be more insufferable than normal and you could hardly fly to the pile of debris you had left behind when the place blew up to search for scraps of hard drives.

“Fine. I didn’t think he’d take it seriously,” you admitted at last.

“Now we’re talking,” Natasha said, nodding, a small smirk appearing on her lips, making you frown.

She sure was taking it in stride all of sudden, almost as if--- was she amused? You hoped that was only a mask and in her sharp mind, she was already building a battleplan. She had to. She was one of Steve’s closest friends, real friends, you knew as much. Sometimes her nonchalance truly irritated you. Would it kill her to show more emotion?

Hypocrite.

“But that’s not enough,” she added. “Steve, bless his heart, can be an ass, but not a complete idiot. Any other particular reason why you’d keep it from him?”

Your face was a mask of neutrality. Or you hoped so.

“Nope.”

Natasha watched you sceptically and you swallowed against the lump in your throat.

Naturally, there was a plethora of reasons and on top of them sat the fact that he’d know. He’d know how much you cared. He probably figured out anyway and maybe he wasn’t one to make fun of you for that – scratch that, he definitely wasn’t, he was too much of a good guy for that – but that meant nothing. Caring for people was dangerous; caring for people when you failed meant they’d be taken away. Having people to care for – good people – was a privilege, a reward, one that could easily be confiscated unless you reached perfection.

And yes. You knew Steve Rogers was a good guy, even when he decided to yell at you in front of everyone and challenged you and made you want to smash him against the wall and bite into his stupid plump lower lip and then cuddle him and tell him he didn’t have to be so strong and that people cared about his safety too. Of course you knew he felt pain, but he just never showed it, and it was just so damn irritating, because you needed him to be only human too, so you wouldn’t feel so pathetic despite your powers, so you’d feel a little more worthy. You were well-aware that your way of thinking wasn’t healthy, especially since Steve was a person you could never and should never compare yourself to because that standard was just impossibly high, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t try to meet it. That didn’t mean your family hadn’t set the standards just as high. Perfection was not an unreachable standard, even as it always seemed to be out of reach for you.

However, knowing that precisely that was one of the main reasons why you admired Steve as much as you wanted to punch him to his perfect teeth didn’t help you coexist with him or stopped you from acting like a five-year-old in his vicinity.

On top of that, you were fully aware of how disappointed he would be in you for failing in one particular task which you were sure he considered the most important one: to have your teammates’ six. And you wouldn’t handle that; you were selfish even to that point. To have Captain Rogers learn you hadn’t been strong and fast enough to retrieve data which increased the chance of keeping a key member of your team safe and watch his reaction up close would break your damn barely patched up heart.

Natasha continued to watch you as you zoned out, her smirk growing. “Right. No other reason at all then.”

Oh, she knew about it all, alright. You had no doubt. She might not show much emotion, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t mastered reading other people’s tells. If you had any emotional capacity left, you’d be ashamed at how your face burned under her watchful gaze.

“Will you please tell the others about the files?” you asked instead, causing her to tilt her head to side a fraction again.

“I will, but why should I? Why, when you can be the one to do it? If nothing else, you should tell Steve,” she said, almost motherly you supposed – not that you’d know. “Those were files about him – he deserves the truth and to hear it from you. I’m sure he’d be less angry with you too.”

Somehow, her last suggestion was even more terrifying than Steve Rogers being all in your face and snarling. You attempted a smile, masking the anxiety curling in your gut by exhaustion.

“Maybe. I just… it might be childish, but I don’t… I don’t have the energy for that now. Tell me what else I can do and I will, but not that.”

She watched you silently for several long moments, a small smile curling up her lips – almost a compassionate one. What was it with people and their damn compassion today? You had fucked up. Why was Steve the only one to acknowledge that and why was he relatively nice about it in the end, just like Natasha now? Frankly, as much as you preferred not being completely on Black Widow’s bad side, earning her pity was exponentially worse.

“You know, most things are not going to go away just because you pretend that they don’t exist. Least of all feelings.”

It’s been working out pretty well for you, you wanted to throw back, but Bucky Barnes, the love and the lover who was one of the few people who could slip under the hard shell of Natasha Romanoff, would probably argue with you that it worked for her the best when she did let someone in. But unlike you, Natasha Romanoff did not make mistakes and was an epitome of perfection herself so she could afford that. Natasha Romanoff was terrifying; you’d like to watch someone try to mess with her.

You, on the other hand, were no Black Widow. You could and even had to keep pretending in order to exist.

“Just watch me.”

She sighed, letting her hands fall to her sides. “Go to bed, Spectre. I know you still feel that gunshot wound.”

You froze.

Your heart skipped a beat – several beats, you were sure – because your chest suddenly hurt, panic clawing up your throat anew.

She knew. She knew.

How did she--- how? You always fought so hard to hide it, as much as of a pain that was; horrible pun included.

Yes, you sure as hell still felt the gunshot wound. With every move. With every breath. Every time you had strained your muscles to yell back at Steve.

The pain of whatever injury your spectre sustained alwayslingered. Ironically, it was only thing you actually were able to carry when you snapped back. It stayed with you for a while; not the whole time that it would take for the wound to heal, but it still took days sometimes, days of pain whose intensity slowly faded away. An invisible aching wound – like a pain in a phantom limb. There was no evidence of an injury in your body, but your brain still registered it. No therapeutic approach had worked when you finally accepted that despite what you had been taught, this wasn’t normal; only for having to accept that with no solution in sight, it actually was normal. Then again, what was normal when you only had one sample to examine?

“You mostly hide it well, don’t worry,” Natasha’s voice snapped you from your dark thoughts, uncharacteristically soft. “Your secret is safe with me. But that doesn’t mean it should.”

“It definitely should,” you said in at instant, eyes hard despite the tell-tale burn of tears you felt. If anyone knew – anyone else, that was, apparently – you’d be done. Benched forever.

I do feel pain and I don’t have the luxury to switch it off when I snap back into my real body, Steve had thrown at you. If he hadn’t noticed, you were good; you had indeed hid it well enough and that was all that mattered; despite bickering and yelling, he was still willing to work with you. But that would change very quickly; and he had the authority to kick you out of this team and this business completely.

Sure, Natasha had the power to bench you and even fire you as well, but judging by the way she was looking at you now, no matter how disapprovingly and somewhat proud at once, she wouldn’t. It would be okay – as long as she’d keep her mouth shut about it just as Andy had. Andrew Garner, the only person who had known your painful secret and encouraged you to engage with various therapy approaches to rid you off your burden. He had taken the secret to the grave, never having told nor Coulson, nor the rest of his team.

The one person who had known about this was dead; and if that wasn’t a clear enough message that no one else was supposed be trusted with this, you didn’t know what else would.

“It should,” you repeated, inhaling and instantly regretting it. You swallowed as Natasha didn’t miss the tiny hitch in your breath. Dammit you needed to get better at hiding it. And you would. “Please. Tell me what else I can do.”

Perhaps it was your true superpower to make people sigh, not to project into another room, because the redhead observed you for another long moment before sighing again.

“I meant it, Spectre – go to bed. After I’ll tell the others, we might need you. Rested. With as much as you can give.”

One corner of your lips rose in a tired defiant smirk. “I can give everything.”

The look Natasha gave you before you spun on your heels told you that precisely that was both the blessing and the problem. But you didn’t need to be told more than twice to go to bed.

As you walked out, trying your hardest to walk completely straight and not hunch over even a bit, you heard Natasha’s completely exhausted sigh.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Alright folks, life's been quite busy so this was born through sweat and tears and I don't think it will get better any time soon, but hopefully the result will be worth it 🥰

There are and will be a few distant references to Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. I think you should be fine whout having watched the show.

Thank you for reading 🥰 As always, if you have he time and energy, I'd greatly appreciate your reblogs and feedback, be it even a key smash or yelling at me should the need arise 🤭

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #agent reader #shield agent reader #avenger reader #inhuman reader #steve rogers #captain america #anika ann #back and forth

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delcakoo · 2 years

Text

彡 compromise. - p.sh

requested for 1k au event!

SUMMARY ! being roomates with the biggest (and hottest) slacker on campus was difficult to say the least. plates left on the counter, clothes from him and the girl’s he brings over left in the living room, the list goes on. one day after you’ve had enough of his uncleanliness, sunghoon offers you to be his girlfriend in exchange for a tidy, mess-free apartment. totally not worth it.. right?

PAIRING ! roommate!sunghoon x f!reader

WC ! 2.1k

GENRE ! roomates au, fake dating, fluff (?) and lots of banter

WARNINGS ! slight suggestive, making out, sunghoon being a bit too confident for his own good

a/n: woohooo first fic for the event done! thank you for requesting anon! <3

if you go into the living room and find another one of park sunghoon’s socks on your couch, you might just explode.

you take a deep breath in, and out. the moment of truth. you slam open the door to your sunghoon-proof bedroom, taking quick paces towards the living room and—

there it is.

a sad, lonely sock without it’s matching pair laid on your couch. you knew it.

park sunghoon. one of the most sought after guys on campus, yet it was only his first year of college.

meanwhile, it was your third. so how you became roommates with him? one, tragic answer: you were broke and desperate for someone to split rent with after a few.. unfortunate incidents with your past roommates.

sunghoon wasn’t a bad person. he did little things like pick up your forgotten mail, or turn on your coffee machine while you got ready in the bathroom. though, you'd still say he ranked number one on your list of the worst roommates you’ve ever had.

he was lazy, irresponsible, and oh so messy. 80% of the time, while you were busy being productive and studying, he was busy tackling people with a ball under his arm or in the middle of coaxing some girl to come home with him after partying all night (which didn’t take much effort on his part considering that face of his).

now, you weren’t a hater. sunghoon got into this university with his talent for football alone, so props to him for.. catching balls. honestly, if he wasn’t the way he was, you’d probably fall for his handsome charms yourself. but when his annoying, mosquito-like presence decided to intervene with the peaceful sanctuary that was once your neat and homely apartment, all wrath was destined to come out of you at some point.

for a while, you were nice enough to clean up after the younger boy, making pathetic excuses for him in your head in an effort to be a kind, forgiving roomate.

but after a month of dealing with his unwashed plates left on the counter, clothes scattered around the living room from not only him but also the girls he brings over, and all in all his untidiness everyday, you’ve finally snapped.

this feeling of undeniable rage may partially be because of how stressed you are from all the new assignments and lack of coffee, but you’ve never felt more ready for confrontation by the time you’ve reached sunghoon’s bedroom door.

you offer two passive aggressive knocks, not even waiting for a reply before yanking the door open. “look sunghoon— we have to talk.”

nobody.

you take a few cautious steps inside his disarrayed bedroom, nose wrinkling at the sight of a mountain of clothes near his bed despite a closet being a few steps over. there’s random magazines and papers scattered across the floor, along with an unkempt stash of trinkets thrown on top of his drawer. you glance at his closet, half opened and containing only about two jackets actually hung up on racks.

“woah, never thought i’d find the campus nun snooping around my bedroom.” you whip your head around to find a shirtless sunghoon staring down at you, toothbrush perkily sticking out of his mouth. his muscled biceps flex as he crosses his arms, raising a curious brow at the sock pinched between your nails.

your eyes bulge at the sight of his bare, sculpted torso, turning around with a tint of red rushing to your ears. “just because i don’t spend every night getting wasted doesn’t make me a nun, nor was i snooping,” you spit defensively.

sunghoon chuckles, padding across his room to pick up a random top off his shirt mountain. “says the girl who just covered her eyes like she’s never seen a shirtless guy before.” he smirks, glancing down at your childish bear printed pajamas. “i mean — not that i think you have.”

you spin back around, huffing in relief now that he was dressed and pointing to the sock in your hand. “shut up, i’m only here to listen to your amazing explanation on why i keep finding socks and other assortments of clothing all over the living— hey! don’t walk away when i’m talking to you!”

you frustratedly discard the sock somewhere on his bed, following your roommate back out to where he’s now rummaging through the kitchen pantry, toothbrush long forgotten on the sink’s rim. you take another deep breath, trying to stay calm. “sunghoon,” you begin.

“yeah, pretty girl?” your eye twitches in disbelief, hating the way butterflies flutter through your stomach from the nickname he’s always called you.

“i told you, don’t fucking call me that. now listen here,” you try to look stern, but sunghoon personally believes you look adorable. “i’ve been dealing with your bullshit all month without a single complaint,” you rant, watching as he pulls out a box of cinnamon toast crunch. “do you ever wonder how all those plates and bowls you leave in the sink magically disappear? yeah, well, that was me slaving my ass away like your personal housemaid!”

your roomate is completely unphased by your vent, too busy pouring his cereal into an empty bowl with a shrug. “nobody told you to clean those for me.”

moments like these made you question how you’ve dealt with the bastard for a whole month.

“if i don’t, they begin piling up into a jenga tower,” you fire back with a scoff, “similar to the wonderful sorting technique used in your bedroom.”

unbelievably, the boy giggles at that, taking a seat at the counter with his late night snack. “y’know, you’re pretty funny when you’re not locked up in your room all day.” your jaw tightens, snatching the milk away right as your roomate reaches out for it. he looks at you as if you just committed a crime, lips turning into a defeated (but adorable) pout. “hey, i’m trying to have cereal here.”

“sunghoon,” you snarl once more, holding the carton above his head like a parent would with a child’s toy.

“what?” he whines.

“if you don’t start doing shit around here, i’m kicking you out.”

instead of a dramatic gasp or begs for mercy and forgiveness like you’d hoped for, he snickers, pouncing up like a cat and snatching the milk back out of your grip. “yeah, right. as if you could afford this apartment by yourself.”

silence (besides the sound of sunghoon chewing his cinnamon toast crunch).

out of the corner of his eye, sunghoon sees your face drop in utter defeat. you look close to the verge of tears, knuckles turning white by your sides. yes, he may be a jerk sometimes, but he wasn’t that evil. his eyes softened slightly, letting out a thoughtful sigh as he munched on his spoonful of cereal.

suddenly, a lightbulb appears atop his head, smirking brilliantly. “okay, being the handsome genius i am, i’ve come up with an offer — a compromise, you could say.”

you didn’t know your roommate that well considering it’s only been a month since you’ve met, but you were confident that any ideas his pea-sized brain came up with weren’t going to be very good ones in your favor. you offer him a raise of your brow, gesturing for him to continue.

dropping his silver spoon back into the bowl, sunghoon rests his elbows up on the counter. “in exchange for ‘doing shit around here’, you have to be my girlfriend.”

you choke on your saliva, giving him a dumbfounded expression. “what!?”

“hear me out!” he quickly defends, “my parents are planning to set me up with this weird, artsy church girl, and i just can’t allow that to happen for my reputation sake. you’re my only hope, pretty.”

“first of all, you were basically calling me a nerd a few minutes ago, so i don’t see how i’d be any better than her. and what exactly would i have to do as your fake girlfriend— if i metaphorically took you up on this deal?”

sunghoon ignores the first half of your statement with no explanation. “well, probably have dinner with my family every once in a while, hold my hand, kiss me-“

you stumble slightly. “woah, woah- what?! why would we kiss in front of your parents?” you inquire stressfully, the thought of kissing sunghoon making your heart beat much faster than it should.

though honestly, this compromise sounded like a win-win in your book. finally, no more socks found on the couch or plate mountains in your sink, and getting to fake date park sunghoon along the way? you make sure not to give in just yet — you don’t need the guy’s ego skyrocketing any higher than it was — but you were feeling pretty great.

“to prove we’re serious, duh.” sunghoon rolls his eyes at your question, suddenly turning in the barstool to face you. “c’mon, let’s practise now.”

huh? wait, practise what?

does he mean—

you step away from the counter nervously, only to be pulled back by sunghoon’s grip on your wrist. he has a barely noticeable, smug smirk on his face at your sudden nervousness, grasping your hand tightly in his bigger one. “hey, i never said yes to the deal yet,” you gulp.

taking a leap of faith, sunghoon leans further in, his pointy nose touching yours. his breath tickles your lips, and you hate the way his closeness affects you. now you understand why no girl on campus could resist him; it was seemingly impossible.

“why not, baby? are you scared of having to kiss me? is that why you don’t want to say yes?” he teases, reaching his free hand up to softly run a thumb along your plush lips. for some reason, you don’t move away from his surprisingly gentle touch.

“n-no. i’m not scared of you, sunghoon.”

his smirk deepens in pure amusement. “then kiss me,” he encourages, calmly waiting for you to make the first move.

you take one last look at him. his slightly disheveled hair, the moles scattered perfectly along his features even more delicate up close. down to his curved nose, rubbing against the tip of yours affectionately. and lastly, his enchanting pink lips, just begging to be kissed by you.

so you do. before you can stop yourself, you’re kissing park sunghoon. the boy you were just scolding for his constant messes. the boy who was known and loved by your whole college, his reputation lying at the highest amongst everyone’s standards.

but it didn’t matter, in that moment, he was just sunghoon, your lazy, ridiculously hot roommate.

sunghoon finally frees your wrist, allowing you to reach up and rest your arms around his shoulders. to no surprise, he’s definitely the best kiss you’ve ever had, full of experience and confidence. the taste of cinnamon toast crunch runs through your senses, only furthering as he runs a tongue along your bottom lip, begging for entrance.

feeling playful, you refuse, making sunghoon grunt in annoyance. he pulls away for a second to glare at you. “that’s how you wanna be, huh? let me show you who’s in charge around here, then.”

before you can ponder on what that meant, his lips are back on yours more fierce than ever, standing up from his seat to force you right against the counter.

as you try to get comfortable in the new position, he harshly pinches your side. in a moment of surprise at his attack, you gasp, lips parting and giving sunghoon the perfect opportunity to force his tongue right into your mouth and explore every crevice of you.

it’s hard to keep up with sunghoon, he was much too intense for you. so you gently push him away, catching your breath hastily. when you finally look up at him, his lips are swollen, slightly wet and chapped.

it seems he understands that you want to stop here, so he moves back, giving you some space. “i.. i came here to scold you about your socks. how did this happen?” you ask to mostly yourself.

“my charms are irresistible.” sunghoon lets out a laugh, walking backwards towards his bedroom. “so, starting tomorrow you’re my girlfriend, okay pretty girl?”

still trying to calm your racing heart, you offer a small, defeated glance to your roommate. “yeah, whatever, pretty boy.” he smiles brightly at his newly earned nickname, turning around before closing his bedroom door for the night.

with a sigh, you glance back around only to find sunghoon’s half eaten bowl of cinnamon toast crunch, soggy and abandoned on the counter.

this deal wasn’t going to change anything, was it?

if you enjoyed, reblogs n’ comments are always appreciated and motivating!

perm taglist: @duolingofanaccount @strawberry-sunset-skies @scented-morker @koshinene @boowoowho @sultrybaby @yunjinlvrr

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penvisions · 5 months

Text

return the favor {chapter 18}

Pairing: Joel Miller x Smuggler! Reader

Summary: A cabin helps your trio to hide away from the winter storm that rages on as you trek across Nebraska. The little sanctuary is threatened as people discover the structure for themselves.

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: medial gore, medical jargon, description of injuries, blood, stitches, description of broken bone, use of narcotics, use of medical narcotics, reference to past fever, mentions of past violence, canon typical violence, sexual content, oral (f receiving), kissing, p in v smut, unprotected p in v, big feelings, small feelings, all the feelings, fighting, gun violence, mentions of forced restraint, tense moments, stressful moments, fear

A/N: found inspiration with these two and decided to get the ball rolling on this once again! sorry for the lack of updates with this and my frankie fic {the melting point}. this one is nearing the middle ground and the other is nearing the end and it's made me a little emotional. hope y'all enjoy this ♡ a lot happens, just be warned!

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || kofi

The cabin was in good condition, for being abandoned for such a long time. Cobwebs decorated every corner, every arch of the walls, inside every cabinet. The snow outside was gaining weight as it cascaded down from the low hanging, dark clouds urged all three of you inside quickly. The wind had been steadily picking up, the darkness of the sky overhead as it barely contained a storm not allowing you to distinguish time.

“Winter is officially here.”

“It’s only going to get harder from here on out.” You sighed, breath misting with the deep exhale.

There was a fireplace in the modest living room, an open floor plan to allow the kitchen to be visible, separated only by an island that still had stools set neatly beneath the overhanging counter on one side.

“Most of the wood will be damp from the snow.” Joel was crouched down by the chute, pulling the small mechanism to open it up, causing a small billow of soot to shoot out. He ducked his head in time to avoid it getting directly in his face. But some of it settled in his hair, masking the gray of it from view in a rather…endearing way. For a moment, you could picture a different setting, a different time. Perhaps a weekend getaway with the man at a younger age, both committed to each other and many more years ahead of you both that didn’t require such harsh survival skills. “If I can find an axe somewhere in here, I could chop smaller branches off with enough bristle to kickstart.”

“A fire!?” Ellie hovered at the top of the staircase, her smile excited as she took in the way Joel was messing with the fire place to ensure it would insulate properly. “There are two bedrooms up here! I call dibs on one.”

“I’ll sleep down here, it’d make me feel better.” Joel spoke quickly, not wanting you to claim the one on the entrance level. If there was a threat, he was sure you could get Ellie to safety from the top floor at the first sign.

“Copy that,” You quietly agreed as you began to lower yourself to the couch. Dust puffed up into the air, causing you to cough as you tried to expel the sudden intruder from your lungs. The shuffling caused pain to spark along your injured arm, from the slash marring the skin down toward where your mending bones were healing. Breathing heavily, you leaned back into the cushions gently, body exhausted from the past two days of trekking.

The cold hadn’t helped your waning fever, making the cold feel even more biting despite the flares of heat that traveled over your body at random intervals. But it was time, you mused with a frown as you watched Joel go through the process of cleaning out the chimney, of leaving and returning with small branches and some dried leaves he must’ve taken from where they still clung among them. Time to take the stitches out and to bathe the wound, really get the skin around it clean and tended to.

Ellie had moved beside you and your eyes focused as flames roared to life at Joel’s hands. He provided you both in the ways that he could, bringing warmth into your lives to help stave off sickness. Ellie’s hand trailed up and down her thighs, trying to warm them as the fire steadily fought off the chill that permeated the small sanctuary.

With your fever having subsided, you were more about your wits. Residual chills only due to the howling wind and the snow that didn’t seem to be stopping in its falling any time soon. Your arm was sore, but you decided to take the morning to unwrap it and look over the stitches. Sighing at the sign of how puckered the indentations were, how well the skin was holding up and the tenderness of the sight had waned. It was time. You had to remove the material or risk another wave of infection. You could only hope that the healing for your bone was going well underneath the skin, but you were still too hesitant to stretch your arm out lest it pull and tighten in a bad way.

Digging around in your pack, you laid out all of the items that were crammed into it. Taking inventory of your clothing, the weapons and ammo, the small collection of sentimental keepsakes, the contents of your first aid kits. All of it was laid out on the small island in the kitchen where you were sat on a stool beside it.

Mind traversing through thoughts a mile a minute, you tried to gage if you’d be able to withstand the winter as it progressed. That was harder to determine, even prepared with a map and clothing. It was shelter you were worried about, frostbite, body temperatures, enough food to keep the body running enough to persevere. That’s how Joel found you, contemplating everything as you cradled a small jar only big enough to contain a handful of dried seeds.

“Everything good? Looks like you’ve got a lot going on.” He poked around the ashes in the fireplace with a stoke, trying to see if there were any embers smoldering. Resigning himself to needing to go out and get some firewood squared away, he came up to stand beside you. Your eyes were still unfocused, thinking again about how the man had been aware enough to take care of you and Ellie while you were out of commission. Strong and capable, reliable if you were lucky enough to be deemed important enough to him.

Your name said in a stern call had you jumping where you sat. Eye’s focusing, you turned to see Joel leaning against the counter with his fist balled up and leaning down to try and bring you back to the present.

“Yes, sorry, everything is fine.”

“You sure? Lost ya for a minute there, how long have you been up?”

“Didn’t really sleep, anxious. Kept hearing voices in the wind, but I know that we’re relatively save out here in the middle of nowhere.” You set the small jar down, the glass clinking against the counter and drawing the man’s attention. “Ellie’s still asleep, she came into my bed last night. Watched over her.”

One of his hands relaxed and he reached out to brush it against your own on the counter.

“You need your rest, still recoverin’ from everything.”

He watched over as you tended to your injuries, offering his help by silently standing beside you. A soft brush of fabric over the skin of your arm around the gash that trailed down your left bicep. Helping to wrap gauze more securely around it than you would’ve been able to with one hand.

Watching over as you carefully cut and pulled the stiches from your skin, the skin swollen and discolored in a way that you could see worried him. But you assured him that it looked good for what had happened, it would heal okay. It was just a matter of the bone fusing back together in a way that still allowed for normal movement, for the bearing of weight in order to use it even a fraction of well as you could before. But you were honest with him, it was a risky thing without stints, without plates, metal to adhere to the bone to ensure such perfect healing, without the ability to take an internal look.

It was then that he muttered he had a similar mark on his forearm from fending off the bear as it had given chase. You helped him to clean that, more than the haphazard swipe of alcohol he had done himself in the immediate aftermath. You checked his hands, the knuckles he had injured what seemed like so long ago now. They were still swollen, though he had movement back in them. They seemed to lock up if he didn’t stretch it out every so often, the bones holding trauma and no doubt aching in the colder weather. You applied a salve to his hand with gentle motions, massaging it into the skin with careful attention. His eyes watched over your face as you did so, trying to figure something out that he didn’t speak on.

The rest of the day was spent pouring over maps and trying to figure out where you had ended up.

Being lost was a worry both you and Joel shared, but you kept it between yourselves. Not wanting to alert Ellie of the possible mishap, she was already going slow, the weather dampening her in the wake of what happened in Kansas City.

“So, are you going to like split off from us the second we step foot in Wyoming?” Ellie asked, a weird air about her as she watched the way your head turns on a constant swivel, taking in the environment around you both. A small trek around the lake’s perimeter had been the activity of the day during the calm dusting of snow that the storm had diluted down to. “Cause, we’re going North, according to Joel’s calculations.”

“I’m with you, gremlin, until you don’t want me.” You didn’t turn to look at her, so when she clung to you suddenly, it caught you off guard and your feet slipped from underneath you. You tried to twist so you wouldn’t land on her and she held tight as you both tumbled to the ground in a puff of snow. Laughter rang out into the cold hair in puffs of hot breath as you both sat up. “I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew you were going to take me out!”

“Thank you.” Her voice was muffled where she pressed her face into your good shoulder, the one not supporting the weight of your broken arm with a makeshift sling.

“Of course, Ellie.” You nuzzled your nose into the top of her beanie, arms wrapping around her as best you could. You both stayed there, entangled on the cold ground for a few moments.

She stood up and helped to pull you to your feet, glancing back at the cabin on the other side of the lake, something behind her eyes.

“Joel has changed, but he…he makes me nervous.” Her gloved hands, your own pair given to her, twisted and tangled as she fidgeted beside you.

“I get that, but he’s a good man, Ellie. If he didn’t want us around or didn’t want to look after you, he would’ve made that known. He just…carries a lot. We all do in this world.”

“What did one ocean say to the other?” Ellie waggled her eyebrows at you, shifting from serious to goofy as she followed you toward where Joel had strung up some snares the day before. When you just looked over at her with a raised eyebrow of your own, she was about to finish her joke when you stole the punchline from her.

“Nothing, they just waved.”

“Ah, no!! I was so excited to say it!” One of her small hands punched lightly in front of her, face scrunched up in mock annoyance but the corners of her mouth struggling not to life up with her mirth.

“I’m shore you were, gremlin. But ocean jokes are in my blood. Water you gonna do about it?”

“You’re krillin’ my vibe, man.”

It was silent for a few moments as you both breached the tree line, going toward where Joel had set the traps up. As you neared them, you could see two hares had gotten tangled in them. A meal enough for all three of you if carefully prepared. Ellie watched carefully as you walked her through removing them without causing damage to the small bodies.

“Are the beaches different on the other coast?”

You were sure your steps could be heard as you walked down the stairs. As quiet as you were, you knew he was on alert, even with his bad ear, he had good hearing. Though you could tell as winter prevailed, it was waning in his right one more and more. You wished you had the mechanics and materials to try and make something for him, an aid of some sort, but it was long past when that was something to offer people. The state of the world didn’t care about ailing injuries, about the loss of senses, the loss of what helped to make survival easier. It would damn you and watch on as it did so. Time and time again.

You noticed his door wasn’t shut all the way, left open a crack so he wasn’t sealed away in a bubble of his own making. A silent way of saying, I’m here and I’m doing my best to provide protection and be on alert even in sleep. That he cared, even if he was unwilling to voice it aloud in a substantial way. But that was part of his growing appeal, the way he was so willing to do what needed to be done for Ellie, for you.

The incidents faced so far, the way he had been willing to send Ellie away from the bear and back to you, the way he had gone to that house to take out the shooter on higher ground that had been about to take out your group like ducks who didn’t know the danger about them. the way he had killed that man for calling you names, threatening you in a way that seemed more real than the Infected that had chased you through the depleted store. Threats eradicated at his own risk of safety.

It was warm in the cabin, the fire gently crackling as it lost height from not being fed. The flames cast moving shadows about the small room, an excursion of bare minimum comforts in the form of indoor protection all the way out here. You worried for a moment if more were in the area, scattered about the lake. But you hadn’t seen any other structures during your trek and if they had once existed, you were sure they would be in rough shape, even if still standing. Wind howled outside, a testament to the elements siding with the worlds downfall, take take take. Take everything that is not strong, that does not want to life, that can not handle living in the design of its making.

The creak of the door to his room would surely alert him of movement, if your steps hadn’t. He was sitting up in his bed, fully clothed save for his boots. Bed made and top blanket thrown over him gathered around his waist as his eyes traced your entrance into his space. A question on his lips was stolen from him as you leaned down once beside the bed. The kiss searing as you suddenly settled yourself over his thighs, hands curling into his hair. He groaned into your mouth, and your tongue to sought out his own.

His hands were gentle, rough fingers barely making any contact as his eyes watched the way he skimmed them over your exposed body. His plush lips pressing kisses in their wake as he moved down down down.

“Darlin’,” He looked up at you, strand of steel hair curled over his forehead above his eyes. Pupils nearly consumed the comforting brown of them, desperate and worked up, his breath hot exhales over the bare skin of your abdomen. His hands were gripping your hips, fingers digging into the give there while his thumbs were brushing over the crease of your thighs. You didn’t see, couldn’t see the desperation in his eyes as he felt the heat of you as your legs spread and made room for him to lean in close. How he fit so perfectly there like the space was his. Looking up to see your head thrown back on the pillow, hair fanning out loose and beautiful in the moonlight peeking through the blinds.

“You were so hesitant before, is this…is this okay? Don’t wanna cross any lines, but goddamn, you look so good f’me.”

He dared to move one of his thumbs over the course hair at the apex of your thighs, the action eliciting a shuddering gasp as it settled right at the top of your core, lips puffy and slick as they parted for him to brush against that little bundle of nerves he wanted to take between his lips and lave with his tongue.

He groaned at the sight, at the way you spread yourself for him to see, to feel. At the whimper that fell from your lips as your eyes flew open and gazed down at him, the color of your eyes all gone as pleasure shocked through you. He looked away from the sight of you on display and caught your eyes.

In a gentle move, you reached from where your hand had been tangled in the sheets to run through his curls. Nails scraping lightly against his scalp had him moaning quietly, his breath puffing out directly against you, causing you to flutter around nothing.

“Fuck, please.” You panted, needing him to do something, anything, to relief the ache that had settled there and simmered all day. “Joel.”

His mouth pressed up against you, his tongue licking through the mess of your folds and you let out a shout as your fingers tangled in his hair and pulled him closer. The strong line of his nose bumped that bundle of nerves and you gasped at the pleasure that shot up your spine. You rocked your hips, dragging your clit over the edge of his nose as needy sounds filled the air. Unable to stop the movement if that was something possible to want, seeking out more more more from him.

“That’s it baby, use me,” His voice muffled where it was buried in your cunt, his sucking kisses making you dizzy as he let you move against him. That coiling feeling was tightening, stomach muscles jumping in your stomach. Your injured arm was twitching at your side, laid out on the bed beside you as you struggled not to reach down and touch every part of him you could.

“Need you,” He panted against you, his mouth moving in languid motions, tongue swirling and fingers coming to tease at your entrance. “Need to feel you, c’mon, cum f’me, darlin’.”

The stretch of his fingers delving inside had you clenching tightly around him as pleasure shocked through your body. Your hand detangled from his hair to clasp over your mouth, muffling the shout that ripped through your chest as you soaked Joel’s face pressed into you. His tongue trailed down, lapping up what leaked around his fingers before he was pulling those from you and licking them too.

“So damn sweet, you taste so good f’me.”

It was rough, the way he clung to you and moved against you, desperate. Like he thought he’d never get the chance again, to be with you this way. To show you how much he appreciated you, the things you did for him. Something simmered low in your chest, spurred on by his actions but you tamped it down, fearing that giving it attention would allow it to blossom. That he would see it, recognize it, should he have ever known it before and turn away from you. Emotions something that could make this mess you both made of yourselves, tangling together in understanding suddenly giving depth to something and stealing the touches and looks away from you.

The stretch of him entering you, the feel of him hot inside you, the way he sent pleasure rippling over your entire body. It was damnation and revelation all in one breath and it brought you back down to the scorched plane of existence that you lead. Grounding you in a way you thought you’d never have again. A sob wracked your frame, tears building at the corners of your eyes as you felt just as desperate for him as he seemed to for you in that moment.

Good hand scrabbling, you reached for one of his as he lifted it to cradle your face, thumb brushing at underneath your eye to catch the tears as they fell. To wipe them away with such a gentle touch. His fingers tangled with your own and warmth blossomed in your chest as he stilled deep inside of you, pressed to you as completely as two people could be.

His eyes found yours as you looked up at him, words stuck on your tongue, stuck in your chest, stuck in the chasm that had opened up inside of you. He leaned down to seal his lips against yours, stealing them where they rested and began to move again.

“H-hey.” You greeted, a nervous energy about you as you descended the stairs. Returning to your own bed the night before had been the right call, you would stand by that decision. A little distance in the wake of sharing something so all-consuming with the man who you never expected to be in your life in such a way, to be so important. But it was just favors, given and taken between the two of you. It had to be just that, there was no room for anything else, barely any room for the favors to begin with.

You must’ve spaced out, because the next thing you knew a warm mug was being pressed gently into your good hand. Blinking, your vision came back into focus, taking in the trees and snow blanketed ground that had turned into a swirl of colors before you turned to see Joel standing close.

“You…okay? Not sore or anything?” He helped you to get a hold of the mug, cradling the bottom of the mug until he was sure you had it secure in your grip by the handle.

“Oh, um, a little. But it’s okay, really,” Warmth spread across your chest, tinting the tan skin of your neck lightly. There was the phantom feeling of scruff brushing there and you hid what you could of your face as you sipped from the drink. You mumbled around a thick swallow.

“It’s a good kind of sore.”

He didn’t ask about your tears, didn’t ask about the way you had crumbled at his touch the night before beyond that simple question. You worried it had been too much for him, too much for yourself.

The day dragged on, the storm that had lulled was back in full force. Thankful for the shelter of the cabin, everyone kept to themselves, lost in different trains of thought but still needing to feel the presence of one another.

Stirring suddenly as a mangle of memories and dreams bled from your mind, you sat up in the bed you had taken for the night. The room was bathed in bright moonlight, the skies clear through the window.

Anxiety hummed a low timbre in your body, urging you to your feet and you checked the room across the hall from yours. You expected to see Ellie curled up, but the bed was empty, the sheets rumpled.

“Joel.”

He turned from where he was on the couch, head knocked back onto the cushion that lined the back of the furniture.

“Ellie’s not in her room.”

“’s okay, she’s right here.” He motioned with his chin to the couch and as you rounded it you could see her laying across the rest of the cushions. Her head was in Joel’s lap, a weathered pillow underneath her head and atop his thighs. Her hands were curled into her chest and you realized gloves should be something you looked for next. She was so young, she shouldn’t have to experience her first travelling winter without all the proper supplies.

“Oh.”

“She had a nightmare and came scrambling down the stairs. Found her staring into the fire, so I’m tending to it.” He motioned to the living flames, the way they were stoked and flourishing underneath his touch.

“How’s your arm, darlin’?”

“’S fine,” You mumbled, suddenly self-conscious. You were competent, you were a survivor, you were capable but something about the way Joel Miller looked sitting atop the ratty couch with a wayward teenager comfortably cuddled up in his lap made you feel like a small thing. Made you feel like you wanted to be the person in his lap, the person he watched after with every swoop of his gaze over the horizon, the person in the back of his every thought, the person he bonded with in a way that would withstand any challenge. The person that he would want.

And you know, deep down that you are incredibly grateful for the ways in which he’s melded himself together for her, the figures he represents as an amalgamation of whatever she’s lacked in her life and transformed himself into for her. Proud of him as he did such a thing so effortlessly, transformed and flourished into something that had never even been so much as glimpsed at back at the QZ. But had steadily shown its face and true heart once the confines of the wall and pseudo societal pressures had fallen away.

A strong pillar of what humanity should aspire to be, the best qualities of man all tied into one figure.

At the very base of humanity, Joel Miller was a good man.

And you were beginning to feel for him.

It made you feel small to face the crashing wave of realization, here in the middle of a thick forest while you sought shelter in an abandoned cabin from a world before. All of the things you’ve endured led up to this moment, to these feelings, to this man. You grieved all of the past versions of yourself, even the ones who never saw the light of day. And you grieved for the person you would become once he was no longer a part of your life.

Because this world sees hope, it sees love, it sees possibility. And it tears it away from steadfast hands as if it were the ocean and you were a child just learning how to hold yourself up, getting swept away by the current.

Voices.

You could hear faint voices out beyond the line of trees that surrounded the cabin you had taken for yourself and your people. The book in your hand fell out of your grip and you looked over to a sleeping Ellie sprawled out on the couch. You stood from your spot, moving her stretched out legs from your lap and began to reach for her to rouse her.

“Hide.” The simple, harsh command from Joel spurred you and Ellie into motion as he entered the cabin from the only door, as quickly and quietly as he could so as to not draw attention.

“You hear anything, you run. Keep heading northwest, I’ll find you in the nearest town like we agreed. Even if you hear shots fired, got it? Both of you understand?” His tone held no room for argument.

You and Ellie hid in the room he claimed on the ground floor, underneath the bed, pressed together as far underneath it as you could manage. Packs fastened to your backs in case you would need to run.

The creak of the front door was loud in the tense silence. Ellie shook beside you, the cold seeping into the entire structure.

“From the snares to the smoke, someone’s gotta be makin’ this their home for the winter.” A gruff voice boomed, not bothering to be quiet as they stalked around.

“I dunno, it don’t look like anyone’s been here for years.”

The next words about to be spoken were cut off with a loud gurgling sound, followed by a shocked shout from the man’s companion.

“Land is taken,” Joel’s threat was clear. There was the sound of a body collapsing before running footsteps filled the air. Struggling, two bodies fighting against each other, and then a grunt from Joel.

“Looks like you aren’t as good as you think you are, old man.”

More voices filled the cabin, too many voices. Laughing and jeering at the sight of a beaten Joel filled the space in a mockery of how he hadn’t been able to hold his own. All men’s voices and fear had you reaching for Ellie to pull her closer to you. Men were dangerous, men were predictable, men could only mean one of two things for someone like you and Ellie. The sound of the front door slamming shut, and locking signaled your entrapment of a space that had meant safety only minutes ago.

Hours passed and night fell, the rowdy group not bothering to keep quiet or try to conceal themselves as your own trio had done. The fire roared to life under their ministrations, warming the place almost too much as they overfed the flames. Your entire body was wound tight, muscles screaming for relief from the crouched and tense position you were frozen in underneath the bed still.

“What’re we gonna do with him? He was obviously protecting something.”

“You got a pretty little thing with you, huh, bud? She out there hiding in the trees, waitin’ on you to return to her?”

There was no response from Joel, whether he simply didn’t engage or couldn’t due to a gag, you weren’t sure. But he was tied up, that much you knew from the effort it took to subdue him. He had been knocked unconscious, as someone had been preening over a few hours ago. He must’ve been coming back to consciousness, if the sudden stillness of the room was any indication.

They seemed to lose interest in his lack of engagement, the bodies dispersing to claim beds for the night, there would be enough for each of them. There were four different voices you had picked out as you stayed hidden. Heavy steps entered the room and the bed dipped as someone rested their weight atop it, the springs creaking against the frame protecting you and Ellie from the intruder.

She tensed up, nails digging into her palms as she looked to you. You shook your head, letting her know to keep quiet and that you would try your best to make sure things worked out okay. It was only a matter of minutes until loud snoring sprung into the air. You detangled yourself from Ellie, slowly guiding yourself along your back to the edge of the frame’s protection.

The man atop the bed was passed out, no weapon visible on him or in his grip as you held your head and torso up enough to glimpse at him. You shimmied as best you could out from underneath the bed completely, standing and ignoring the protest of your stiff muscles from the sudden movement after being locked for so long. You walked as lightly as you could over to the door and peered outside into the living room.

The fire was dying in the pit, a man passed out on the couch, and…

Joel was tied up, his hands and feet bound together. He was awake, though the swelling on his face didn’t look good. One of his eyes was blackened and it was swollen shut. They had taken his jacket from him, discarded it on the floor too far for him to reach for. Used to cover the body of the man he had killed. You crouched down to signal to Ellie that it was safe to come out. She stuck close behind you as you exited the room, trying not to touch the door and cause the hinges to give you both away.

Joel’s good eye widened as he say you move through the semi-darkness of the space. You crouched before him and used your machete to cut the rope from him. He got to his feet as quickly as he could, a frown overtaking his features as he retrieved his coat. Shrugging it on, he looked around for his pack but it was nowhere to be seen.

He made sure to get your attention and point to the door, motioning between you and Ellie. You nodded, understanding that he wanted you both to make a run for it while it was still quiet.

You were barely out the door when Joel was suddenly pushing you forward, a warning falling from him to run. The man on the couch had turned in his sleep, bleary eyes catching sight of a standing and unbound Joel jolting him awake completely.

“He’s making a run for it!”

Chaos ensued, heavy steps bounded down the stairs and echoed out into the open air as your trio trudged through the built-up snow. It was deep, nearly up to your ankles and made it hard to keep your balance as you waded through it. Ellie was ahead of you, a little faster, a little more right on her feet.

Joel grunted as a shot rang out from someone’s gun and he quickly brandished his own and fired a shot back. A howl as the bullet lodged itself into its victim was the only warning you got before a body collided with yours, knocking you down and you felt the world tilt as you rolled. Snow flying up all around you blurred your vision but the sound of something crackling was loud in your ear.

You stilled, panic spiking hard in your chest as you realized you had landed on the ice that covered the expanse of the lake. Up on the shoreline to the frozen water, Joel was still struggling fighting off two of the men. One lay dead next to Ellie, who was reaching for her gun to try and help. You yelped when there was sudden weight on you, pushing you hard into the freezing cold ice. Your face went numb as the ice cracked a little underneath it, the pressure causing the shards to cut into your flesh. There were two gunshots, one unnervingly close.

There was a loud cracking sound as the ice all around you broke. You felt your body fall, gravity taking your mind with it as you and your assailant plunged into the freezing water below.

“JOEL-“ Ellie’s terrified scream was the last thing you heard before the water swallowed you.

“No. No, no, no.” Joel chanted as he tried to put some distance between him and the last man still fighting him. He took a few steps back before rushing at him, throwing his entire weight into him and knocking him to the ground. As soon as they both landed, Joel stabbed his knife to the hilt into the man’s chest. He scrambled up as quickly as he could, ignoring the pain in his knees and shoulder. He slid as he ran toward the ice, being as careful as he could in his panic. He couldn’t see you down in the gaping hole of the broken ice, the water eerily still.

Everything fell quiet, there was no thrashing from below the ice, no more cracking of the ice. Joel’s mind was racing as his eyes scanned the expanse of the lake, hoping to catch a sign of movement from below.

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dividers: by the lovely @/saradika-graphics

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klausysworld · 1 year

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can you write something for sub yandere klaus, where y/n sucks klaus' dick, while he sleeps only for him to wake up cumming

You’re Perfect

Klaus had been breathing unnaturally heavily through his sleep. His skin was boiling to touch and i could feel his dick becoming harder by the second.

I managed to move from beneath him to sit up before him. He let out a whine once I wasn’t touching him at all, his arms circling my pillow and holding it against him. I watched as his hips bucked against the cushion and he let out a long breath.

I pulled the duvet completely away revealing him in only his briefs, a thin layer of sweat coating his body. I gently rolled him over, laying him on his back and running my hands over his chest.

Klaus was an interesting person. One minute he was full of rage and refusing i leave him room and the next he was begging for me to come to sit with him, to hold him and pet his hair. He was so needy and emotional it was unbelievable. But it didn’t stop him from also being sweet and kind when he wanted to be.

I knew how badly he had wanted to have his hands all over me, sometimes he did so anyway, his hands subtly nearing my breasts or rubbing the back of my thighs. And yet he was always too shy to actually touch me.

There was no harm in speeding up the process. His boxers were clearly struggling to contain him, it would be cruel to leave him so helpless.

So my hands slowly pulled them off of his body, my eyes instantly finding his pretty cock. His tip nearly glowing in a rosey pink as a bead of pre cum pooled from his slit. He inhaled sharply as the air hit him and his hands gripped the pillow to his chest tighter.

I nudged my way in between his legs, bringing my nails to ever so lightly skim the skin of his thighs, making my way higher and higher. His legs tensed and relaxed under my touch as i trailed the pads of my fingers up his stiffening shaft. He let out a breathy whine as i cupped his balls gently, my eyes lifted to see his red-tinted lips parted and his brows pulling together.

I wrapped my hand as far round his dick as i could before steadily stroking him up and down. Watching his mouth open wider and his hands gripping the pillow tighter.

I leant down to press my lips to his glistening tip, an instant hiss awarded and his legs subconsciously moving further apart. I look a small lick at his slit, he tasted a little sweeter than I initially thought making my tongue slide over him again, my licks growing longer with each swipe. My hand continued to move along him, his cock hardening in my grasp and a heavy pant leaving him.

A loud whimper left him as i took him into my mouth, swallowing around his head before pulling back off with a small ‘pop’. A took my hand away earning a quiet “please” to leave his plump lips.

I smiled at him, looking to see his face pulled into a frown and the pillow struggling to stay together with how hard he was gripping it.

I dragged my tongue up his thick length, his hips bucked upward in response. My hand rubbed his thigh gently to settle his movements down, his body submitting and allowing me to flatten my tongue and take long laps of his cock, coating him in saliva.

I took him past my lips again, this time bringing him further down and into my throat, barely swallowing around him as he let out a gasp. I brought my head back up to swirl my tongue over her tip, delighted in the way he twitched in my mouth and let out a moan.

My head began to bob up and down him leisurely, my hand stroking what my mouth didn’t. My eyes closed as my cheeks hollowed and i sucked lightly, my name leaving him in a hushed whisper. My other hand brushed over his thigh enjoying how it would tremble lightly every now and then.

I brought him as deep as I could while still being able to breathe and hummed around him. A blur of sounds escaped him as I sucked him off harder.

My hands moved to fondle with his sac lightly as i took him as far as possible and keeping my head down despite my throat trying to push him away. His moans vibrated through his body as i held my breath and kept him still with my hands on his hips.

I pulled back off of him, hand swiftly replacing my mouth and pumping his shaft quickly. I licked my lips as i glanced back to see his back nearly off of the bed as it ached. He moaned loudly as he began to throb in my hand, and his breathing stuttered.

I glided my tongue over his tip again and sucked harshly. His thighs trembled lightly beneath me as i felt something warm hit the roof of my mouth, his salty taste flooded my sensed as hands weaved through my hair and held my head still as a string of pants were released into the air.

I brought my eyes up to see his sleepy ones looking back at me with a soft moan. I pulled off of him after swallowing his release down and leaning back on my knees.

“Y/n?” He mumbled drowsily, his thumb traced my swollen lips as I moved up his body and pushed him to lay back down

“Shh, go back to sleep Nik, just a couple more hours” I whispered kissing his jaw and pulling him to me. He murmured my name a few more times as he buried his face in my shoulder, his hand holding my T-shirt tightly

“You’re perfect” I told him making him nuzzle into me further

(It’s not great but I think I’ve ran out of writing juice 😃)

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ohforficsakelibrary · 6 months

Text

The Margay: Chapter 5

'That Your Husband?'

prev / series masterlist / main masterlist

Summary: Santiago recruits Frankie to contract for a covert agency that pairs them with danger in more ways than one. A series of one-shot snippets taking place during and around missions.

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Sniper!OFC

Word Count: ~4.9K

Rating: Explicit 18+ / masturbation (f & m), dirty talk, Frankie offers guidance, exchanging of naughty pictures and suggestive texts / tw for physical violence (I may have beat Frankie up a bit) / Minors DNI

A/N: Frankie's grounded with an injury. Audrey's good at care packages. They both need each other more than they realize.

Every time I open this file I keep fucking with this chapter so please take it now. Your effort to overlook anything that seems overworked is much appreciated.

Their third job out, Frankie manages to get himself into a bit of a scrape.

When a hurricane flattened Barbuda’s infrastructure it created opportunity. A perfect little hideaway among the wreckage.

A waypoint for heroin exporters to rest their weary heads.

It’s just a seaplane over to St. Thomas and U.S. territory and a stack of bills pressed into a customs officer’s palm before making the jump to mainland soil.

And in the process of surveilling a safe house, Frankie manages to trip a sensor.

A blow to the back of the head drops him before Audrey or Santi can get to his location.

And so they lie in wait for the right moment to spring him free.

Santi fidgets, buzzing with impatience.

Audrey turns to stone.

Nothing else will contain her rage.

When half the men leave for beers at a local bar, Audrey and Santiago split directions, cutting a quick lap around the house.

“You take the front door, I’ll take the back,” Pope directs their breach in hushed tones. When they’re in position, Audrey counts them down before putting a boot through a rusted lock.

They can hear Frankie scream. And Audrey’s stomach roils.

In pain.

In sympathy.

In possession.

“I got him,” she spits into their comms, prowling through shadows between the bare lightbulbs that hang from the ceiling while the incessant buzz from the generator outside covers her tracks.

They’ve only left two men guarding their catch.

Well, one guard who’s slumped in a chair in the corner fucking around on his phone, and a taller man who has Frankie on his knees by the hair, arms zip-tied behind his back. He asks who sent Frankie and when he’s told to go fuck himself he lands a a kick Frankie’s ribs that has him screaming through gritted teeth before briefly losing consciousness.

The man catches Frankie, holding him up by the roots of his hair, repeating the question with the toe of his boot dangerously close to knocking against Fish’s balls.

“I need those,” Audrey mutters before a bullet finds the taller man between the eyes and the butt of her gun finds the seated man’s temple. “Santi, need you in here,” she fires off into comms before dropping her gun and dropping to her knees to keep a woozy Frankie from slamming teeth-first into the floor.

She cradles his face and surveys it, peeling each eyelid up in turn to check his reaction to light. She's not sure how hard he was knocked in the head.

“Thought you said you weren’t gonna save me,” is the first thing out of his mouth when he sees that it’s her and not Pope who has his face in their hands.

“Yeah, I dunno how to fly a chopper,” she lies with a wink, “so Pope and I are swimming to Antigua without you and I just got my hair done.”

Frankie manages a snort before he spits blood onto tile. His bottom lip is split, left eye swollen shut and blooming a neat shade of purple. Road rash or something akin to it mars one side of his face.

Frankie rests his cheek against her shoulder and she supports his weight as she searches him with her hands, checking for slashed fabric and gaping wounds. For areas of tender heat insulating broken bones.

For bullet wounds.

Frankie yelps when her right hand applies light pressure to his side over his tactical vest.

"Okay, okay, I've got you, Frankie."

"That bit's bad," he groans.

“Can you stand?” She snaps a ceramic knife through the zip ties binding his hands behind his back as they hear two more shots and Santi calling “clear.”

“Yeah. Yeah I think so.”

But he can't right himself from where he's leaned heavy against her.

She shifts to kneel with his arm around her shoulders and her fist gripping his belt, hauling him up with her when she stands.

"Take your time, find your feet," she whispers, a stone under his weight.

“You lovebirds good in here?” Santi pokes his head around the corner.

“Lovebirds is a strong word,” Frankie quips and Pope is glad for his sense of humor, but he can't help the way his mouth presses into a tight line as he winces.

Frankie's so pale.

“Get him to the car,” Audrey pauses to allow Santi to shoulder Frankie’s weight. “Careful of his left side. Find anything other than the stash in the dining room?”

“Nah.”

“Alright get him out of here I’m right behind you.”

She sets charges around the safe house on a delay, pausing when she passes the room Frankie was held in. She grabs his hat off of the floor and slips it on backwards before taking off towards the car.

Santi guns it the moment she slips into the open back of their Range Rover.

“How is he doing?” Pope chances a glance back over his shoulder at where Fish is laid out across the folded back seats.

“Keep driving. Do you know how to fly a chopper?”

“That’s what I have him for.”

“I do,” Frankie whispers.

“You don’t have to do anything but stay awake for me," she demands, sweeping sweat-slick hair off of his forehead.

But it’s becoming increasingly hard, it seems.

“Fuck,” she mutters under her breath. “Santi, do you know how to place an IV?’

“No?” He sounds panicked. “Am I supposed to?”

“No, I’ll do it now then. Just…call out before we hit anything rough.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“Keep. Driving.” The urgency in her voice has Santiago’s heart in his throat.

He can hear Audrey shuffling around for med supplies.

He can hear how Frankie whimpers every time they hit a bump.

“I’m fine, babe,” he tries weakly to brush his knuckles against her stomach. She takes his hand and holds his arm out turning on the flashlight on her phone before slipping it into the front pocket of her tac vest. A tourniquet tightens around his arm Frankie hears the squishy crunch of an IV bag being prepped.

Mercifully, the vessels in his arm aren’t shy.

“You’ve got sexy veins, Morales.”

He starts to make an off-color comment but she tells him to keep quiet and hold still. Pope holds the car as even as he can, slowing down just a hair.

Audrey steadies her breathing and lines the needle up like lining up a shot, sinking it perfectly between beats of her own heart.

“We’re good, Santi, step on it,” she hooks the IV bag to the roof and tapes the needle in place on his arm.

Mercifully it’s only five minutes until they hit the helipad.

Audrey grabs Santiago by the shirt before he can get out.

Speaking quickly and quietly so Frankie can’t hear.

“He’s gonna need to be helped into that bird, can you walk him? I’ll hold outside until he’s in the back, just keep the IV bag up, try not to dislodge it.”

“Done.”

They have him loaded into the chopper in two minutes and Audrey has the bird in the air in another sixty seconds.

“Thought you said…couldn’t fly?” Frankie mumbles from the back seat.

“Yeah, you know how parents tell their kids that Santa Claus is real?”

They unplug Frankie’s headset after that.

So that he can't hear the worry in their voices.

“He’s not in a good spot, is he?” Santi glances back at the pained expression on Fish’s face.

“I think his ribs are cracked under there and he’s bleeding from places he shouldn’t be.” Her body is calm but there’s urgency to her words.

And anger.

“Can you get a call through to Davis? We need to change our itinerary.”

Santi’s voice crackles over the communications channel after two minutes. “They’re saying he can’t be reached,.

“Tell them it’s me.”

And he's impressed when it works but he doesn’t question it, plugging her headset into the satellite phone when they’re connected before he slips into the back seat to keep an eye on Fish. He only hears half of the conversation from there on out.

“Davis, change of plans, we’re in the helo now, but I’m going to need a charter waiting, Morales needs medical attention.”

“I’m thinking PR, likely fractured ribs with internal bleeding, he’s in and out. He needs his head scanned to rule that out too.”

“How quick can Gordon get down there?”

“Roger.”

“Beautiful. Tell him I owe him one.”

“Fine, then we’ll call it even.”

“Confirmed. Over and out.”

_____

Frankie remembers only the whirr of seaplane engines and red lights flashing through his eyelids before he wakes with a start the next afternoon.

“Easy, hermano, hey,” Santiago soothes with a smile, sitting up in the chair next to Frankie’s hospital bed.

“Where?”

“A hospital in Puerto Rico, hey, take it easy,” Santi tosses a frayed paperback onto a side table and shifts closer to where Frankie is trying to sit up. “Hey, don’t move too much, here,” Santiago puts a remote in Frankie’s hand for him to adjust the bed rather than himself.

“You took a few nasty hits. Four broken ribs, nicked your liver and caused bleeding. Probably got a bad headache too, but no permanent damage as far as we can tell.”

“I feel like shit,” Frankie croaks.

“I would expect that you do. Had us worried for a second there. You want some water?”

“Us. Where’s?”

“Jane Bond is catching some z’s,” Santi holds a paper cup out to Frankie and nods at the floor on the other side of Frankie’s bed.

He winces when he brings the cup to his split lip, glancing down to where Audrey is curled up on a blanket. He takes a few sips and hands the cup back to Pope.

“You said Puerto Rico?” His voice is thick with disuse.

“Antigua didn’t have the facilities, so she hooked you up,” Santiago continues in hushed tones. “Called in a favor and flew out the best doc that Davis has. Stayed up the whole night until they had you scanned and stabilized. I told her to head out and sleep in a real bed, but she’s fucking stubborn.”

“Mm, thanks, Santi,” Audrey murmurs before she realizes who he’s talking to.

She’s quick to her feet and quicker with a soft smile.

“Francisco.”

“Hi,” he tries to mirror it but his whole face is tight.

“How are you feeling?”

“Pretty fucking sore.”

And Audrey hums a laugh, throaty and warm and not unlike she does when they’re in each other’s arms.

She gently brushes matted hair off of his forehead but stops short of caressing his cheek even though she’s burning with the need to do it.

To touch him.

Feel the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart and everything that assures her he’s still alive.

To let her skin confirm what her eyes are seeing.

A soft knock sounds on the glass wall of the hospital room and a man motions for Audrey to join him in the hallway. After a few minutes they both step in.

“Frankie, this is Nick Gordon. He’s the best doctor I know, patched me up more times than I can count. We were in the same class and he was gracious enough to fly down. He’s been looking after you.”

“She threatened me,” Gordon quips with a wink and an outstretched palm. “Happy to see you’re awake.”

Frankie manages a shake as best he can with the cannula in his hand.

“I was just telling Aud that we’ll run a few more tests now that you’re up, go through a little bit of basic physical therapy and then have you back in here. We’ll probably keep you another night, possibly two, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever you need,” Frankie tries to sit up straighter and winces.

“Yeah alright, at ease Morales, you don’t have to impress me,” Gordon offers a small smile before turning to Santi and Audrey. “It’ll be a few hours, so if you guys want to grab something to eat now’s the time.”

“Yeah,” Santi runs a hand down his face and scratches at stubble. “Could probably use a shower too.”

Audrey swings around the bed and grabs her phone, pausing to gently squeeze Frankie’s foot, silently reassuring him that she’ll be back.

"C'mon," Santiago still has to coax her to leave.

“We’re booked in across the street, text me when you guys are through. Doesn't matter what time it is.” she says to Nick.

“Yes, ma’am.” Gordon catches her arm when he sees the look in her eyes. "Hey, I've got him, Aud."

“Thank you,” she whispers and slips out the door.

_____

Audrey and Santiago stumble into some tourist trap restaurant on the water because it’s the closest thing they can find with cold beer on the menu. They don’t speak again until there are appetizers in front of them.

“He’s got someone at home, right?” Audrey asks, taking a sip of beer. “To keep an eye on him. Help him out? Might be hard getting around the first few weeks, showering, cooking, all that. The less he does the quicker he’ll heal.”

“He uh,” Santiago pauses but her green eyes are filled with concern. “He can stay at mine for a few weeks. He did the same for me when I had a neck operation, it’s the least I can do.”

“Where’s his girl?”

Santi angles heavy-lidded eyes up at her across fried plantain, hesitating before he continues.

But she hasn’t asked it out of a need to move into an empty space in Frankie’s life.

Audrey’s asked it with conviction because she doesn’t want to hear that Frankie’s been abandoned.

And he hates that he has to tell her the truth.

“She’s not…she left a few months ago. Took the baby with her. Moved out to California to be closer to family. They’re not…"

"There’s no one at home, Aud.”

And Audrey lets out the breath she was holding and sits back in her chair and stares out at the ocean.

“Because of this?”

And she means professional pursuits rather than personal ones.

“A few months before this. Probably why he agreed to take that first job in Nicaragua.”

He doesn’t tell her about the coke relapse that drove the final nail in.

“But, is he…does he get to see her?” His daughter. Asked like anything less is an injustice to someone she cares for and therefore an injustice done unto herself.

“He tries to fly out there once a month or so. They Facetime a lot.”

It unsticks a corner of the papier-mâché Frankie’s covered in.

The shell around his heart.

What’s underneath is as battered and bruised the body in that bed.

“Fuck,” she whispers, mouth catching on the “k”.

“Yeah it’s not ideal,” Santi takes a swig of beer.

"My dance card is full over the next few weeks."

“I’ve got him, Aud. You handled the first part. I’ve got the next.”

“You’re a good friend, Santi.”

“How long you think he’ll be down for?” He says around a mouthful of plantain.

“Nick said six to eight weeks, but probably more like ten before Davis un-grounds him," she moves to run a hand through her hair and realizes that she's still wearing Frankie's hat.

“Yeah, he’s gonna fucking hate that.”

“He hasn’t got a choice.”

“He’s gonna hate not seeing you.”

And she looks down at the ice melting in her glass of water.

“I can’t be that for him, Santi.”

“I know. And I didn’t...didn't mean it like that. Didn’t mean to put it on you. Make it heavy, ‘m sorry.”

“Yeah," she looks down at her plate. "I know,” she sticks grilled shrimp with her fork. “I’ll send him a care package.”

_____

And Santi laughed in the moment.

But she does.

Every week, like clockwork, first to Santiago’s house and then to Frankie’s apartment when he’s back on his own.

An infrared heating pad shows up early on and Frankie swears it works better than the one that Santi bought from the drugstore that smells like popcorn and piss after two minutes in the microwave.

Week three she sends the memoirs of famous pilots. Books about Arctic expeditions and alpinists.

You ever climb a mountain, Aud?

He texts her from where he's shirtless on Santiago’s couch after having finished a novel about one of Everest’s most dangerous climbing seasons. He's warm and loose. Soothing heat seeping into his ribs.

Absolutely not, I’m a sea-level girl.

Why not?

Just not my medium, I suppose. Some beautiful things are better admired from afar.

And it’s probably the pain meds contributing to his reply.

You feel like one of those things right now. too beautiful. too far away.

You need to be in good working order to climb mountains, Frankie.

Miss taking you to that peak though.

Corny.

Oh she’s picky.

Discerning.

Where are you?

Uruguay. Me and mini bar gin for the night. Where are you?

Pope’s couch. he made a run to the store before it closes.

Hot. How are you feeling?

Sore. useless. bored. I miss you.

And he takes a calculated risk because he feels sore, useless, and bored.

Miss eating that pretty pussy. just thinking about how wet you get for me.

Are you hard, Frankie?

Getting there.

And he doesn’t expect what she says next.

Show me.

Frankie tongues his bottom lip with a shake of his head. He reaches under his grey sweatpants to take his length in a fist, coaxing it with the memory of her taste on his lips. He palms the base of it over cotton and snaps a picture angled down his stomach where his length rests hard and heavy angled over his left hip bone.

Fuck, you’re so big Frankie.

Miss hearing you say that, baby.

You cleared for this, Morales?

Broke my ribs, not my dick.

That would have been a real shame. Wouldn't be able to enjoy this.

And she sends a photo of her on her stomach, taken just over her left shoulder to shows off her naked back, the exaggerated arch in her spine accentuating the bare curve of her ass.

And he calls her now.

“Hi, Frankie.” She purrs when she picks up.

“I didn’t know nice girls like you sent pictures like that.”

“Who said I’m a nice girl?”

And he hums from low in his chest.

After a moment, “you ever bring toys with you, baby?”

“I was supposed to bring you,” she quips. “Now all I’ve got are my hands.”

“Well then let’s see what I can do.” He puts the phone on speaker and leaves it on his chest, rubbing a palm low over his stomach.

“You gonna listen to me, gatita?”

And she grins on the other end of the line.

“Whatever you say, Frankie.”

“You serious, Aud?”

“Keep talking, Frankie.”

“Still on your stomach over there?”

“Mhmm.”

“Stay there. Go ahead and slip your hand down. Down to that pretty little clit.” His voice is thick with want.

And he can hear the faint slide of skin against the cotton of the duvet.

“Slowly now. Just soft little circles for me, baby.”

Frankie again reaches under his sweatpants, rubbing that sensitive spot just under the head of his cock with his ring finger before working his foreskin over the tip.

“Fuck, I wish I was behind you right now. You wet, baby?” Frankie growls.

“A little,” she whispers.

“Ohh,” he chuckles darkly. “A little’s not enough, baby. You know better than that. Move those fingers a little faster for me.”

And he mirrors the command before shifting to pull his cock out of his sweatpants entirely, wrapping his whole fist around his length. Pumping his cock in time with her moans.

“Oh, yeah baby.” He grunts and squeezes the base of his dick. Frankie's breathing has picked up to something that’s starting to make his ribs smart from the exertion. He swirls his middle finger through the slick dripping from the head of his cock, using it to ease the slide of his foreskin over his shining, reddened tip. “Louder for me, gatita.”

“Need more, Frankie,” she sighs.

“Mmm, my baby needs something inside, doesn’t she?” He teases.

“I’m gettin’ real close to not following orders, Morales,” her voice is husky when she bites back.

“Okay, baby.” he grins. “Okay. Just two fingers, hermosa. Inside.” She moans as she does it. “Yeahhh,” Frankie answers, pumping himself faster.

“Bet you’re so wet for me right now. So warm. Does it feel good, baby?”

“It’s not enough, Frankie,” she whimpers. Her fingers aren’t long enough—not thick enough—to do what Frankie does.

“I know, baby,” he soothes through his own desperate ache. “I know. You’re gonna move those hips for me, okay?” He’s hissing through teeth now, bucking up into his fist. “Go on. Grind down on your hand—for me.”

And she rolls her hips to put pressure on her clit with the heel of her palm, her fingers buried in her cunt, pressing against that spot inside that builds a warm wave of pleasure on the verge of breaking.

And Frankie can tell from five thousand miles away by the way she starts to cry out.

“Feels so good, baby.” She’s breathless.

“Oh yeah,” his pace speeds up, “fuck yeah, baby. Yes. Let me hear you.” He tugs on his balls with his free hand and imagines each thrust of his hips is a thrust up into her hot, tight cunt.

“So close, Frankie,” she gasps, open-mouthed against the bedspread

“Yeah, baby. Come for me. Babyyy. Oh—ff—fuck. Let me hear it." His voice is ragged—wild with need. With desperation. "Let me hear you fucking come. As loud as you want, gatita. Come for me. Come, baby, come.”

And she pants his name until her voice breaks on a moan and a choked screech of the last syllable.

“Baby....baby, my sexy little ba—ooh fff—UCK.”

And Frankie grunts and grits his teeth through growls as his hips snap hard against his fist, spilling thick stripes of semen over his bare stomach.

His breathing is hard and pained as he hears Audrey’s soft, answering moans.

And for a moment they just listen to each other breathe.

“You okay, Frankie?”

“So good,” he murmurs.

After a thick pause, “ribs hurt like a bitch. Possibly…overexerted myself," he pants, lifting his hand up to survey the sticky white that coats his fingers.

“Oh, Frankie,” she sighs.

Sighs like she wishes she was there, fitted against the ache.

Sighs like she wants to kiss it better.

“It was worth it, ba— fuck.” Frankie hears the garage door open.

“What…”

“Pope’s back.”

“Tell him he can blame me for his living room smelling like come.”

“Fuck. Yeah, I gotta go.”

“Go Frankie.”

“Good night, pretty baby.”

“Night, Frankie. Good luck.”

He hangs up with a smile and pockets his phone, rushing to crack a window with his clean hand as quickly as he can given the sticking pain in his ribs.

Frankie slips into the bathroom seconds before he hears plastic bags being loaded into the kitchen.

“You good, Fish?” Santiago yells out.

“Yeah,” he answers and starts the shower as his phone buzzes with a text.

You’re stunningly good at that by the way, Francisco.

He sends a winking face.

Can’t wait to do it in person, baby.

In time, Francisco.

_____

The next week she sends both sweet and salty snacks because she doesn’t know which he prefers until he texts her that the sour peach rings she sent were amazing.

The following week a whole case of them arrives at his door.

Around week six Frankie finds that she tucked a tastefully suggestive polaroid into a particularly salacious chapter of The Delta of Venus and between it and the reading material and how long it’s been—

Frankie completely ruins his copy.

His ribs don’t quite hurt as much this time.

He briefly considers shipping it back to her, wrinkled cover, pasted-together pages and all, along with a note that reads “enjoyed this one” but he doesn’t know her address.

Frankie figures you can’t ship biohazards anyway and tosses it instead.

The polaroid though, he keeps.

_____

Week eight her phone lights up with a text from Frankie, right around midnight in his time zone.

I miss the way you smell.

Your hair. your skin.

And Audrey’s heart aches with the intimacy of his confession.

Oh, Frankie. I miss you too.

I've been cheating though. I have your hat.

Keep it for now. send me something in exchange?

A few days later, her favorite hat shows up at his door.

"Crossroads Bar and Grill," he reads out loud with a smile. Sure enough, it smells faintly of her hair and he idly holds it to his nose before he notices something else in the package. He lets the strap out an inch and pops the cap on his own head before pulling out a blue linen pillowcase.

Frankie crushes it to his nose and breathes in the scent of her hair, exhaling with a deep moan.

That night he slips it over one of his extra pillows and sucks in breath with his face buried in it until he comes hard into his fist.

Open-mouthed.

Lungs full of her.

_____

Week nine she’s on a plane back to DC when he texts her a picture with the caption:

PT going well. worked out without pain this afternoon. bruises mostly gone.

The text loads before the picture does, and she smiles because he’s on the mend.

Audrey is not, however, prepared for the image taken in his bathroom mirror.

He’s turned to the side, brushing his teeth with one hand, elbow picked up to display his ribs, phone held in the other hand angled in towards the mirror.

It’s a thought captured in the moment that it happened. Meant only to display the faint yellow that’s left on his ribcage, a scant suggestion of the symphony of purple and blue that marked it weeks before.

But Frankie is fresh out of the shower. Naked as the day he was born.

And the bathroom countertop is only so high.

Frankie, I’m on a plane.

That’s fine.

I just noticed that it looks a lot better. thought I’d share. Where to?

And she realizes it really was a mistake.

I’m happy to hear and happy you shared! Working out without pain is huge progress.

But half your cock is in this shot, Francisco.

Ah fuck.

I sent that to all the boys.

And Audrey has to keep herself from cackling because surely Big Dick Morales’ phone is blowing up with the kind of shit that only good friends can dish out.

Shame, I thought it was just for me.

He sends the wild-faced emoji with its tongue out.

Where you off to?

Back to DC actually.

Nice to be heading home. text me that you got in safe.

And something warm spreads in her chest.

She chances another glance at the photo, zooming in first on his ribs, then the curve of biceps that seem more heavily-muscled than she remembers.

She scrolls down the image to the suggestion of abs where he was softer before. Frankie, it seems, has been taking physical therapy seriously and then some.

And she scrolls down a little further to the brush of curls at the base of—

“That your husband?” The older lady to Audrey’s right asks and she immediately clicks her screen off.

“Yep,” she lies because you can never be too sure and she doesn’t need a lecture on the premarital sending of accidentally nude pictures. “Yeah, he fell off his motorbike a few weeks ago. Bruised his ribs, but they’re looking way better now.”

“He’s handsome.”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“He makes you smile. Keep him. For now.”

And Audrey laughs with her head thrown back and buys the woman a glass of wine and they fall into easy conversation and the rest of her flight isn’t as dismal as the first half.

When she steps through the door of her apartment she remembers Frankie's ask.

Made it back home.

Not one minute later, her phone lights up.

A photo from Frankie. Taken just above his hips. The outline of his thick, hard length evident under the rumpled green of his bed sheet, hand closed loosely around the base of it.

There’s precome smeared on his tanned stomach, catching the light from a bedside lamp.

That one’s just for you.

You sure you didn’t send this to all the boys?

Only you, baby.

This right now?

Ten minutes ago, I’m afraid. fading fast.

I miss you.

I miss you too, Francisco.

_____

Week ten there’s a knock on the door of her hotel room in Trinidad.

And she opens it to big brown eyes peering at her from under the brim of a cap from Crossroads Bar and Grill.

“Audrey,” he smiles.

“Frankie,” she sighs and wraps her arms around his neck as he presses her tight against him.

She feels his ribs expand comfortably as his lungs fill with the scent of her hair. His lips are warm against her neck and she tucks her nose into the tender spot behind his ear.

Feeling the warmth of his skin and the beat of his heart and everything that assures her he’s still alive.

And her skin confirms what her eyes are seeing.

And in some small way.

They each feel a little more whole again.

Old chapters are hosted on the OFFS Library page. New chapters will be posted to Ohforficsake - follow me over there for future updates.

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#frankie morales #francisco catfish morales #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie morales smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal #ohforficsake #The Margay

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