#I cannot draw GUNS HELP ME

[raygirlramblings]

Your stance on Rayman and guns is well known; how are you feeling about Blood Dragon Remix Rayman and firearms? Not so sure he's mostly 'armless anymore after all...

I see what you did thar ;)

I think in regards to Blood Dragon all bets are off, and my opinions on whether Rayman should be allowed to have a firearm are pretty moot. XD. We're not dealing with Rayman's own world where the most 'accurate' firearms would be a Robo-pirate cannon or Razoff's rifle/shotgun thing. In the Blood Dragon universe guns are pretty much a given and part of the world and culture and it would be more out of place for Rayman NOT to have one, or handle one in some way.

While I don't like to imagine Rayman as the type to carry his own gun constantly I would be watching in rapt anticipation for him to use his limblessness to steal a gun from someone else in the middle of a shoot-out.

All I'm saying is that if Rayman turns out to be a cold blooded villain, the protags would be wise to not underestimate his weapon skills and keep track of all his limbs at all times.

And if he’s not a villain…there would have to be a very good reason for him to suddenly pull a gun on anyone, pro or antagonist.

[rin-yellow]

I was gonna post this about a week ago, about twelve hours after the RotB trailer dropped (when my simp ass finished this drawing) but also finals were and are still killing me so I forgot. 

AAAAANYWAYS here’s my little digipainting of Arcee’s design as she exists in the Rise of the Beasts trailer, just to add to the simpery. I added more glowy bits and screwed up her gun lmao. She’s very pretty though, and I hope I did her proper justice. She’s literally so cool and I wish I looked as good as she does lmao.

[you-have-a-metal-arm]

‘Til The End of The Line

Pairing: Bucky x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 1.7k

Warnings: Mentions of blood, shooting and getting hurt

Summary: You get injured in a mission, and Bucky cannot bear to see you in such state.

Author's Note: Please do not copy or translate my work. English is not my first language, so please understand grammar or spelling mistakes.

I am so sorry for being gone (school’s been killing me)

I appreciate every feedback! Thank you for reading, enjoy!

“Ready to kick some ass, kiddo?” Steve’s voice was calm, almost soothing, but you could hear the adrenaline beneath his words as the two of you adjusted your parachutes. The jet engines hummed around you, a subtle reminder of the mission ahead.

You grinned, giving your suit one last check and tightening your grip on the gun in your hand. “Yeah, I’m gonna beat the shit out of them.”

Steve smiled, not bothering to correct your language. With him, you were always an exception.

Moments later, the wind was whipping against your face as you both jumped from the jet, splitting off into the night sky. Steve took the left wing—the more dangerous side—leaving you the right. Tony had assured you it was safer, but as you slid through the narrow gap in the door, the freezing cold hit you like a wall. The air inside was frigid, bitterly reminding you of Bucky’s stories about the winters he hated so much.

“As far as I can see, it’s clear here. How’s the situation there?” Steve’s voice crackled through the comms, full of concern. You knew he cared for you deeply, saw you as the daughter he never had, and would have taken a bullet to ensure your safety.

“It’s clear here too, Cap,” you replied, trying to ease his worry.

“Let’s stick to the plan: I’ll draw out the agents while you head straight to the operations room and grab their file IV data.”

“Copy that. Be safe, Cap—and I mean it. If you need help, just call me.”

“I will, kiddo. Be safe yourself. And promise to call me if you need anything.”

“I promise. Let’s fucking go.”

You raced through the deserted corridors of the right wing, a dagger in one hand and a fully loaded gun tucked into your suit for emergencies. The cold air bit at your skin, the silence amplifying every footstep. Suddenly, a loud, thunderous noise echoed behind you. Instinctively, you thought it was Steve, but it wasn’t. The sound was coming from your side of the building.

Before you could react, you were ambushed by over twenty armed agents.

On the other side of the wing, Steve was facing his own battle. He tossed a grenade down a hallway, expecting a swarm of enemies, but only three agents rushed at him. Something was wrong. There should have been more.

“Shit,” you hissed into the comms, struggling against the overwhelming odds. Steve heard the panic in your voice, but he couldn’t respond—one of the agents had him in a chokehold. His grip tightened on the comms as he heard the unmistakable sound of gunfire, followed by a loud thud that made his blood run cold.

“Kiddo, you okay?” Steve managed to gasp out, but all he got in return was a pained groan.

“I’ll get to you in less than a minute, I promise,” he said, desperation creeping into his voice. He could hear your labored breathing through the comms, and it was tearing him apart.

“Steve…” Your voice was faint, each word a struggle.

“Hmm?” he replied, trying to sound reassuring despite the dread clawing at his chest.

“Are the comms… still being recorded?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew what you were doing, and he hated it. “Yes, kiddo, if there weren’t any changes to the plans, it’s on record.”

You exhaled shakily, the breath catching in your throat. There was only one person you needed to reach out to. “Buck…”

As soon as Steve heard the name, he knew the weight of what you were about to say. Even after four years of being together, Bucky’s name still brought shivers to your spine, thick with emotion.

“If by any chance you get to listen to this, Buck—”

“Y/N, kiddo, no, you’re not dying. I won’t let that happen.”

“You don’t know that…” Your voice was helpless, a reflection of your dwindling strength.

“Just stay there. I’m on my way. Please, don’t give up on us.”

But a part of Steve knew this might be your last moment. It was an instinct, a gut-wrenching feeling that he couldn’t shake. So he didn’t stop you from saying what you needed to.

“If you get a chance to listen to this…” You fought to keep your eyes open, tears mingling with the blood on the cold metal floor. Your mind flashed with the future you had imagined—a life with Bucky, growing old together, watching your children grow up. “In another life, we might—maybe we could have grown old together.”

Steve’s heart clenched as your voice wavered. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing you, but he knew there was nothing he could do except listen.

“I wish I could have given you babies,” you continued, your voice cracking with emotion. “Watched them grow in our backyard… I’m sorry that I can’t be the one to give you that life.”

Your vision blurred as sleepiness started to consume you. You fought against it with everything you had, but the darkness was closing in. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry that this is how it ends for us… I’m really sorry.”

“And if this is how it really ends… Promise me you’ll find someone else to love, to open up to. Find someone else… Call someone else ‘doll.’ And don’t grieve too much.”

The darkness was overwhelming now. You felt it pulling you under, felt the life draining from your body as blood poured from your wounds. “You deserve to be happy… And the past doesn’t—doesn’t define you.”

Your last words were barely a whisper. “I… Love you, Buck. And I’m sorry I couldn’t say that more often.”

And then… silence. The darkness consumed you, and Steve heard nothing but the empty static of the comms. He refused to believe it, refused to accept that you were gone. He sprinted through the hallways, throwing open every door until he found you, lying motionless on the floor, your suit stained crimson with blood.

He scooped you up as if you weighed nothing, his legs pumping with every ounce of energy he had left. The jet’s engines hummed steadily, but inside the cabin, chaos reigned. Steve knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he assessed your injuries. The bullets had done their damage—one near your heart, another through your stomach, and the last through your left arm. Blood pooled beneath you, soaking through your suit.

“Kiddo, hang in there, please,” Steve murmured, his voice tight with fear. He grabbed the medical kit from the overhead compartment, spilling its contents across the floor. His hands worked quickly, tearing open a pack of gauze and pressing it firmly against the wounds. The bleeding was relentless, and he knew he needed to act fast to save your life.

You were pale, your breathing shallow and irregular. It was a miracle you were still breathing at all. Steve knew he had to stabilize you before they landed, or you wouldn’t make it. His mind raced through the limited medical training he had received—enough to get through emergencies, but nothing like this.

He fumbled with an IV kit, his hands shaking as he tried to insert the needle into your arm. Your veins were fragile, but after what felt like an eternity, he got it in. He attached a bag of saline solution, knowing it was only a temporary measure.

“Stay with me, kiddo. Buck won’t be so happy about this,” Steve whispered, his voice trembling. Your pulse was faint, but still there. He applied more pressure to the wound, checking if you were breathing again. It was labored, but there were no signs of a collapsed lung, thank God.

He grabbed the portable oxygen mask and gently placed it over your mouth and nose, adjusting the flow to give you the support you desperately needed. Your chest rose and fell slightly more steadily—a small victory amid the chaos.

With one hand still applying pressure to the wound, Steve fumbled with the jet’s communications system. “Friday, please check if the team is ready for immediate surgery.”

“Yes, sir. Mr. Stark has everything prepared, and Dr. Cho is on standby.”

“Can you connect me directly to Tony?”

“Connecting now, sir.”

“Cap, how is she?” Tony’s voice crackled through, tense with concern.

“I think I stabilized her. We’re landing in three minutes, max. Thank God this jet has autopilot, or else… she wouldn’t have made it.”

Tony was silent for a moment. It wasn’t the time for pride or self-congratulation. He was kicking himself for not being more cautious, for not having medics onboard, for underestimating the mission. You were the youngest, the brightest member of the Avengers, and he couldn’t bear to lose you.

Steve checked the wound again. The bleeding had slowed, but it hadn’t stopped. He packed the wound with more gauze, securing it tightly. You needed a blood transfusion, surgery—everything he couldn’t provide here. All he could do was keep you stable until they landed.

“Tony, do me one favor,” Steve said, his voice thick as he wiped the blood from your cheeks. “Please… Don’t let Bucky see her like this. He won’t be able to handle it.”

But Tony’s response was firm. “Sorry, Cap. James already knows. He’s waiting at the airbase. And he has the right to see her.”

Steve nodded, though his heart ached at the thought. “Okay, Tony, thanks… We’re almost there.”

The jet descended, the lights of the airbase coming into view. Steve cradled you close, whispering words of comfort that he wasn’t sure you could hear. “We’re going to make it, kiddo. Just hold on a little longer.”

As the jet landed, the hatch opened to reveal Tony, Dr. Cho, and Bucky. Bucky’s face was ashen, his eyes wide with fear as he took in the sight of you. Steve gently handed you over to Dr. Cho and her team, who rushed you to the medical bay. Bucky stood frozen, staring at the blood that covered Steve’s hands and suit.

“She’s alive, Buck,” Steve said softly, his voice raw with exhaustion. “But she needs you now more than ever. Don’t lose hope.”

Bucky nodded, swallowing hard. He couldn’t speak, couldn’t think beyond the sight of you lying there so still. He followed the team as they wheeled you into surgery, praying with everything he had left that you would survive this.

THANK YOU FOR READING!

THERE’S GOING TO BE A PART 2 by Sunday

Part 2 is up y’all

[hothammies]

the party leader, mike wheeler - apoc au character details + poll under the cut!

---

mike's role in the party:

a scouter - essentially plans runs, checks areas first to ensure safety, and directs the runners during supply runs

assigns basic survival chores at the beginning of each day (laundry, boiling water, patrol, hunting, etc.)

is the "face" of the party -> always the one to negotiate with people of other groups

even though the party likes to give him shit for being kind of rude and bossy about how he talks to them in "leader" mode - they always hang onto his every word! they love and respect him deeply

kind of like a tired dad whenever he's not fighting with someone else -> basically watches over everyone to make sure they're okay

would never hesitate to do something deplorable to protect the party: family first

skills + hobbies:

considered the designated driver (along with max): nancy taught him when he was younger. he was scared about being useless due to his inability to shoot and aim guns so nancy helped him find something useful. max teaches him how to drive manual so that he can drive her muscle car (its how they get over their distaste for each other)

writes an entry in a journal that he stole every day! he lets will doodle in the margins of the paper :)

loves to read whatever's around - particularly interested in history, sci-fi, and old journals from people before the apocalypse (reads them with dustin and el -> they are nosy as hell and live for the drama)

great at using machetes and hatchets -> do NOT let this boy shoot a gun. he will accidentally hurt you and himself

good at fixing up guns and navigating - lucas (guns) and dustin (navigating) taught him :D

quirks / fun facts:

he likes to switch around the pins on his jacket a lot! the party find pins around to give to him (range from terrible to wearable)

since he's the only boy that likes to tie up his hair, max and el like to doll up and play around with his hair during their downtime

is very annoying and particular when it comes to doing survival chores (out of love) -> makes sure that the chores are divided equally among all of them and that no one gets the same chores twice in a row

--- other notes: mike was the first character i had in mind when thinking about this au (no surprise there) and the drawing of him sitting cross legged with a machete in his hand was the first ever "official" drawing i made for this :D i tried to make apoc mike similar to canon mike in terms of his temperament, his hero complex, his self-sacrificial tendencies, his inability to appropriately process his romantic feelings, his natural leadership and his personality. about mike's inability to use guns -> looking at mike's character dnd sheet, his dexterity is low and s1 mike wheeler cannot aim for shit either (see his rock throw). the reason he's most comfortable with machetes (and hatchets) is because of their versatility as both weapons and tools! just wanted to share because i think mike needed a nerf and him not being able to shoot guns is both in character and funny as hell to me i've had mike and will's char sheets done for a while and i really love the way they look :) i'm excited to post will's next! i'm working on the character sheets in batches of two, so which duo are yall most interested to see next? i'll work on them based on the poll results and post them next week at the earliest :) i'll prob also try out some concept designs for the demogorgon-like zombies sometime soon as well!

[spookierdeer]

OL EUA YUGQ G XGOYOT OT MXGVK PAOIK, OZ ZAXTY OTZU G MXGVK. NGVVE NGRRUCKKT! 🎃⚠️

(costume talk and yapping under the cut)

starting from back to the front:

stan and ford are handing out candy this year, stan dressed in his vampire costume and planning to scare kids and ford is wearing a mabel (turtleneck!) pumpkin sweater, about as festive as he's willing to dress up this year. ford was originally planning to hole himself up in his lab and work on data analysis or whatever nerd shit he has going on but stan invites him to help scare the hell out of kids. ford declines initially, better things to do, but after checking to see how stan's doing (badly), ford decides to help by bursting out of the bushes with a glowing laser gun, face cloaked in shadow. it's more fun than he expects or admits and he eventually fully joins stan.

soos and melody are trick or treating in a couple costume, soos as zelda and melody as link. melody wanted to cosplay link for awhile and you cannot convince me soos wouldn't jump at the chance to dress up as a badass anime elf princess who can fire lasers.

mabel, pacifica, and waddles are dressed as utena, anthy, and chu chu respectively. i have a headcanon that post working at the diner and slowly getting used to normal kid things, pacifica discovers anime. specifically shojo princess anime. she finds utena and loses her mind over it in private, with mabel eventually breaking down her walls and getting her to admit to the sin of liking anime. mabel gets pacifica to show her her favorites and mabel immediately insists they need to cosplay as utena and anthy for halloween, pacifica is a princess after all! (said in jest, but baby gay panic ensues on pacifica's end. mabel is pretty oblivious to her plight and doesn't realize why being pacifica's knight makes her feel so giddy until later on.)

dipper sees pacifica joining mabel as an excuse to flake out on trick or treating without being a total jerk, especially since they'll be joined by candy and grenda later. i know he's working on not trying to grow up too fast by the end of the series, but kids and teens are full of anxiety and doubts and i figure he would be pretty awkward about a lot of things still, even after learning otherwise. wirt doesn't want to dress up since the previous halloween ended with him in the unknown then waking up in the hospital, but greg still wants to go trick or treating. dipper tags along to help babysit greg despite it not really being necessary, wirt's just glad to have someone to chat with while he takes greg, especially someone who doesn't leap to finding him strange. greg is going as a ghost elephant and wirt assumes it's just the weird kid tradition of layering costumes over the years, but greg's logic is that he "died" as an elephant last year so now the elephant is a ghost. if wirt heard this he would probably end up freaked out, but kids are often more aware of things than expected. dipper is wearing wendy's hat since she traded with him at the end of the series.

putting wirt and greg in there could feel a little random, but these are my two favorite shows to watch during autumn and i associate them with each other. plus, it's otgw's ten year anniversary and it's so perfectly halloween, i think it makes enough sense to put them together. idk i love joy and whimsy, i am cringe and i am free.

i initally wanted to include other characters, candy, grenda, and wendy for sure but i was also considering coraline, wybie, and norman. felt way too complicated so maybe i'll draw something with those characters some other time.

[lavenderlacedquill]

Angst idea: Will and Y/N are working on an investigation together and she gets seriously hurt. Since they had a heated argument before, she tries to hide her injuries but eventually feels dizzy due to the blood loss and he gets startled and rushes to help her.

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ 𝐁𝐮����𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐖𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐬 ˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚

Pairing: Will Graham x Reader

Trigger Warnings!: Blood, injury, guns

This request has been sitting in my drafts for WEEKS waiting until I could properly dedicate time to it. This angst piece was so fulfilling to write and I hope it was everything you hoped it would be!

Will Graham Masterlist <3

Navigation Page <3

✧˖°

“No, absolutely not!” Will’s voice rang through Jack’s small office on desperate ears. His eyes meet yours, filled with a sad craze as he directs his attention back to you. “You cannot seriously be considering this!”

Your heart lurches in your chest, because you completely understand where he is coming from. What Jack is asking from you is no small ask. Your eyes fall to the floor as a whisper leaves your lips hurriedly, “What other choice is there, Will? He’s going to keep killing unless it’s me who goes in.”

The man’s eyes whip to Jack’s, his hair ruffled from his stressed hands running through it. Will’s calloused palms run stressily over his face, covering his eyes as he speaks through them to the Agent. “I’ll do it,” He begins, desperation laced in every word because how could this really be on the table right now? “Please, Jack. Just let me go in instead. Do you know how dangerous this is going to be?”

Jack gives out a hefty sigh. This wasn’t an easy decision to come to. Putting you in a direct line of danger was not his first choice, but it’s the only way that he knows will draw out the unsub. The threats the FBI has received over the last few weeks were alarming, each one bigger than the last. You’re the one he wants, and he won’t settle for anything less. The perfect crime. 

“I need both Graham’s on this. End of story. I’m not going to let anything happen.” His measly attempt at reassuring the frazzled man before him doesn’t make a dent, but the Agent walks out of the office without another word, making intense eye contact with you just before the door closes. 

Your eyes dart from Will to the ground, your arms wound tightly around your middle as you sway softly where your feet have planted themselves. “I don’t like this either, Will. But we have a job to do.”

You hear the soft padding of his footsteps for only a moment before his arms find their way around you, taking you into a soft and protective hold, almost like he’s shielding you from an invisible force. His stubbled cheek meets your temple as his rough whisper sounds, “Using you as a pawn is never going to sit right with me. Jack doesn’t understand just how dangerous this is. He could-”

You step out of his hold quickly, cutting his words short, “I’ll be okay,” you begin, your hands coming up to hold Will’s face. “You’ll get to me before anything happens. Then it will all be over.”

The wheels in Will’s brain begin to turn, you can see it as his eyes almost begin to tremble in their sockets while he looks over you. He leans in, closing the small gap between you two, a soft kiss burning into your forehead for only a few seconds before he moves towards the door. 

It’s go time. 

............

The back of the unmarked van that Jack and Will are cramped in grows mustier as they both breathe, Will continuing to get more and more anxious as he waits for Jack’s queue to burst onto the scene. 

Your voice sounds in the headset he has practically pasted to his ears, but all seems to go quiet for only mere seconds as the weight of this entire fucked situation hits Will. You’re in the hands of a killer. One that has murdered anyone that he could get his hands on that bears any resemblance to you. He’s got you. No vest. No gun. The FBI, Jack, handed you over willingly.

 Thank you for all of your notes. I looked forward to them everyday.

You did? Really? I was so scared you wouldn’t get them. 

I did. 

Your conversation with the unsub snaps Will out of his trance, Jack grabbing his arm as they both listen intensely to each word. He can hear you trying to keep your tone even as you speak to him, but he can hear its subtle tremble. You’re scared and it’s killing him. 

I’m sorry I had to kill the others. I didn’t want to, I swear. You’re just…perfect. Getting to you was impossible. 

Each word the unsub speaks grows sinister, his voice dropping to a whisper as he approaches you. The agents can’t see it, but he’s got you sat at his dinner table, your hands bound by a zip tie. Can’t let you get away from me now! 

Pictures of you litter the entire thing, moments you didn’t realize were a victim of watchful eyes. Moments of you coming and going from work, intimate moments you shared with Will in the safety of your own home, pictures of you changing in your bedroom. Pure terror has you paralyzed. Jack knew it was bad, so did Will. But no one could have prepared you for this. 

Beyond the table, the images cover the floor in a disgusting blanket, bloodied footprints gluing them to the linoleum below. The walls are covered in a layer of red haphazard writing, crucifixes hanging in any empty space. Every light socket is filled with a shattered bulb, the room dimming as the  evening sun begins to set. A stench of dead lingers in the air, thick and musty in each breath you force your body to take. 

WIll can hear your struggle from his headset, his eyes catching Jacks in a desperate attempt to get the go ahead to rush onto the scene. He just wants this to be over. 

Let’s take a field trip. I’ve got something to show you.

The agents hear your chair scrape against the floor, with only their imagination to guide them as a sliding door sounds through your mic. They hear you wince softly as you stumble and hit the ground. 

You silly girl! Always been so clumsy.

Will’s own breath begins to quicken as he grabs Jack's shoulder intensely. “We need to go in. Now.”

Crawford only sends him an intense glare before turning his attention back to the feed from your mic. He hasn’t gotten what he wants from the unsub yet, so interfering would only put you in more risk. 

You're dragged harshly by your arm as he pulls you up from the ground, a scrape on your side burning from air exposure, hot with running blood. The world seems to be closing in around you as he brings you to the edge of an empty swimming pool, the bottom completely covered in lit candles and splotched red splatters. He leans down, speaking directly into your ear. The disgusting heat of his breath spreads across the side of your face. 

You’re the last piece. My sacrifice to Him before I can finally ascend. 

You break at his words, everything feeling suddenly too real as you hear a gun cock just inches from your head soundtracked by his maniacal laughter. A quiet sob escapes you, sending a dagger through Will’s stomach as he hears you continue to break through your mic. He throws the headphones off, sending them clattering to the van floor as he straps on his vest, gun in hand. 

Jack tries to protest, but Will shrugs him off, opening the van door and jumping out. “It’s done!” He yells back at the agent, slamming the door behind him as he slowly treds across the street to the unsubs yard. A fence is all that blocks him from you as he approaches the backyard. 

Will listens carefully as the exchange continues between yourself and the man they’re trying to apprehend. 

It was always you, my dear! And now we can finally be His forever. 

The cold metal of the barrel meets a small patch of exposed skin on your stomach. You try to move away as best as you can, but the man only grips you harder, pressing the gun deeper into your belly. 

“Please! Please, you don’t have to do this!” You sob, any ounce of hope leaving you as the metal grows warm against your skin. He laughs behind you again, shaking your body as it only grows more intense. 

That’s where you’re wrong, silly thing. 

BANG….BANG

The gunshots sound through the air, leaving Will Breathless as he breaks through the fence. Only, who’s eyes he meets aren't the assailants, no, they’re Jack’s. His shock only takes over him for a moment before he hears a soft whimper emit from the ground, a pained cry he would recognise anywhere. 

Everything goes quiet at the sight before him. The unsub lays dead, facedown in the grass, his blood seeping into the dirt. The second gunshot, Will will deduce later, caused by Jack, who went around the other side of the house. But only a few feet away from him lays your trembling body, your hands desperately trying to hide your gushing wound. 

You almost look dead, your skin growing pale against the bright green grass, life slipping through your trembling fingers. 

Jack calls for medical as Will collapses onto the ground beside you, his own hands frantic as they try to remove yours from your stomach. “No no no no,” you call weakly beneath him, trying your best to conceal your wound from him, almost as if to undo it, “I’m ok-okay.” 

Tears trail down the raw skin of your cheeks as Will pries your hands away, peeling his own jacket hastily from his shoulders to press onto your wound, a pained cry escaping your throat at the pressure. 

“I know i know i know,” You feel Will’s palm wipe the tears from your eyes as he tries to comfort you amidst the pain, his head dipping down to rest his forehead on your own, “I’m sorry, baby. I know.”

“I-it hurts” your lips quivering at the admission. Your form begins to tremble in his hold, blood loss weighing heavily on you. Jack watches as his fellow Agent begins to break above you, his own shoulders beginning to shake. He hears the distant calls of an ambulance, rushing to the street to guide them back to you.

“Stay with me,” Will moves to pull you into his lap, holding you still from your shakes to prevent any jostling of your wound. Your head rests in the crook of his neck as his palms continue to press into your middle, warm blood covering his hands. “Please. Stay awake for me. You’re going to be okay.”

He pulls your head from his neck as he speaks, eyes searching yours for any sign, but he only finds you teetering between consciousness. Your head lulls back to its spot, a soft cry of Will’s name leaving you before he feels you go limp against him. 

“JACK!” The broken man cries, gripping your body to his, as if he could pass some of his life into you in this moment. His lips find your temple, kissing you softly, like you’re one crack away from breaking into millions of pieces. 

Somewhere in the mix, paramedics arrive, peeling your tattered body from Will’s hold, his begs of them to be careful and gentle with you are heard by every official on sight. 

They strap you onto the gurney, loading you up into the back of the ambulance before eagerly preparing for departure. You needed a hospital, and you need one now. 

The paramedic signals for Will to load himself into the back of the vehicle, knowing that he won’t respond well to having to travel separately, but before he can step inside, Jack’s hand grabs his shoulder. 

“Will, I’m-”

“Don’t.” The man shoots back, red eyes intentionally dodging Jacks before the door is closed between them. 

Will settles in on the small bench inside of the ambulance, his hand holding yours in his own. Your skin has begun to cool, your color drained as the paramedics begin working. His grip tightens over every bump in the road. 

5 minutes passed before he felt it, the softest grip your own hand returned to his. He is immediately on alert, leaning closer to your form as he watches your eyes open against the bright lights of the ambulance. 

You groan at their brightness, your voice hoarse as you try to call for Will, confusion laced within as you take in the unfamiliar surroundings. He hears the fear in your voice, immediately answering and bringing your hand to his lips. “I’m right here with you,” he whispers chokingly, his free hand coming up to rest on your cheek. 

Your head whips around to meet his gaze, relief dawning on your form at the sight of him. Will’s stomach pangs at the sight of tears welling up in your tired eyes, lip quivering as you look at him with intense fear. 

He feels your weight shift as you lean your head against his knee, his own adorned with a messy mop of curls coming down to rest on yours carefully. “Will,” you hushedly sob, his soft lips meeting your forehead in response. 

“I’ve got you, I promise” 

✧˖°

AAA THIS ANGST PIECE WAS SO DIFFERENT!! I hope you guys enjoyed <3

The gif I used is from a set made by the lovely @hughdancybabyface

My request box is currently open, lovelies! Feel free to drop a request in there (or just Hannibal chitter chatter) just please read my guidelines first :)

[mokulule]

The Number You Have Called Cannot Be Reached (Catnip) - part 10

First| Masterlist

It was near noon. Tim was in civilian dress outside of Jason’s door. He took at deep breath. Worrying did not help. It did not help to think about the fact that Jason had pointed a gun at Bruce last night. That he had looked very close to pulling the trigger.

It wasn’t that Tim hadn’t noticed something was up with Jason. Of course he’d noticed, a blind man would have noticed. But this was Jason, something was regularly up with Jason. And like when wasn’t his relationship with Bruce strained? Basically never? 

But things had been getting better. Jason had stopped crime-lording, left that to his lieutenants, who as long as they followed the rules, operated relatively unmolested in Crime Alley. It worked. He kept apart, but he was on the same comms as them. He helped out if there was trouble. He cared, they all knew he did. Even if things were still hard. 

It was a bit back and forth but generally the relationship between the bats and Red Hood had been getting better - like the overall trend, Tim had a graph. There was a prognosis that Jason may join them for Sunday dinners in a couple of years. So it was not so weird that Jason had been drawing back, Tim had assumed that was just some of the regular fluctuation that happened now and again. 

But this?

Jason pointing a gun at Bruce?

That was more than just a fluctuation! That was something else, and it all lead back to Jason meeting the Ghost about 5 weeks ago. Jason had been odd that night, there had been something uncertain, hesitant, about him. Tim had brushed it off at the time, there could be any manner of reason for Jason to act a bit off, guilt being the obvious one. Jason for all his gruffness did not like accidental violence, his violence had a purpose and was doled out to those he deemed deserving. 

At one point that had been Tim. 

That thought sat heavy in his chest as he took another deep breath. 

Was he the best person to do this? No, probably not. But someone needed to do it. Dick was on a Justice League mission halfway around the world. Cass would probably have been safest, least likely to piss Jason off, but Tim couldn’t outsource this. Tim needed to talk to Jason, to assess him himself. 

Finally, heart steeled, he knocked on the door. 

There was movement inside, footsteps coming to the door. There was a rumble in his pocket. He pulled it out and looked at the text:

You should not be here.

Tim scowled at the door. “I am not leaving. I need to talk to you.”

There was a moment of silence that dragged. Tim would wait out here all day if he had to, he was stubborn like that and Jason knew it, which is why eventually the sound of the locks turning reached him. Tim carefully kept the victory out of his face. 

Jason didn’t meet his gaze as he let him in and locked the door behind him. He didn’t bother to reset the traps. Instead he padded barefoot over to the kitchen counter.

“Coffee?” He asked, voice scratchy.

Tim didn’t respond immediately eyes too busy following the small trail of blood Jason left behind where he stepped. 

“Tim?” His eyes snapped up, meeting Jason’s tired eyes. 

“You know me,” Tim finally responded weakly. Jason looked… sick, was probably the best word. He was pale, the bags under his eyes so dark they looked bruised. His hair was unwashed and there was something about the weariness in his posture that made him look small in his loose t-shirt and sweatpants. 

Something about the image deeply alarmed Tim and he retreated with a, “I’ll just use the bathroom real quick.”

He noticed the crunch under his shoes even before he saw the broken mirror over the sink; that explained why Jason’s feet were bleeding. Fuck. He sank down onto the closed lid of the toilet and put his head in his hands. This was so much worse than he’d thought. Tim could handle anger, not whatever that was.

“Fuck,” he repeated his earlier thought, quietly and emphatically. Then stood, flushed and washed his hands, to keep up appearances - for something to do. Stalling didn’t help.

He walked back out to find Jason sitting at the small kitchen table with two cups of coffee, one of them placed in front of the empty seat across from him.

Tim sat down and picked up the mug with both hands. He sniffed the rich aroma before taking a sip, Jason had great coffee.

“What do you want, Tim?”

Tim looked up and opened his mouth to reply, something, a deflection, but Jason didn’t let him.

“You’re obviously not here for my sake, so cut to the chase.”

Tim’s mouth clapped shut and his lips thinned. Outrage burst in his chest at the implication that he didn’t care. But Jason was right. He wasn’t here to check on Jason for his sake, he was here to assess him. To make sure what happened last night would not happen again. He was there for them, for the mission, not for Jason. 

Jason was right and it stung. 

Well far be it for Tim to further try to delude them both. 

“I need you to stay away from the Ghost.”

“Like Hell!” Jason snarled jumping to his feet, and there was the Jason Tim had expected, and he held the instinctive fear in an iron grip, not letting it reach his face. There was only a tiny tremble as he brought the cup back up to his lips.

Jason paced. Then turned on Tim, eyes with just a hint of the green they didn’t talk about.

“You cannot bench me,” he spat.

“I’m not. I’m asking you, Jason.” Tim carefully set down the cup.

Jason frowned and this was the one chance Tim had to convince him, he had to make it count.

“He disappears as soon as you get within 20 yards of him. I will figure out a way to capture him, but I cannot do that when he keeps disappearing. I need you to hang back.”

Jason was wavering, his hands clenching and unclenching.

“Please.” Finally Jason sighed and the weariness was back, he sat back down heavily. Leaning his head on his hand he spoke quietly, “he needs help, Tim.”

Tim didn’t know what made Jason so certain of that, but Jason didn’t know what Tim suspected either, what the ghost could be building. 

“But first he needs to be stopped.”

There was a long moment of silence...

“I’ll hang back.”

“Thanks.”

-

Taadaa! The misery continues... Things will be coming to a head soon, I don't know if you can feel it? I just have to write a small Danny POV, and then Tim coming up with the plan and then we'll get into it, it's exciting.

If you wanna subscribe to the story you can do so here

Update: next

[velvetm00light]

Taken

gif: pinterest dividers: @benkeibear, @mariariley, @haerinism

Chapter Two of Save Me

Previous Chapters: one

Word Count: 3.7k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Summary: You and your team at the BAU come to the disturbing realization that you're the final target of a brutal serial killer. Without any leads, your team determines you need to be the one to draw him out. As you sit alone in your apartment for hours, on edge, you can't help but want your coworker, Spencer, to be there with you. But, is your little crush enough to get you through the upcoming torture?

Warnings: Mentions guns, sexual assault, murder, serial killer, torture, stalking, physical harm, kidnapping, fear. In future parts, will mention vivid torture, PinV, oral, domxsub situations, grief, bondage, physical harm, etc.

A/N: I'm actually enjoying writing this soo much. I hope you all are enjoying reading it! I'm going to write the next chapter in both (y/n) POV and Spencer's POV, so I'll probably post both at the same time!

YOU CAN'T HELP BUT fidget in your seat at the round table as the rest of the team takes their seats and waits for Hotch's word to begin. You couldn't bring yourself to be in the same room as them as they discussed different ways for you to lure him out, unable to listen and play out those possible scenarios out in your head. Spencer at first fought against your wishes for him to discuss with the team, but all you could do was look into his sad eyes with yours and tell him, "I need someone who is going to fight for me. I trust that you will know when enough is enough." He stopped fighting then and did as you requested.

He was the first to arrive back at the round table, immediately taking the seat next to yours, not even hesitating to give you his hand. You took it greedily, needing any kind of human contact to keep your mind grounded, bonus points because it was him.

"Let's get started." Hotch announced, and you noticed that no one would meet your gaze directly as your eyes wandered to your friends around the table. Your heart sank into your stomach and you had a feeling the discussion they had was a hard one. You can't imagine it being easy for your friends to discuss the best way to capture a brutal serial killer by using your life without actually endangering it.

"(Y/), tonight you're going to go home as normal. We have to assume he watches your every move so he cannot know that we're aware of you being his final target. We obviously will not leave you unguarded, Rossi and I will sit down the street from your apartment, Morgan and Reid will sit in the back of the parking lot so they can see anyone who exits and enters. If he's not bold enough to do anything tonight, we will simulate a day of errands for you, each of us posted where you go."

A chill runs down your spine. It's hard to believe you're about to be sent home and expected to act completely normal. To sit in your apartment alone, just waiting for him to try to break down your door or draw you out.

"You'll let me know every hour how you're doing and call Morgan or Reid if you notice anything since they'll be closest. If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can send someone ahead of you to replace your apartment security guard so someone with a little more training is there."

"Yes, please. I think that'll help." You almost whine. The more you sit here, the less you want this conversation to end because you want to avoid going home at absolutely all costs right now. You know you can't push it off forever or else you risk other women's lives. Before the meeting ends, JJ meets your eyes. "I promise you, we will find him."

"We're going to get this sick son of a bitch," Morgan adds. The rest of the team chimes in and you feel grateful to being going through this with a support system by your side. It makes the tight knot in your stomach loosen a little, realizing that you know you're safe with them. You know your entire team would stay up for days on end to catch this guy, and wouldn't allow themselves a moment of relaxation knowing you're unable to sleep or feel safe in your own home.

Hotch sends an agent to your apartment before you to simulate security guards changing shifts. You hope this will be enough, but something deep in your stomach twists anyway.

Before Reid leaves with Morgan to get to your apartment before you, he pulls you into the kitchen - a public place, but with enough cover to make your body heat. The thought of getting caught doing something scandalous sends a shiver up your spine but you quickly chastise yourself. Your life is in danger, now is not the time for fantasies.

"Can I ask you to do something for me?" He asks softly, his face looks battered from stress and you're sure you look the same. "Of course."

"Can you text me too? To let me know you're safe."

"Of course I will." You try to give him your best smile, but it falls flat. His care is warming, but it's hard to feel anything other than absolute fear at the moment.

"You're going to be okay," he promises. He abruptly pulls you into an embrace and you waste no time relaxing into his chest. He smells of almond and lavender. You take a deep breath, trying to memorize the smell of him. Your embrace ends too quickly and he leaves you standing alone in the kitchen.

After a torturous drive home, you pull into the parking lot of your apartment. You quickly scan your surroundings, making sure to wait an extra moment before exiting the car to see if another car pulls in. You spot the car Reid described to you sitting in the corner in the back of the parking lot and you let out a relieved sigh. This whole situation is terrifying and ridiculous all at once. You remember Hotch's words and get out of your car, trying your best to act as if you aren't completely afraid for your life and you're not about to spend the entire night rechecking your door and window locks, making sure all your hidden guns are reachable and in place.

You pass the agent posed as a security guard and trying not to draw attention to yourself as you head down the left hall towards the elevator to your apartment. You would be out of your complete mind to take the stairs in this situation, but you're unsure if an elevator might actually be worse if he were to randomly enter it.

The elevator stops with a jolt and opens on your floor. You take a cautious peak out and check down the hallway left and right before exiting. You quickly make it to your apartment door, looking back to make sure there's no one in the hallway. If you're lucky, he might not know what exact apartment you live in, but then you realize with despair that if he's been watching you for however long, he could have easily seen you enter and exit your apartment multiple times.

You fumble with your keys as you try not to act panicked and open your door. You swiftly enter and lock it immediately behind you, making sure to lock the deadbolt and put the chain on as well. You loose a deep sigh and your eyes widen at the fact that you still might not be safe yet. You didn't even think about the fact that you'd have to check your apartment when you got here to make sure he wasn't already waiting for you.

You quietly pull the gun from the holster on your side and slowly work through your apartment, turning on every light and lamp possible, locking every single window you walk past, checking inside your bedroom closet, the kitchen pantry, the small storage closet just outside your bedroom, and even behind the shower curtain. Once you've decided that there's no possible place for him to hide, you finally feel your muscles relax. You place your gun back in your holster, unable to feel safe without it by your side.

You grab yourself a glass of water and some snacks and decide to stay in the living room. You're able to keep an eye on the door and balcony simultaneously. You don't risk turning the TV on or listening to music to relax you. You need to be at complete high alert until your team catches this son of a bitch.

Time goes by agonizingly slow as you try to keep yourself awake and entertained. A full pot of coffee sits on the counter for you to refill as the night goes on, although you're unsure if you'll even need it. The fear is enough to keep your blood pumping hard through you. You try to play card games with yourself and practice some card tricks Spencer taught you when you first joined the Bureau.

You aren't able to keep your attention on one task for too long, your fear pulling your eyes to scan every inch of the room. You decide to risk sneaking a peak through your balcony curtains. You look out from the side, just barely moving the fabric over so no one would notice a disturbance in the curtains from the outside. After deciding the coast is clear, you recheck the balcony door lock and do a walk through of your apartment once again, checking locks, hiding spots, your gun always close by.

The first hour passes and when your phone buzzes it just about makes you jump completely out of your skin. You reach into your pocket to pull it out and quickly read a text from Hotch, asking for an update. You reply to let him know that everything's normal so far, all possible access points are locked and you've gone through your entire apartment in intense detail.

You remember the promise you made Spencer and text him as well, basically explaining the same thing you told Hotch.

Me: im scared spence

Spencer: I know, that's okay. You're brave, remember?

Me: im trying really hard to be. i can't even turn on the TV or focus on anything long enough without getting worried im going to miss something and he's going to catch me off guard.

Spencer: You're the strongest person I know, don't let him control you. These offenders love control and making you feel helpless.

Me: he is controlling me though. i cant even imagine sleeping, im jumping at every car door being shut, every car horn from the street, every bug at my window. even if we catch him, will the fear ever go away?

The text bubble appears and disappears a few times. You start to wonder if maybe something happened, if they caught someone trying to get into your building when your phone buzzes in your hands.

Spencer: I think we both know the statistics. But, I promise that I will do everything I can do ease the fear and be there for you when it's too much.

You begin to get teary eyed at his promise. Never in your life have you felt cared for or protected. It was always kill or be killed and you fought for your life since you were a child, just trying to survive in a world destined to chew you up and swallow you.

Me: thank you spence. that means more to me than i think you'll ever understand. you mean more to me than you'll ever understand.

You set your phone down on the table next to you, feeling jittery after sending that text. You deleted it and rewrote it about 5 times, but if your life is in danger, why hold back? You also think about how he might try to profile you and believe you're forming an attachment to him due to trauma bonding or transference.

You let out an aggravated sigh and rub your face with your hands. This has complicated your life in just about every way possible and you promise yourself that if you ever get your hands on the man that feels like he can make you cower away, locked in your apartment, you'll make him regret it.

I pick my phone back up and when I see Spencer hasn't replied, I text again.

Me: have you guys seen or learned anything?

Spencer: Not yet. Few people have walked into the building but we're not legally allowed to deny people the right into their homes. You live on the third floor so hopefully that should deter him from your apartment.

Me: hope so. im not sure i could ever come back here and live my life without fear if he chooses here.

Spencer: That's understandable. I don't think he's prepared for his endgame just yet. But I'm also not sure he is disorganized enough to attempt to attack you in broad daylight in a public place like the grocery store.

Me: he abducted those other women in broad daylight in high traffic areas though and no one saw a thing.

Spencer: (Y/n), you're a federal agent. If he has an IQ that's at least half of mine, he would need extra planning. A damn good rouse to lure you away and that's only if he's confident we have no idea you're his target. Don't worry, okay? We will stay here all night for you.

Me: thank you..it helps to know you are here. i don't feel alone in this.

Spencer: You're never alone. Never again, (y/n).

Spencer: As much as I want to keep talking to you to make sure you're safe, I think it's best you focus on your surroundings. Deep breathing exercises actually trick your brain into thinking that you're relaxed and takes your body out of flight or fight.

Me: are those drs orders?

Spencer: Yes, now be a good girl and relax.

Your breath catches in your throat with his last text. It takes you aback at the pure brashness of it, something you weren't sure he was even capable of doing.

You do as commanded and you allow yourself to pull your legs up onto the couch, despite the impracticality of it in the sick chance he breaks into your apartment. You try your hardest to do breathing exercises you found on Google.

You are slightly surprised when your body begins to relax a bit and you feel less at edge. You don't allow yourself to completely let down your guard, but you welcome the slight relaxation of your muscles at least.

Minutes turn to hours and if you didn't have your phone to check the time, you would have thought days were passing by. All you've been able to do is stare at the ceiling when you're not making your routine patrols around your apartment. You feel as if you're starting to get a bit stir crazy.

You check in hourly with Hotch and Spencer, not allowing yourself too much of a distraction. But, as the hours tick by, your eyelids get heavier and heavier. You begin to lower your vigilant wall the tiniest bit. If he wanted to attack here wouldn't he have done so by now?

Me: im so tired.

Spencer: It's okay to sleep. It's highly recommended by every doctor, including me.

Me: alright smart ass. do you think he would've already tried something by now? the suns about to come up and it's been almost 12 hours.

Spencer: Go to bed. None of us are going to sleep so you're safe. You've been through a lot, you deserve some rest, even if it's just an hour.

Me: i guess youre right. ive got all my locks in place anyway and i guess i would probably hear if any glass broke but i dont know how anyone would expect to take an entire grown woman down 3 levels without risking being seen by using the stairs.

Spencer: You don't need to justify sleeping to me. You deserve the rest, no matter what. No justification needed.

Me: Thank you, Spence. ♡

Spencer: ♡

Still a bit weary, you decide to check the balcony and do your patrol once more before you allow yourself to relax. After determining the coast is clear, you decide to finally retire to your bedroom. You unhook your gun holster and lay it on your nightstand, making sure to keep it in reach in case.

You don't even bother changing out of your clothes as you finally climb into bed. You let out a small moan of relief and sleep consumes you almost instantly.

You're taken out of your sleep by a loud thud, confusion overtaking you for a few moments as you blink rapidly around the room, attempting to adjust your eyes to the daylight. You're frozen in fear as your vision clears and there's a gun pointed right to your face.

The man holding the gun is in a regular hoodie and jeans, seemingly normal. You reel your terror back as you hold your hands up in surrender, attempting to make him believe you're willing to do as he pleases in hopes he makes a mistake.

You eye the time on the clock on your nightstand, if you can only distract him for a little bit longer, Hotch will call you when he realizes you aren't replying to his hourly check in and they'll come up here and save your ass.

All your able to do is stare at your attacker and stay completely still. You rack your brain for the best possible thing to say to get him to deescalate or at least lower the gun. "What's your name?"

"My name?" He questions, tilting his head to the side. You thought he might be put back by the question, instead he seems to have gained a confidence your profile suggested he was close to growing into. You suppose he must have had some new found confidence to be able to sneak past multiple undercover agents, and into a room on third floor with all doors and windows locked. He makes no move to lower the gun and no attempt to answer your question.

"How did you get in?" You ask as calmly as possible, hoping he made a mistake that way at least. Maybe your team was already outside, discussing how to play it to where he surrenders. You realize your luck as probably fallen short at the way a wicked smile spreads across his face.

"Do you not want to talk?" You try again. The blog posts he made about you play over in your head. You're hoping he takes the bait.

"Don't you think it's a little late to talk?" The gun stays unwavering in your face.

"What do you mean?"

The smile falls from his face and if you were in a cartoon, you can almost bet smoke would come out of his ears.

"What do I mean? You know what I mean!" He roars, shaking the gun angrily around. You decide to take this as your opportunity now that the gun isn't pointing towards you.

You release your leg from under the covers and kick as hard as you can muster into his abdomen. He reels back and you stumble out of bed and attempt to retrieve the gun on your nightstand when you realize it's no longer there. You spin around in time for his fist to connect with your jaw, knocking you off your feet, your knees barking as they connect with the hardwood.

You sweep out his legs from under him, sending him to the floor along with you. You spot his gun laying on your bedroom floor, right next your dresser, which unfortunately, he is right in front of. Before you can think to hesitate, you're up on your feet and lunging for the gun.

Before you're able to reach it, he grabs you by the collar of your shirt and swings you around and slams you into the wall. The breath clears your lungs and all you can do is fall to the ground on once more.

Blood from somewhere, you assume your face, drips onto the polished floor below you. You attempt to play the defeated victim, hoping it draws him close enough for you to catch him by surprise.

His heavy feet slam against your floorboards until he is right in front of you, gun completely abandoned on the floor. He grips your neck with a strong hand and lifts you to your feet. When he brings your face to his, you spit blood into his eye, causing him to drop you.

You use the few moments you gave yourself to at least make it out of your bedroom, grab a knife or one of your hidden guns, anything to give you the upper hand against a man twice your size and strength.

"Bitch!" He roars, wiping furiously at his eyes as you scramble with the door to your bedroom. You swing it open and lunge towards the closet gun you can think of when you see the open compartment, your gun missing from it.

"You think I don't know every single detail about your life, (y/n)?" He laughs from behind you as you're frozen in the middle of your living room. "I've been waiting for a long time, (y/n). Do you like the presents I left you? I figured I'd show you what I would do to you."

"You have an odd perception of the word present." You deadpan. You scramble to come up with a solution. All your guns are gone, if you run to the kitchen you better hope to hell he doesn't shoot you first or get there before you. "What do you want?"

"You." He smiles, and before you can react he's on you again. As you fight tooth and nail against his raging grasp, you hear your phone begin to ring. You allow hope to bubble in your chest, just a few more minutes, you say to yourself. They'll save me.

When you finally think you have the upper hand on him, he lands a fist to your temple that throws you to the carpet. Your vision spins as you attempt to crawl anywhere but where he is. You feel his laugh in your bones and you can tell he is taking his time taking in his win and the power it gives him. Your sight becomes blurry and you fight as hard as you can against it. But, all you seem to have the strength for is to watch blood spill from your mouth and the wounds on your face, onto the carpet of your living room. You gather enough strength to at least look your attacker in the face and deny him as much of the power he craves as you can. "I'm not afraid of you," you whisper. Your throat feels tight, and it's almost impossible to swallow. You spit blood onto your carpet as you try to relieve the pressure in your throat.

"You should be," is the last thing you hear before you see his boot come down towards your head and the world turns black.

[ivystoryweaver]

No One Like You - Poe Dameron

Poe + Horseback riding

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Poe Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Okay so, this ficlet is a "deleted scene" from my unwritten "Poe crash lands to Earth" story I'm pretending will be posted in Poevember. For that reason, you will discover the slightest slivers of angst surrounding that concept, but I promise it's fluff.

Word count: 1.3k (technically not a ficlet, oh well!) || for @virtie333

Darkness faltered as the last stars danced against its covering canopy. Robins chirped dawn's arrival, their song scattering night's hold over the earth.

Booted footfalls fell on damp soil, carrying you out to the stables, where two magnificent animals waited for your attention eagerly.

Poe Dameron watched as you nuzzled your forehead against the fairer one, stroking gently and whispering, "Good morning, sweet girl."

The darker, redder horse beside her let out a slightly annoyed squeal, which made you chuckle before granting her equal attention, speaking so softly, Poe could barely hear you.

Polishing off the rest of his caf - or coffee, as Earthlings called it - Poe set his ceramic mug down, hoping to be of some use.

Weeks had passed since he'd come to be here with you - since his X-wing spun out of control, through a black hole to a galaxy far, far away. It took the two of you almost a week to successfully hide his nearly obliterated ship on your farm and make up a cover story, should anyone come knocking.

It also took quite a lot of convincing for Poe to believe that there was no one on Earth who could help repair his ship - not without drawing the kind of attention that would get him locked up or put under a microscope.

So, he decided to trust you.

You gave him a bed in your spare room, two warm meals a day, and in return, he helped out on your small farm. He wasn't sure how he could ever get home, but this place wasn't so bad, for now.

"Are there horses where you're from?" You asked Poe a bit later, brushing the coat of your sweet Annabelle.

"There were animals called orbaks one one of the moons of a planet called Endor. And I think there are your kind of horses on its forest moon. Never seen those myself, though," Poe explained, gesturing toward your animal.

A warm smile brightened your face. "So did you ever ride an orbak?"

"No," he cockily grinned. "I was too busy flying my X-wing. My best friend rode one in battle though. It was - what do you say? ‘Badass.’”

Giggling at the colloquialism, you finished brushing Annabelle's mane and reached for the fly spray. "I cannot believe you've been in actual battles. In space. You must think Earth is so boring."

He shrugged one shoulder. "Earth has wars, right? Battles, soldiers? It's the same thing."

"True, but no laser guns and laser swords and powerful wizards and talking furry...what did you call Chewbacca?"

"A Wookiee," Poe chuckled.

After spraying Annabelle, you fed her a quick treat and saddled her. "You be nice to Poe, sweet girl," you instructed her affectionately. "He's new to this."

"Are you sure you don't want to ride her?" Poe politely asked you. "I can try the other one."

You glared at him half-jokingly. "I promise you do not want to ride Arzola. She's not for newbies."

Dark eyebrows shot up at the challenge. "You know, I can fly anything."

"Fly, sure. Ride?" Pulling your bottom lip between your teeth, you winked at him. "Leave the riding to me."

Poe Dameron had never backed down from a challenge in his life, and two in a row had just been laid before him.

Arzola. And you.

"Her loss," he playfully shrugged, carefully approaching the moodier chestnut. "You don't know what you're missing, sweetheart."

"Are you flirting with my horse?" You swatted his arm with a pretend huff.

Trapping your hand against his bicep with incredible reflexes, his eyes locked with yours before momentarily flickering down to your lips. "Not with her."

Arzola nudged her way between the two of you protectively, breaking your temporary trance.

Clearing your throat, you nodded toward her saddle. "Come on, I'll show you how to do this."

Soon enough, you and Poe guided Arzola and Annabelle, respectively, out for an early morning ride.

As expected, Poe was a natural and quickly took command of Annabelle, showing no signs of nervousness and forming an instant bond with her. He seemed so good at it, you almost felt a mildly jealous pang at how she warmed to him. He'd tried out Annabelle a couple times, on quick walks around the paddock, but this was the first real ride.

Sunlight spilled over the horizon, illuminating the path before you, inviting you to rush headlong to where light kissed the earth.

You clicked twice, urging Arzola ahead into a full run, which Annabelle immediately followed.

Poe, of course, accepted the challenge and gave Annabelle a gentle squeeze with his legs. “Come on, sweetheart.”

Annabelle neighed out an affirmation, galloping ahead of the competition. Arzola possessed fiery spirit in spades, but Annabelle's legs were longer, and she preferred to think of herself as the favorite.

"That's my girl," Poe bellowed out a joyful laugh as crisp autumn air whipped through his curls, tossing them carelessly around his forehead. He chanced a look at you, flashing you a devastating grin, dark eyes bright and reddened by the sun's kiss, almost a twin color to Arzola's coat.

This was closest you'd come to seeing him in action, aside from a few projects he'd attempted with a hammer around the farm, and you had to admit, it was a good look on him.

Despite the joy surging through you at the chance to take both your girls out for a run, and with Poe, no less, you still possessed a competitive streak of your own.

With a powerful command you'd probably come to regret, you granted Arzola the permission she was impatiently waiting for, to run top speed and catch the stranger riding her adoptive sister.

Despite the vigor and exertion involved with riding a horse at a full gallop, the look on Poe's face as he stared out over the horizon could be considered nothing short of pure peace.

The two of you slowed and finally brought your animals to a stop. After walking them for a few minutes, you offered them a drink from a hose and trough near a ramshackle tool shed at the far end of your property.

You and Poe sat down on the creaky old steps leading up to the door, taking a moment to have a drink yourselves while the sun finally climbed all the way to full daylight.

"Thanks for this," he softly uttered, turning to gaze at your profile.

Although you felt him staring, you couldn't bring yourself to meet his eyes.

"You're welcome." Finishing off your water bottle, you glanced over at your horses. "Annabelle likes you. Really likes you. She usually can't be bothered to race Arzola."

"Why is that?"

"She's just gentle. She must've had a good reason to challenge her," You explained with a knowing wink.

Poe beamed proudly, following your gaze over to the magnificent creatures. "They're amazing animals. I know it doesn't make sense, but Arzola reminds me of BB-8 a little bit."

"Of a robot?" You scoffed. "For real?"

"A droid," Poe corrected. "Believe me, they can have spirit."

"He must be wonderful," you sympathized, knowing he was separated from the little guy.

Poe ran a hand over the stubble on his chin, eyes dipping as he contemplated a life so far away from everything he'd ever known.

Swallowing, he bravely scooted a little closer to you, meeting your eyes with the openness and sincerity you'd come to expect from him.

"He would be really happy to know that I met someone like you. Someone who helped me. Protected me."

Your lip trembled slightly under his intensity. You'd never met a man like him in your life. There couldn't possibly be anyone like him, at least not on this planet.

Laying your hand gently over his, you spoke from your heart. "I know you didn't plan on any of this, but I'm happy I met you, Poe."

Fall Fluff Masterlist | Poe Masterlist | Main Masterlist

[phantomrose96]

Astounding. Incredible. Deeply, deeply horrifying. Incredible and it will be haunting me for at least the next 72 hours minimum. 10/10 sending it to everyone I know.

Reading the first time I fully did not register how much of a literal chekov's gun the disintegrator was. Made me think way to deeply on what is required for Danny to regenerate. Does it require at least a certain amount of flesh 'intact'? Cells? Molecules? Is it that so long as there is a single atom of his being around he will slowly and horrifically rebuild himself? What would happen if he did switch back? Would he briefly feel the incomprehensible pain of every scattered atom of his being or would it go to fast for him to comprehend the pain? Is he even able to fall unconscious when his body is injured that badly or does his being keep him awake at all costs as a self preservation method?

Anyways this is deeply terrifying and will now live happily next to Nothing Remains and Under Moonlight and all the other fan fics you've written traumatizing this poor, poor dead teenager.

(I've also spent way to long thinking about what comes after the end. What do you do with your friends exposed lung and vocal cords and mouth while he slowly regenerates? It's not like they could just leave him on the golf course screaming. But where could they put him that no one would hear? The thermos? The ghost zone? Hope that Vlad has something that could help?)

10/10 fic I'm chewing drywall thank you for writing this amazing piece!

(Prometheus)

JKDSNKJDSJKNDSJKNSD THANK YOU!!!!

I fully did not register how much of a literal chekov's gun the disintegrator was.

YEAH!!! I wanted there to be something that acted as a through-line in the story. I wanted Maddie and Jack's appearance near the end to be sudden and surprising and scary but not "out of nowhere." Carrying the gun through the story served that purpose so well because like, it's gaudy enough to capture people's attention, but it's also easily dismissed as background shenanigans... until it's not.

And the Disintegrator gets to evolve with the tone shift. It's some goofy combobulation Jack uses to blast fish out of a lake at the start. And then he tinkers with it. And it becomes this thing he can shoulder and point at Danny and draw a genuine fear response from his son (even if Jack had no intention of firing. And Danny is in no real danger) And then it becomes the thing he draws on his son with every intention of firing...

The damn thing even gets to be ripped to pieces and put back together over the course of the story. Danny brushing away loose nuts and bolts of the half-deconstructed Fenton Disintegrator while his liver stitches itself back together. But that's probably nothing :)

What is required for Danny to regenerate. Does it require at least a certain amount of flesh 'intact'? Cells? Molecules? Is it that so long as there is a single atom of his being around

YEah and this is absolutely part of the horror element to me. Danny doesn't know. He doesn't know how much is enough and how far-gone is too far gone. From my word of god, it's his ghost core that the reconstruction happens around (which is not a physical thing). So it at least means every cell is not about to spawn a new Danny (sorry no Under Moonlight angst here). But Danny doesn't know. And how can you tolerate gambling your life over and over and over with a mechanism you cannot understand?

Is he even able to fall unconscious when his body is injured that badly or does his being keep him awake at all costs as a self preservation method?

Yes. There is a ghost-amount of consciousness he's clinging to, which if he loses his grip on would result in him dying. ...Unless it doesn't. :) Danny doesn't know. Danny can't know. Danny cannot risk finding out. Because if he risks it, and he's wrong, he'll die. What's really the difference between "this will kill me" and "I THINK this will kill me, and the only way I can ever know for sure is to do it"? The difference only matters if Danny's made the decision he'd rather die.

I've also spent way to long thinking about what comes after the end

Nothing good. Nothing good. And consider how absolutely traumatizing it is for Sam, Tucker, and Jazz. They find Danny like this and they can do absolutely nothing while organs of himself scream. And this has been ~7 hours since the run in with the Disintegrator. Danny has only barely regenerated, starting from absolutely Nothing. It could be another 24 hours. Another 48. Before he's done. And he's required to stay conscious the whole time. He was desperately sleep-deprived already and now he needs to remain awake through this all because if he passes out with organs missing, he's done for. (Or he might be done for, and he cannot know for certain unless he takes that monumental gamble).

So what do Sam Jazz and Tucker even do. What do you even do? You can't leave him. God no you can't leave him. But you can't move him. You can't talk to him. You can't help him. You can't leave him. Do you sit in the snow? Do you sit for 24 hours watching screaming flesh grow back together? How ungodly long must 24 hours of that be? Will it ever stop screaming?

[reythenerdypisces]

things that I overlooked in PJO the first time / small, funny things I noticed during my reread

Part 3: The Titan's Curse

The truth was I was kind of disappointed to hear that she liked her new school so much. It was the first time she'd gone to school in New York. I'd been hoping to see her more often.

I tried to concentrate on little things, like the crepe-paper streamers and the punch bowl - anything but that fact that Annabeth was taller than me, and my hands were sweaty and probably gross, and I kept stepping on her toes.

"The General?" I asked. Then I realised I'd said it in a French accent. "I mean... who's the General?" I want this part to be in the show

"Sweet! Let's go! [to CHB]" said Nico. this breaks my heart. he was so excited in this book

Tyson thought Annabeth was just about the coolest thing since peanut butter (and he seriously loved peanut butter).

"How would you kidnap an immortal goddess? Is that even possible?" "Well, yeah. I mean, it happened to Persephone." "But she was like, the goddess of flowers." Grover looked offended. "Springtime." you tell him grover

"That's some serious danger you're facing." Connor Stoll said. (I liked how he said you and not we.) I'm just imagining the rest of the campers not bothering to go on quests cause it's always the same few demigods and they don't care, they're just chilling safe at CHB while Percy and Annabeth do their things

The creature looked at me sadly. "Moooo!" But I couldn't understand his thoughts. I only speak horse. Percy Jackson speaks two languages: English and Horse

With a shiver, I realised that five hundred or a thousand years from now, Bianca di Angelo would look exactly the same as she did today. She might be having a conversation like this with some other half blood long after I was dead but Bianca would still look twelve years old. ouch

"It wants to kill us!" Thalia said. "Of course." Grover said. "It's wild!" "So how is that a blessing?" Bianca asked.

"That's us," he said. "Those five nuts right there." "Which one is me?" I asked. "The little deformed one," Zoe suggested.

When she smiled at me, just for a moment she looked a little like Annabeth. I know everyone talks about this part but I can't help but bring it up again, they are so cute

"Woah, first of all, I never said anything about love. And second, what's up with tragic!" little does he know. also, Percy is so incredibly insightful in this book but he's also so jealous of Annabeth and Luke and so upset about the idea of her joining the hunters yet still can't figure out that he likes her

"Seven hundred feet tall," I said. "Built in the 1930s." "Five million cubic acres of water," Thalia said. Grover sighed. "Largest construction project in the United States." Zoe stared at us. "How do you know all that?" "Annabeth," I said. "She liked architecture." I cannot explain how much this little bit means to me.

The girl I'd just tried to slice in half yelped and dropped her Kleenex. "Oh my god." she shouted. "Do you always kill people when they blow their nose?" Rachel's here!!! I love her

Five minutes later, Zoe had me outfitted in a ragged flannel shirt and jeans three sizes too big, bright red sneakers, and a floppy rainbow hat. someone draw this and tag me. what an outfit

Suddenly it occurred to me: this had happened to her before. She had been cornered on Half-Blood Hill. She'd willingly given her life for her friends. But this time, she couldn't save us. How could I let that happen to her? he is the most empathetic, wholesome guy, I love Percy

"Can't this go any faster?" Thalia demanded. Zoe glared at her. "I cannot control traffic." You both sound like my mother." I said. "Shut up!" they said in unison. I kind of wish we got more Thalia and Zoe interactions... they would've made such a great enemies to lovers dynamic, if Zoe didn't die

"Get away from my daughter!" Dr Chase called down, and his machine gun burst to life, peppering the ground with bullet holes and startling the whole group of monsters into scattering. "Dad?" yelled Annabeth in disbelief.

Grover went off with his satyr friends to spread the word about our strange encounter with the magic of Pan. Within an hour, the satyrs were all running around agitated, asking where the nearest espresso bar was.

"No," I said. "I choose the prophecy. It will be about me." "Why are you saying that?" she cried. "You want to be responsible for the whole world?" It was the last thing I wanted, but I didn't say that. I knew I had to step up and claim it. "I can't let Nico be in any more danger." I said. might I remind you this boy is 13/14 and has the whole world on his shoulders (both literally at some point and figuratively)

I feel like these are just getting longer and longer but again, I will be back for part 4!

[on-a-lucky-tide]

I am the cat person ask and a little drunk so bear with me [not literal]

The first time John gets really drunk around Nik, Nik anticipates maybe a quiet, reserved drunk or maybe even a slightly snappy drunk.

What he does not anticipate is a drunken John Price who cannot keep his eyes off of Nikolai, feels the need to trail his finger along every little scar or mark across his skin. He just sits staring at Nikolai with such blatant adoration that it even makes Nik blush because he isn't used to another man so shamelessly admiring him out in the open. Someone [Soap] takes at least one oicture of Captain John Price sitting with his head in his hands just staring at Nikolai and he swears he can almost see actual hearts in his eyes

I hope you had a good night, Anon!

cw: alcohol.

When they first crack open the bottle of Stoli between them, Nik expects to see Price essentially fall asleep as he gets drunker. The only things stopping the most senior officer of the 141 from collapsing in exhaustion half the time are caffeine and spite. His task force doesn't see it, but Nikolai recognises bone-deep tiredness when he sees it.

What he doesn't expect after the first few glasses is for John's fingertips to circle over the back of his hand, tracing the thin, silvery lines of a scar in the centre. "Wossis?" John asks, two lines appearing between his eyebrows.

"A Hungarian gang member stabbed me through the hand during an interrogation," Nikolai says, watching John's fingers caress back and forth.

"Oh." John taps one end, and then strokes the arches and valleys of Nik's knuckles. "'Ow'd they catch you then?"

Nik's shrugs. "I let them. It was the easiest way to get inside their main base of operations."

John grins. "You sly dog." He looks back down to Nik's hand with intent interest, but his own withdrew back towards him. Nik's disappointed.

The sergeant and his lieutenant wander over for a game of rummy. As the alcohol warms his blood, Nik sheds his jacket and John's hand returns, red tinge in his cheeks. This time, it finds the sensitive back of Nik's arm, just on the inside. Goosebumps run in a flurry across Nik's skin and he startles. When he looks over, John's examining his own hand of cards intently.

The game finishes, the cards gathered in an untidy pile in the middle of the table. They drink some more - a lot more - and, as soldiers were wont to do when gathered in any social space, they begin to exchange stories. When it's Nik's turn, he offers up the tale of helping Alejandro with a cartel that had been gun running using school children.

As Nik nears the grand finale - busting the leader in a sprawling, forest mansion - he notices the sergeant lifting his phone as discreetly as he can to snap a picture of... the captain.

John's watching Nik with the biggest eyes Nik has ever seen, his head tilted into his knuckles, the other hand drawing lazy circles on the table near Nik's fingers. "Captain?"

"Hm?" Bushy cheeks perk up in a broad smile.

Nik blinks rapidly. He can feel his own face warming, because he isn't a complete simpleton. He knows that look, but... from John? There has to be something amiss. "Is everything... ok?"

"Has anyone ever told you... that yooou have... a great smile?" Price says through a deep and, uh ... dreamy sigh.

Nik... well, he smiles, turning in his seat to lean his elbow on the table, legs spreading so he can scoot a little closer to Price.

"Hoo-ly shite, c'mon, L.T., we.. uh, left the Challenger.. unlocked." Soap pats Ghost on the arm and the two scarper, leaving Nik to mirror Price's pose, head to his knuckles, and reach out to return one of those first tentative touches on the back of his hand.

The power of Stoli, eh?

Price @ Nik in every universe:

[rottenpumpkin13]

need the firsts to play paintball. who takes it WAY too seriously? who gets paint in their mouth accidentally? who does it on purpose?

The story of why/how Cloud got court martialled for dunking Sephiroth's head in a bucket of paint

• Nothing good comes out of Genesis being bored at 2PM during a slow work day. Following that logic, horrible horrible things come out of Genesis dropping a paintball gun on Angeal's desk.

Genesis: We're playing paintball. Whoever shoots the most paint at their target wins.

Angeal: You are unbelievably childish. Do you really think Sephiroth is immature enough to go along with this?

*Sephiroth appears at the door and shoots Angeal and Genesis with paintballs*

Angeal:

Genesis:

Sephiroth: Tell me, what does defeat feel like? I wouldn't know.

• Sephiroth runs away.

• Sephiroth didn't think this through because now Angeal is running after him with a paintball, vowing to shoot Sephiroth's hair with paint.

*Angeal shoots, Sephiroth ducks*

• It hits Zack with red paint. Zack immediately throws himself to the ground.

Zack: I'M DYING.

Angeal: It's red paint.

Zack: I'VE BEEN PAINTED WITH DEATH.

Angeal:

Zack: MY DREADFULLY SHORT LIFE HAS COME TO AN END. WHO WILL TAKE CARE OF MY TAMAGOTCHI WHEN I'M NO LONGER HERE TO CARE FOR THOSE I LOVE?

Angeal: You're literally fine. The paint didn't even hit a fatal area.

*Kunsel and Roche appear. Kunsel starts drawing a chalk outline of Zack's body while Roche hangs up crime scene tape*

Angeal: ???

• Meanwhile Genesis gets to Sephiroth first. He corners him by the data room and shoots him with paint.

• This angers Sephiroth greatly.

• Sephiroth starts walking towards him slowly.

• Genesis tries to shoot him again. but the paintball is stuck.

• Sephiroth continues to approach.

• Genesis starts sobbing while trying to shoot him.

• Sephiroth is near.

*Lazard walks in on this scene*

Lazard: Are you two serious? I'm in disbelief. Never would I have thought you would sink to this level.

• Genesis panic-shoots Lazard instead.

• This time the paint does come out.

• There is now yellow paint on Lazard's expensive suit and glasses.

Genesis: Oh no. Sephiroth, help. What do we do?

*Genesis looks to Sephiroth for help. Sephiroth is long gone*

Genesis: Son of a bitch.

• Lazard drags Genesis away by the ear. They walk by the break room, where a funeral for Zack is being held. Kunsel is reading the eulogy while Zack (alive) lays in the casket. Angeal is screaming "FOR FUCKS SAKE. HE'S ALIVE. IT WAS RED PAINT."

• Sephiroth appears out of nowhere and panic-hits Lazard in the head with the paintball gun.

• Lazard is knocked out.

Genesis: Sephiroth! Did you shoot the director just to save me? I'm flattered. I cannot believe I ever doubted your friendship.

Sephiroth: I don't know what you mean. I simply intend to finish our game.

*Sephiroth points the paintball gun at Genesis*

Genesis: You motherless whore.

• Sephiroth shoots.

• Genesis ducks.

• It hits Cloud Strife, who had just arrived on the 49th floor to attend Zack's fake funeral. Cloud is now covered in purple paint.

Sephiroth: Oh, Cloud, my apologies. I had meant to shoot Genesis to settle our dispute, but you were unfortunately caught in the crossfire.

Cloud:

Sephiroth: While I understand why this may be a cause for anger, I believe in your ability to handle matters calmly without holding onto resentment or taking it personally.

Cloud:

Sephiroth: Right?

Cloud:

Sephiroth: Why is my sword in your hand?

[sokkadora]

vanishing grace — mizu x fem!spider!reader

summary: breaking into to fowler’s castle wasn’t as easy as you’d originally thought, neither was the idea of being able to come out unscathed.

a/n: girl help! i cannot stop drawing my spidersona with mizu!!! also i think this is the longest fic ive ever written for a oneshot 💀 also this is not proofread so if there are mistakes forgive me 😭

wc: 3.9k

warning(s): guns, gunshot wound, being stabbed, slight angst if you squint, FOWLERS HEADASS, mizu being sad

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

︿︿︿︿︿︿ ✎ᝰ . . . .

You followed silently behind Mizu as she carefully counted the paces to the far entrance to Fowler’s Castle, making sure to place your feet in the dents in the snow where her feet had stepped.

The silence surrounding you two since everything that happened at Madame Kaji’s was tense. You were upset with her. Of course you were. She let Akemi get taken back into captivity and Ringo had left because of her actions.

You could understand where she was coming from, in a way. You can’t save everyone. It’s a hard truth you’d learned in your years as Spider-Woman, but you can’t help but feel like you could’ve done something.

Right before your face could make contact with Mizu’s back, your steps abruptly stopped thanks to your sixth sense. She used her naginata to brush the snow off the covered grate in the ground.

Mizu silently handed you your mask after slicing it open, and you took it from her hand softly. Could she tell you were upset with her? And if she could, did she even care? You shook it off, tugging on your mask.

She dropped down into the tunnel, water splashing beneath her feet softly upon impact. She glanced around quickly before turning back to you, holding up her arms to help you down.

You let her, trying to get ahold of yourself as her hands gripped your waist and gently set you down before she closed the grate with her weapon. 

The tunnel darkened significantly and Mizu made a sudden move to keep your hand in hers as you made your way further in. She eventually found a dry enough piece of wood, wrapping a cloth around the top, lighting the cloth on fire to make a torch.

There was loud squeaking coming from your feet, and the two of you looked down to find around 5 rats staring up at you. Mizu killed one, and the rest scattered.

The two of you continued until you came across dozens of skeletons, children’s skeletons, and that was the only other pause you took in the tunnels.

“Oh my god,” You whispered, placing a hand over your mouth at the sight of a woman’s skeleton with her arms wrapped around the child’s far smaller one. You gripped Mizu’s hand tighter as she seethed, dragging you down through the tunnels.

She stopped just before the two of you could run into a door, and let go of your hand. She tried opening it with no luck. Then she leaned her weapon against the doorframe to take off her pack. She handed you the torch, and you glanced around the tunnel nervously.

“What’s the plan, Mizu?” You asked, your hands beginning to shake. Was it fear? Adrenaline? You didn’t know. But every fiber of your body was screaming at you like this was a bad idea, and you couldn’t help but agree.

“Don’t really have one,” She shrugged, picking up her lock picking equipment and kneeling in front of the lock. Your heart pounded at her dry and casual admission that she didn’t have a plan to get through this death house, but you took a deep breath to compose yourself. It was already tense enough. “You’re kind of my secret weapon if everything goes to shit.”

“We should’ve talked about this on the way here,” You grumbled as the lock finally clicked. You took it as good news for a moment before the tunnels behind you began rumbling. 

They burst full with water, and you pushed the torch back into her hands. You rushed to the door handle, and began to yank on it with all your strength. It was heavy. You could easily throw a shipping container, and this was hard and rusted for you to open.

It squeezed open a crack, but it was too late. Mizu and you were quickly knocked out as the rushing water slammed you both against the door harshly, and everything went black.

You recovered a bit quicker than Mizu did, but quickly swam back over to the door to continue your work while praying that you wouldn’t drown. It already felt as if your mask was waterboarding you, even though you chose that fabric that wouldn’t do that when you made it (if you got back home to your time, you were contacting the seller). You broke the lock after a brief moment of suffocation, pulling the door open and pushing Mizu through before following after her.

There was finally a place for you both to surface, right under a grate in what you guessed was a supply room. The both of you hacked water out your lungs, catching your breath.

You pushed the grate off, pulling yourself up with aching limbs before holding out your hand and pulling Mizu up with ease. The two of you panted for another minute before she turned to you, her usually cold, narrow eyes more round and almost puppy like.

“You okay?” She asked softly as you tugged off your mask and rung it out.

“Besides being practically waterboarded in this mask?” You coughed up some more water, and she patted your back. “Just peachy.”

She didn’t respond, opting to take off her roll and check what supplies she’d lost in the process of the water slammed into her. She’d lost a lot, still panting before she wiped the water off her face with the back of her hand. She rolled her pack back up and helped you to your feet.

Making your way up the floors of the castle proved to be more physically taxing than you’d originally expected. Although, Mizu could firmly admit now that she was jealous of your acrobatic skills after you flipped and dodged through the corridor after getting stabbed through the ankle at the last second.

Finally, the dust from that flower had worn off for you and you heard grunting coming from a cell farther back in the dungeon. You quickly made your way over with Mizu behind you, gasping at the sight of Taigen. He was beaten to a pulp, a heavily swollen eye, and skin pale. The most frail you’ve ever seen him.

You stayed on your feet to keep watch as Mizu kneeled down to check on him.

“Taigen.” She sighed in relief, a small smile on her face. 

He grunts, bringing his hand up to brush against the wrapping on her neck. “That's...” He groans, “That's my scarf.” 

“Are you real?”She asks quietly, and he raises a brow to the best of his ability. 

“I think so.” 

You kneel on the other side of Taigen, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Can you walk?” Taigen grunts as you help him sit up. 

“Might be slow.”He grumbles, allowing you to sling his arm around your shoulders and haul him up. He was far lighter than the last time you’d seen him after leaving him in the forest, and the hero part of you couldn’t help but worry.

“Better than you being dead,” You huffed, shaking your head at Mizu when she tried to help. She had to focus. You could handle taking care of Taigen. 

You help him hobble out of the cell, turning left to follow Mizu further down the corridor to the next door and flight of stairs. 

The large man that had sought Mizu out for Heiji Shindo was looming in before the door at the other end of the hall at the top of the stairs, and you could only sit with Taigen and watch as she fought the man. You webbed up Taigen’s wounds as some form of pressure as Mizu launched herself back after stabbed the explosive into the man’s neck.

She landed a few feet away from you before the explosive activated, killing the man and knocking all of you out.

When you came to, you were acutely aware of the fact you were slowly sliding off the remaining rubble hanging over the edge of where a wall once was. 

Coughing, you propped yourself up on your elbow as Mizu began to stir awake and took in your new surroundings. A sharp pain on the left side of your torso hit you, and you hissed in pain before looking down to see a large scrape that managed to tear some of your suit.

You attention quickly turned to your right when a groan rang out, you turned your head to see Taigen slowly falling off the ledge. 

Before you could lunge for him yourself, she grabbed his wrist and slid off with him, not having the strength to keep them both on the ground.

“Mizu!” You shouted, more than ready to dive off the side to catch both of them. When you peered over the ledge, you almost let out a sob from the relief at the sight of Mizu dangling from her sword that was stabbed into the side of the building, holding Taigen in her other hand before pulling him onto her back.

You rolled off the ledge, crawling down the wall to them as Mizu gained her footing and gripped onto the crevices in the stone and yanked her sword out.

“Give me your hand,” She seemed reluctant, not wanting to put more physical stress onto you. Your eyes seemed rounded, almost puppy like as you asked again. “Please, Mizu. I can carry the both of you.”

She reluctantly placed her tired hand into your own, surprised by your strength as you easily lifted both of them onto your back the same way Mizu had done to Taigen. You gingerly took her sword, biting the dull end to hold it in your mouth, almost snarling as you scaled up the side of the castle.

Mizu watched in admiration, and almost adoringly at how tenacious and adamant you were. You were easily scaling the building with two bodies dangling from your shoulders, and you were doing all of it just to help her. No one had ever been there for her the way you have (besides sword father), in just a few months as well.

You had found a small, wider ledge to pull yourself onto. You placed your elbow on the ledge and pulled yourself up, panting softly as you gazed in through the window. A small army of guards was grouped behind a door, waiting for the three of you, you guessed. Your spider sense rang in your ears and you grunted, turning your head back to Mizu.

“Hold on,” You grunted, shooting a hand out to spray a web to the top of the window. You yanked yourself up the web, internally thinking about how easily you did this back home. But you made it over the window just as a guard looked back, seeming to have heard you, but not seeing anything.

After finally reaching the room that Fowler resided in, the both of you watched from below a window as one of the lords stood in front of it. Mizu gingerly removed her sword from her mouth, raising her arm to throw it.

“After he starts to drop, throw Taigen in.” She rasped in your ear, and you nodded, not being able to stop the goosebumps that quickly covered your body from the warm breath on your neck.

It all happened quicker than you could really comprehend; Mizu stabbing the lord, throwing Taigen into the room, and launching her from your shoulders into the room. You followed after quickly, the sight of your spider-suit earning strange glares from the lords.

“Abijah Fowler!” Mizu shouted, holding her sword out and ready. “Where is he?” She wandered over to the table with you right behind her, gazing down at a sheet of paper with what seemed to be a war plan and a map of Edo.

Mizu quickly turned as one of the lords struck his sword at her, backing up into you to make sure you weren’t hit. When she struck back, the dull edge of her blade resting against the fat of his neck before lifting her leg up and kicking him back. He landed on the wooden floor with a harsh thud, making you wince.

The click of a gun cocking and the trigger being pulled registered in your head before she could notice it.

You launched yourself over the table at the much larger body; Fowler. Shooting a web on either side of him, you yanked yourself at him as he fired. You let out a shout as your foot made solid contact with his cheek, knocking him back as Mizu’s blade broke, the bullet tearing through her shoulder.

You scrambled onto your feet to sprint back to Mizu as Fowler lifted his head, rubbing his jaw with an unnerving smile.

“Now, what are you?”

Mizu whimpered as she held the shoulder where the bullet entered before looking at her broken blade mournfully. You quickly moved her hands, checking the other side of her shoulder to see if the bullet went through; you really didn’t want to dig one out of her. Thankfully it did, and you quickly webbed up the injury as Abijah stood, grabbed a brush to shove down the barrel of his gun.

“You see?” He states to Heiji, using his gun to push the man’s sword down as they watched you and Mizu. “No one murders so well as the British. It’s our number one export.”

Mizu growled at the man before lunging at him with her broken blade, but he quickly raises his gun and wacks her back, throwing her into the wall. Your breath hitched before you raised your eyes to face him, a rage bubbling in your stomach that hadn’t ever been before. It was new, and foreign, and dark.

But Mizu said you shouldn’t run from the dark.

“Look at you..” Abijah mocked, “No ones ever made it up half this far before.”

You let out a cry as you sprinted forward. He tried to pull the same move on you but you ducked under, kicking him square in the chest and sending him a few feet back. He kept his footing as he rose again, looking square into your eyes. Your nose scrunched under the mask.

“And you,” He squinted, watching as your shoulders rose and fell heavily with your pants. “I’ve never seen one like you…what are you?” He noticed the spider emblem on your suit and smiled in amusement. “Little spider?”

You remained silent before charging again as Mizu regained herself, and you were too caught up in your anger and attacking the man to notice his large hand coming up to grip your neck.

He dangled you off the ground, watching with a smile as you became more panic. It quickly stilled your movements, your hands beginning to shake as you clawed at his hand. His hand squeezed your throat tighter and you wheezed in his grip.

He wriggled a thumb under your mask and ripped it off, scoffing in amusement.

“Strong little thing, aren’t ya?” He commented, running his thumb over your jawline.

You spit in his face, mustering up the harshest glare you could must as his expression turned to anger.

“Fuck you,”

“Oh, darling,” He laughed, and before you could really process, his gun raised to your stomach and he shot you in the side.

Mizu watched in terror as you screamed. It was nightmarish. The most gut wrenching scream she’d ever heard, and she was sure it was just tattooed onto the inner most parts of her brain. She had been told of your past injuries when she helped you bind your chest, her hand gently running all your scars, but she never imagined that she’d be responsible for another one. Even if it wasn’t by her hands.

He tossed you over near Taigen like you were a rag doll, making your vision spotty as Mizu shouted again, but it barely registered in your head as a fight broke out and he began pummeling Mizu. Taigen had jumped in what you heard, and Fowler was beating him to a pulp above you.

Before you knew it, the three of you were soaring — no… falling, out of the window you’d arrived in, into the freezing water dozens of stories below.

——————

You felt warm.

Were you home?

No… the bedding beneath you was too stiff.

Groaning, you attempted to come to a sitting position before the familiar touch of a stub came to rest on your chest.

“Stay down,”

You opened your eyes softly, letting a smile rest on your lips at the sight of Ringo hovering above you with a wet rag. When he turned back to place the rag on your stomach, he noticed your smile, and returned it with a brighter one.

“I’m glad you’re alright,” You smiled up at him, wincing at the sharp pain as the ragged soaked the water through your wound. “Did you get the bullet out?”

“Mizu did,” He replied, his smile dropping at the topic of your mutual friend. Well, once mutual friend. “It was hard for her though. Almost made me feel bad.”

You raised an eyebrow before sighing, “Let’s not talk about that right now, ‘kay?” You raised a hand and pinched the bridge of your nose. Their beef was not yours, and while you did want them to talk it out and at least make up, you weren’t going to stick your nose where it didn’t belong. He nodded hesitantly, helping you sit up and tie on a haori over your chest bindings. “Where are we?” You asked, looking around the room.

“Master Eiji’s.”

“This is the place?” You glanced around more attentively now, after finding out you were in the house of the man that had taken Mizu under his wing. You had a weird urge to hug him, but you knew that was probably inappropriate. “Huh..”

“I made you medicine,” He interrupted your thoughts and handed you a warm bowl and rose to his feet. “I’ll be just outside. Call if you need me.”

You nodded, not bothering to watch him leave before digging in. You were starving. You probably ate it faster than you were supposed to, but it tasted good and helped you feel good. You crawled over to where the other dirty dishes were stacked, placing your bowl on top. You figured you’d ask Ringo to help wash them once you found Mizu.

It was nearing the middle of the day when you stepped outside, squinting at the sudden bright light before you began wandering into the forest. If she wasn’t at Eiji’s, she was probably doing something out there. You were surprised to see her stacking rocks atop each other from the edge of the clearing, but didn’t hesitate to keep approaching.

“What are you making?”

Mizu jumped at the sound of your voice, clearly too in the zone to notice that your footsteps were loud enough for her to hear for once. At the sight of you, she dropped the rock she gripped tightly in her hands in favor of running over to you and engulfing you in a hug.

You were stunned. Sure, skinship had become a common occurrence in your relationship with Mizu, but it’d never gotten to hugging. 'Figures. Only I’d have a situationship where we’ve kissed each other before hugging,’ You thought to yourself as you gripped onto the back of Mizu’s haori while she silently cried into your hair, holding the back of your head and shoulders like you could slip away at any second.

“Don’t ever do that again,” She scolded while pulling away, placing her hands on either side of your face. She squished your face, causing you to chuckle softly before looking up at her.

Her eyes were soft, round… she’d never looked at you this softly. At least, not while you were looking according to Taigen and Ringo. She almost looked like a kicked puppy from the amount of guilt in her eyes.

“I never should have brought you with,” She whispered, letting one hand fall to your shoulder while the other rested over the gunshot wound on your stomach with a featherlight touch. She was almost scared that she’d break you if she was any more rough. “Then you would’ve been safe with Ringo and…” She sighed shakily, dropping to her knees and resting her forehead against your navel.

Your breath hitched as her hands slid down your sides to grip the tops of your hips with shaky hands.

“and you wouldn’t have almost died because of me. You wouldn’t have another scar because of me.” She almost whimpered it out, hands gripping your hips tighter as she looked up at you. “I can’t lose you.”

Her stunning eyes held the words she couldn’t muster up the courage to say herself, and your cheeks heated up immensely before you kneeled with her, your hands coming to rest on her arms. As you gently caressed the taut muscles, you swallowed the lump in your throat as your hands came to rest on either side of her face.

“You won’t,” You whisper surely, thumbs coming up to catch her tears before they could trail down her cheeks. “I won’t let that happen, and neither will you. We’re too stubborn to die.” You smile, watching her mouth as she does the same. “And I’m too stubborn to let you push me away when I know you feel the same now.”

Mizu huffs out a soft laugh, “Was I that obvious?”

“Eh,” You shrugged, doing a so-so hand motion. “I heard it all the time from Ringo and the bozo, but never really believed it until now. Your eyes are very expressive.”

Mizu chuckles, but it’s cut off when you pull her lips down to yours. Her eyes widen before she lets herself melt into you and your sweet lips, a smile tugging on her lips as her hands grip your haori and pull her closer. You gasped at the sudden gentle yank, and she took her opportunity to slip her tongue into your mouth.

Reluctantly, after a few more moments you pulled away with a grin, running a thumb over her now swollen lower lip. Your attention turned behind you to what seemed to be a firepit. 

“What are you making?”

Mizu turns her head to see where you’re looking before standing, helping you up to your feet again. Her hand doesn’t leave yours as she begins explaining, and you’re glad. You don’t want to let go of her.

She explains that she’s going to attempt to melt and reforge her sword, since sword father had no steel for her. You listen attentively, barely willing to let her go as she goes over to pick up the rock she dropped and place it in the right spot on the growing wall. She seems optimistic, in a sense as you cross your arms over your chest and watch her work.

“It’ll work,” She grumbles, mostly to herself, as if she’s trying to convince herself – to will it into existence, but there’s still doubt there. You catch it, frowning before taking a stone off the cart to help her. When you place it down, she looks up at you with a surprised expression.

“It’ll work,” You smile, “And I’ll be here to help with whatever you need.”

[covetyou]

some good friend - pt. 1

ao3 ⋆ main masterlist ⋆ series masterlist part 1 ⋆ part 2 ⋆ part 3

pairing: Tim Rockford x Soft Dom!Sex Worker!f!reader rating: Explicit (18+ only!) warnings: pegging, anal fingering, praise kink, mild glove kink, very mild feminization, masturbation, Tim has body image issues and a bit of an identity crisis, kind of coming untouched, sex work, comfort word count: 7k summary: Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it. And it made him nervous.

A/N: finally, my boy Tim sees the light of day. I've been working on this for a while, and it's been nice to try something a little different. I hope you like it (and someone, anyone, please, stop me from making this a 3 part series too late, it's going to be a series)

divider by @saradika-graphics follow @covetedfics and turn notifications on for updates on future fics

Everything burns. His lungs, his legs, his goddamned feet.

He wasn't made for this. Not any more. His fucking shoes definitely weren't made for this - a fact made more and more obvious with every harsh, sharp, slap of his soles against the ground. Gone were the days of intense foot chases. They'd long since been replaced with hours spent at his desk, in interview rooms, searching the stacks in the archive room. The only saving grace was at the very least he was accustomed to low light - the dimly lit rooms he frequented coming in handy now as he thuds along in the semi-darkness, chasing after someone who is more shadow than man.

The drizzle of a cold October day certainly isn't helping either. He's coated in a fine mist of rain and soaked through to the marrow. His shoes - these fucking shoes - skid on the wet road, threatening injury with each turn of a corner. Every intake of breath blooms pain in his chest, each gasp seeming to draw in more water than air. That is, of course, if the biting chill of the wind doesn't swipe it all out of his mouth first.

He's drowning. Drowning and suffocating and burning all in one, but he can't stop. He can't will his legs to stop, even through the burn. Stopping means he loses, and he cannot lose. Not again. Not with this case.

But then, he turns a corner and the shadow is gone, faded into the darkness of an unlit alley, and out of his grasp once again.

Shit.

The ache is settled well into his bones by the time he gets home in the early hours of the morning. His tie sits damp in his jacket pocket - discarded at the roadside in a fit of rage and stomped into the wet ground, only to be picked up and pocketed a moment later. He liked that tie. His holsters tug uncomfortably at his shoulders, the twist of his body as he was running having shifted them to where they now pinch uncomfortably at his underarms. He can't wait to discard it all, to take off the whole damn lot - and these fucking shoes - and pretend for just one moment that he's not who he is.

So, he begins to shed the skin of Detective Tim Rockford.

The shoes go first. The jacket second. And then he removes his gun, stashing it in its case where it belongs and throwing his holster at his closet, where he'll no doubt struggle to find it again tomorrow. The burning sear of a shower is the last thing left to rid himself of the title that hangs over him, but instead he walks to his office. He needs to be Detective for just a moment longer.

It's tidier and more comfortable in here than it has any right to be. Dark wood, soft leather, neat folders, and blank papers. Of course, it's neat because he's rarely here to use it, preferring to use the space given to him downtown where a plaque sits on his desk telling all and sundry that Detective Tim Rockford works here. Here, in this room, he can be a little less Detective and a little more him.

He flops heavily into his chair, a move he immediately regrets when he feels the relief of taking the weight off his feet. How he'll ever get up from here, he doesn't know. Maybe he'll sleep here. Halfway between Detective and himself, stuck in some weird limbo where he is both and neither all at once. That'll lead to some good dreams.

Tim thinks of you. This was the place for that kind of thing, after all. This office where he is himself and someone else, the perfect parts of a person to be liaising with someone like you. Because that's what it was with you, a liaison. Nothing more, nothing less. And you, everything that you were, were his last chance for some good news before he peeled back the rest of the Detective and became himself for a few blissful hours.

Pulling a card from a drawer, he flips it in his fingers once, then twice before tapping it on his desk. You'd given it to him on his last visit - your address and number emblazoned on the front, both things he no longer needed to see to know, and a small list of services on the other side. Services that he ignored when you'd first pointed them out to him with a wink, but that he'd since spent a long time mulling over and, on occasion, searching in an incognito window of his browser.

With a heavy sigh, he picks up the phone, dialing your number from memory, and waits for you to pick up. Anyone else would be furious with a 4am phonecall, but not you. For a while he thought it was what suited your work best - common sense, and his years on the job, had taught him that illicit activities so often were better suited to darkness than daylight. But he'd seen clients leave your studio in the middle of the day on more than one occasion. No, by this point he simply suspected you didn't sleep at all.

A click of the call connecting, a soft breath down through the line, and there you are, the lilt of your voice ringing through his ear like music.

"Detective Rockford, how nice of you to call. What can I interest you in this fine morning?"

He pinches his nose, card still gripped tightly between his middle fingers. You did this every time, no matter the time of day or night. You were always on, always ready to try to rile him and get into his bloodstream. He'd admonished you once, told you he was only trying to do his job and he expected you to do the same. When you told him you were doing your job, Tim had to admit you got him there. You were both professionals, just in very, very different ways. From then on, he'd learned to appreciate it. Even if it did make him ache sometimes in ways he thought best to ignore.

"You got any news for me?"

You scoff down the phone. A light sound, but he can picture you rolling your eyes with it anyway. "Always so charming, Detective. Diving straight in without any foreplay at all. You can do better than that. Sweeten me up a little before you -"

"Please."

He sounds desperate in a way you haven't heard before. A year into your arrangement and he'd never sounded so bone tired and stressed out. You can even hear the pinch in his brow over the phone, the wrinkles there getting deeper and deeper the longer you knew him.

"It's been quiet, Detective. I doubt I have the names you're after, but a few whispers have been floating around. The case with the cat still causing you problems?"

From the heavy sigh he gives you can tell it's not what he was after, but that it is, indeed, still causing him problems.

"Well, I heard that..."

And so, you divulge your secrets, secrets that aren't really yours to have or to give, but you give them anyway. Whispers and names softly delivered down the phone line where he scribbles them down on a blank sheet of paper, careful not to indent the pages below it.

The pen clatters to the desk when you finish. You both know you haven't given him what he needs, but if Tim's honest with himself he isn't always sure what he needs from you any more. Though, he knows what he wants. Yes, he's frequently made painfully aware of what he wants.

"Anything you need?" he asks, his voice sounding tight with frustration. You can't blame him any more than you can hold back the laugh that trickles from your lips.

"Nothing right now. Here I was thinking that was my line anyway, Detective. The things I could do for you, if you'd let me."

Tim's eyes are drawn to the card again, now face up on the desk beside the scrawl of information you'd just given him. Truth be told, your services are as emblazoned in his mind as the details on the front of the card. Sometimes, like right now, he could barely get that list out of his mind long enough to think straight.

That's the moment when, after a long day at the end of an even longer week, part Detective but part just him, he gives in to what he's been fighting himself for for almost a year, and clears his throat.

"Like what? What... what exactly could you do for me?"

You're caught between surprise and glee, briefly straightening where you lounge in your chair. Softening back into the plush fabric, you dance a finger across your lower lip, wry smile tugging at your mouth as you think of the very many things you could do for him.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I thought you'd never ask."

Nerves were coiling in his belly in a way they typically only did at the end of a big case. There was no judge or jury here, no sentence, no surprise acquittal. There was just your door, and the promise of everything that lay beyond it.

And it made him nervous.

He was in half a mind to walk away, but it was too late. His knuckles had already rapped against the wood, and you were already flicking the latch on the other side, readying to let him in.

When you do he's stunned, just like he always is when he sees you. This time you're half naked, a thin robe draped over your shoulders and left untied at the front. Beneath it you're wrapped in soft mesh lingerie, your nipples visible through the fabric as you beckon him inside.

The space - your studio - was a simple office unit in an undesirable part of town, but you made it work. As funny as it felt to admit, it was familiar to him now, and there was a comfort in that that was already easing the swell of nerves in his body. It wasn't always this way, of course, that first visit being eye opening both figuratively and literally. Furniture and furnishings that were odd were now somewhat normal, and the soft, rich, scent that permeated the room was one that he now associated only with you and this place you existed within. It was a smell too, he notices, that is so much stronger today than it has ever been on any of his previous visits, and he breathes in deeply, both to savor it and to calm the last of the nerves vibrating in his core.

When you shut the door, closing off the world outside, you stand before him again, looking a picture of sultry confidence as you size him up. This wasn't something that was new. You often stood there, letting your gaze wander up and down his body, lingering in places that made him flush red as you taunted him with flirty quips he'd ignore. This time is no different, and he finds himself mesmerized by the way you toy with the ties on your robe as you eye him, fingers gliding up and down the fabric.

"Are you here on your business, or mine, Detective?" you say with a smile, drawing his gaze from your fingers to your face. It was a long running joke, something you said each and every time he visited you here, despite the answer always being the same. But today, finally, it would be different.

Tim rolls his eyes, just as he always does, but instead of replying with a curt mine, he lets a smile pull at his lips instead. "Yours."

"Music to my ears. And you still want to do this? You're ready?"

You both knew that had a double meaning. In the literal physical sense, he knows he's as ready as he could possibly be. But he still takes a moment to check in with himself, to see if going through with all of it is something that he still wants. If those whispers down the phone, whispers that had quickly turned from flirty promises to guidance, to gasps, to relief, were what he still wanted. Would it be worth it, or was it a momentary blip of weakness and want? But then he remembers that relief once again, the soothing of that ache like sitting down off of pained feet, and can only imagine how much better that will feel here, with you, in this room. He's ready.

Tim nods, prompting you to take another step forward. The smell isn't the room at all, he notices. It's you. The fragrance clinging to your hair or your skin, he's not sure, but so much stronger each time you move.

"Good," you say on your slow approach. Barely a step from him you reach out, tugging on his jacket and straightening his tie before letting your palm rest on his chest. The soft stroke of your fingers does nothing to soothe the rapid hammering of the muscle pumping in his chest cavity, but you suppose it wasn't meant to. You wanted him excited and desperate for it. He'd already shown you how beautiful he could be for you over the phone - all whines and whimpers and yes ma'am's. Now you wanted the real thing.

"Why don't you get all of this off for me."

Before now, Tim had wondered how you started these things - how you went from 0 to seemingly 100 with clients to get them in through the door and out in the allotted time frame. He hadn't expected it to be so quick, or so easy. Maybe he just hadn't expected himself to be so quick, or so easy, but he's tugging at his tie before you even move away to settle against your desk with your ankles crossed.

"That's it, Detective," you prompt, letting your robe slip from your shoulders and pool at your elbows as he stuffs the tie into his pocket. "I want to see all of you."

And he wants you to see all of him. He wants to take off everything that makes him Detective Tim Rockford right in front of you, and have you take control, tell him what to do, make his mind blissfully empty. So, first he kicks off his shoes, then he takes off his jacket. Slowly, his shirt is peeled from his body, the nerves racketing up again with each button. He doesn't look how he did 10 years ago, he was less lean and more soft than he had ever been, the middle aged spread proving to be a fact of life he couldn't escape.

You know what he's thinking as his fingers stall on the last few buttons of his shirt. You'd dealt with these insecurities before, in countless other clients. You weren't immune to similar thoughts either. But, he'd told you he wanted to let go, to give up control with you, so you nod to the remainder of his clothes and prompt again.

"Come now. Let me see."

Tim's fingers work quickly over the last buttons and pull the shirt from his broad frame just as quickly, giving no time for the nerves to take root. You voice the sound of your smile the moment his shirt is discarded and he looks up to see your appraisal. Each button had drawn your eyes down his chest, to the soft swell of his belly, and further still to the growing bulge in the front of his pants. Tall and broad and beautiful, the mass of man in front of you had the power to catch your eye even fully clothed, but now, shirtless with the promise of more on the horizon, you couldn't ignore the thrill at seeing so much of his tanned skin, littered with freckles and a soft smattering of hair.

His belt is unbuckled and off, and his fingers are pulling open the button of his pants and his fly. He doesn't look at you again. He can't right now - if he does he'll choke up and stop himself, feeling entirely inadequate offering this body of his to you. Pushing down his pants, down past soft thighs and strong calves, he steps out of them, taking his socks with them with each step, before nervously scratching at his belly.

Only then, does he look back up at you. You're enraptured, and have already pushed back off your desk, circling him to look at every inch of his body. You'd dimmed the lights slightly, as you always did for client sessions, but even in the soft lamplight he looked stunning. Your fingers trace the swell of his bicep, across his shoulder and the jut of his shoulder blade. A shudder runs down his spine as your fingers dance across it, down to the dimples at his back and over his hip before you round him again where your fingertips rest on his soft belly and the trail of hair there.

"You've been hiding all of this from me for how long, Detective?" you whisper, letting your fingers glide down further and further with each word. "It makes me wonder what else you're hiding."

Tim's cock twitches in his boxers, the thin fabric straining more and more with each passing moment under your gaze. He'd never felt so seen, so appraised, before. The way you looked at him was so easy, the shine in your eye so bright as he peeled back each layer.

"You still want this?"

It's what he said he'd wanted. Days ago now, but he'd said he wanted it and he did. He does. He swallows thickly, desperate to get moisture back into his mouth, nodding a croak of a yes.

At that, you slide the tip of your finger into the waistband of his boxers and pull, stretching the elastic a fraction before releasing, pinging it sharply against his skin.

"Then get these off too, Detective."

His boxers are on the floor a second later, his cock springing free semi-hard between his legs. Raising your hands to your face, you gasp in faux shock, hiding your very real delight behind your hands as you take in his entire naked form.

"Oh, Detective Rockford. I'm disappointed. After all this time you've been hiding that from me?" you gasp, and while Tim can't help but roll his eyes, his cock betrays him and stiffens even more at your words. You'd been through it all with him. Your services, yes, but also specifically what he wanted from you, some of which you'd discovered together on the phone that morning. This was one of those things - a thing you'd discovered on a whim, but something you both knew he would like before the words left your lips. There was a reason he was asking you for this and nobody else - Tim knew the specific brand of sordid you dealt in and, more than anything, he trusted you. Unfortunately for him, you planned on keeping exactly to your word from that call and, guiding your fingers down his bare chest, you tease closer and closer to his length.

"Tsk. Such a shame I won't be playing with it today."

Tim groans, a gasp of a thing he cuts short with a pinch of his lips. He's frowning again too, but nods, knowing that what he came here for wasn't that, but also very aware of the weight of the words you used. Not today, but not never.

Then, your robe is off and you're guiding him to the bed, where he lowers himself and leans back, watching your form as it retreats into the other room. He looks down, down at the body you'd just spent minutes looking at and enjoying, and wonders what you see that he doesn't. All he knows is he's trusted your word for as long as he's known you, and it's no different now. Whatever you see in him, you at least believe it to be true, and that alone makes it easier for him to believe himself. Before he can figure much or anything else out, you're sauntering back into the room.

In your hands you hold a few things. None of them should be surprising to him, but he still sucks in a sharp breath when he sees it - the strap you'd picked out just for him. You'd told him about it over the phone, said that you had the perfect one for him, that you could picture him beneath you taking it, moaning and shaking as you fucked him, and now there it was, exactly as you described. This was never something he felt able to ask for with anyone else, his ex-wife especially. It's true he was always married more to his job than to her, but even in the privacy of their own bedroom he had secrets and wants he could never share with her - she made that much clear early on. With you, he didn't even need to mention it first for you to suggest it to him, didn't even need to feel the heat of shame in his cheeks as he struggled to find the words for what he wanted, because there you were already with all the answers.

You settle everything beside him, letting him see the soft, slender, curve of the dildo up close for the first time, and pass him a bottle of water. Tim takes it, grateful that once again that it was another thing he didn't have to ask for, and cracks open the lid, taking a deep gulp of the cold liquid before setting it out of the way. Another day he'd wonder how it got to this - how on earth Tim Rockford got so used to suffering in silence that even thirst wasn't something he'd remedy until he was desperate. But, right now all he knows is the heat of your body and the smell of your skin as you kneel next to him on the bed, looking down at him with a smirk on your lips.

"Usually I ask people how they'd like it," you whisper, stroking gently down his neck, "but I think we both know you'd like it on your knees, Detective." You twirl your finger in the air, signalling for him to move, and like the good little thing he is, he shifts onto his hands before crawling forward slightly to perch on all fours on the bed.

You think he looks glorious; he feels so exposed - entirely naked for you while you're draped in that thin mesh he can see right through. He doesn't want to think about how he looks like this, on his knees with his ass on total display, his cock hanging low and, already, starting to leak precum.

Blunt nails drag down his back, softly scraping down his ass cheeks and the backs of his thighs. He shudders. You can see his cock where it bobs between his legs, and his balls where they hang softly just beneath the cleft of his cheeks. If he were a different client, maybe you'd give in and drag your nails across the soft flesh of them too, cup them in your palm and give them a firm squeeze, but you resist. Whatever this is doing to you, you'll deal with later. For now, this is for him and that desperate man, the Detective, who had all but begged you for information down the phone.

Grabbing at the small selection of things you'd dumped next to him, you get ready. Tim watches, eager eyes looking as you pull a black nitrile glove down your hand and snap it around you wrist, wiggling your fingers at him when you spot his gaze.

"I can tell you're excited," you say with a look down to his ass where his cock bounces hard against his belly with a tense of his muscles. "You're so ready for this too, aren't you? You've been waiting so long..."

Guiding your ungloved hand down his ass, you squeeze, gripping the flesh and pulling him apart, exposing him to your gaze. "Very pretty."

Tim huffs a laugh, not believing for a second that he is pretty at all, let alone like this, or there.

"What? You don't think you're pretty, all bent over and exposed for me, Detective? I'd argue you've never looked better."

"Right. Is this how you get all your information? Your clients must tell you all sorta things, huh? Vulnerable like this."

A swift, sharp slap is delivered to his right ass cheek, making him gasp as you tut and soothe the sting with your palm. "Ah-ah, Detective, you're off the clock. No work talk. We're here on my business now, not yours."

"Fu- Never off the clock, not in my line of work."

"And that's exactly why you're here, sweetie."

"...Yes ma'am."

There's a small delighted giggle that you just can't hold back, a sound that makes him flush, before you speak again. "Polite and pretty. Are you ready for me, Detective?"

It's then he realizes that your hand hasn't stopped its slow, steady caress of his ass cheeks, pushing and pulling him apart as you watch the tension leave his shoulders. He nods, trying not to brace himself for whatever is coming first, not hearing the click of a lube bottle through the blood rushing in his ears, but definitely feeling the cool trickle of it when it drips onto his asshole.

"That's it," you say, soothing with your ungloved hand, as your gloved one comes down to stroke the pucker of his ring. "We both know you're familiar with this feeling, Detective. Are you going to let me in here?"

The wet swipe of your finger between his cheeks almost feels like it could be cool, cold tongue with how you swirl it around and around his asshole. He tries not to curl his toes, and manages not to until he can't help but beg, a small please falling softly from his plush lips, and you immediately push, sinking the tip of your finger into his ass.

Tim groans, gripping the sheets in an effort not to surge forward and away from the gentle probe of your finger.

"Make all the noise you need to, Detective."

"Fuck."

Your finger steadily sinks into him, drawing out and in to collect more lube as you drizzle it onto his hole.

"Remember how this feels?"

He remembers. Remembers the crackle of your voice over the phone line as you told him to finger his ass. How his hands had scrambled to turn on speakerphone, the other still wrapped around his cock, jerking weakly as you whispered filthy encouragement down the line. Before even that, he remembers the nights spent in his own bed, concocting his own fantasies while he fucked his fist and fingers in tandem.

Except, your fingers feel so much different from his own, can reach places his cannot, and he's groaning with his head hung low between his shoulders before you're even knuckle deep.

Curling this way and that, you feel him from the inside out. Soothing him with a hand on his back, you can feel the deep breath he takes just as the tip of your finger collides with a spot inside him he was all too familiar with, massaging back and forth until he's a groaning mess.

"Oh, well that's a pretty sound, Detective. It sounds to me like you want another."

If he closes his eyes, he can see it, see the black of your gloved hand curled into a fist as your index finger stretches his hole. He can see already as you pull out a little, unfurl another finger, and slide it next to the first, ready to push into him again.

And he takes it, letting out a shuddering gasp, as your fingers fuck into his ass once again, scissoring in him before pushing down and beginning a slow curl against that spot again.

"There. That was easy. I think someone is enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, Detective?"

There's no denying it, he is. The feel of your hand making him want to buckle into a heap on the bed already and you'd barely even started.

"Yeah. It's - ah fuck - it's good. That's - uh - not fair."

You'd been curling and prodding against his prostate as he tried to talk, making him garble words at you as you watch his cock get more and more engorged between his thighs. "What's not fair?" you ask, with a firmer press down into the spot, and you relish in the deep gravelly moan that grumbles from his chest, forcing his elbows to drop down onto the mattress.

When his hips buck forward, you place a steadying hand on his back, stroking soothing circles with your bare fingers over the dimples in his skin whilst your gloved ones curl into the spot again and again. Part of him is longing to reach down and grab his cock, to jerk it and come all over his fist with your fingers buried in his ass, but that's not what he's here for. Each time he opens his eyes he's made aware of what he's here for by the strap that still lays next to him. If he comes too soon, he's scared that'll be it over, the relief he was really seeking from you still totally out of reach by his own failure. He couldn't, wouldn't, fail at this too.

"Just look at you, Detective. You're getting so wet already." He is. He can feel it. His cock is dripping, beads of precum collecting on his tip and threatening to make a mess of the sheets below. Nodding and groaning and squeezing his eyes shut seem to be all he can do already, feeling like a total mess of a man with your voice like honey trickling into his ear. "So good. I think you can take one more finger. That's it, just one more. Good. Good boy."

He preens, back arching with the praise, cock definitely dripping onto the sheets now, three of your fingers curling and thrusting into his ass. He throbs, the ache of arousal thrumming through him with no relief, just building and building and building with nowhere to go, because you don't let it. You control it, each press of your fingers still so achingly slow that it can make him drip and ache but never explode.

A thin sheen of sweat is coating his body, his legs shaking, forehead pressed into the cool sheets, groans falling wantonly from his mouth, by the time you gingerly pull your fingers from him. That in itself feels like a relief, he thinks. Even though he's still painfully hard at least, for one moment, he's not being worked up and up to an edge you won't quite let him over just yet.

But the strap beside him is gone when he looks up, pushing up on shaky hands to look around for you again. Now, it sits on your hips, straps pulled taught over the mesh of your lingerie. You're pulling a condom over the length of dildo, rolling it down to the base, your glove discarded somewhere he can't see. His mouth is dry again, so he reaches for the water, swallowing deeply, wiping away an errant drop from the scruff of his beard.

He can't stop looking. Between your face, your beautiful face, your scantily clad body, your hands and those fingers that had just been inside him, the cock between your legs. He's entranced. It takes a gentle hand on his shoulder for him to notice you're talking to him.

"Look at you, Detective," you hum down to him, and all he can think is Yes. Look at me. Please. Here he was, stripped bare as a man could be, seen by you in ways he'd never been seen. And that name - a taunt coming from you that he longed for rather than loathed. Each tease of Detective a reminder that with you he could be both and neither all at once, just as he always was.

He reaches for you then. Slowly. Delicately. Fingers bridging the gap between you. Usually you'd step back, move away from grasping hands when permission wasn't granted. But, you let him touch, his fingers resting on your mesh covered hip and stroking you. It's the first time he's ever touched you, and it's so soft. You're so soft.

"You're ready for it, aren't you?" you ask, your eyes lazily dragging down to the strap between your legs where his follow.

Without word, and avoiding the mess already splattered on the sheet, he moves back to all fours, his hand leaving you cold. Slicking more lube across the strap, you kneel behind him, palming his ass with both hands, rubbing soft circles down his thighs as you gently rut against the crevasse of his ass.

"Do you trust me, Detective?"

It's a stupid question - stupid because you already know the answer, and so does he.

"You're kidding, right?" he says in disbelief, looking around to see the coy smile on your face.

"Humor me."

"Of course I do."

With his eyes still on you, you press forward, hand steadying the dildo to slip the tip into his slick asshole.

"Oh. That's it. Look at me when I fuck your ass. That feels so good doesn't it?"

Tim pants, nodding as you bear forward. The strap is barely thicker than your three fingers, but his rim still stretches and pulls as you breach him, slowly, steadily, until the entire length is buried in his ass.

"There we go. That's it. I'm all the way in. You take an ass fucking so well, Detective. Are you sure you haven't done this before?" With another roll of your hips he's gasping again, dropping his face to the sheet. The heat of his thighs are against yours and you know, you just know, that his cock is straining, his balls begging to empty already.

"There we are. That's it. You can take it. Oh, good boy. You like that don't you. You like being a good boy."

With his cheek is pressed to the mattress, you can see nothing but the pinched look of ecstasy on his face. It's boiling in his veins too, the heat spreading up his back and burning his cheeks. If he opens his eyes he'll see you, looking down with intent at his ass as you slowly roll your hips into him, and the thought alone makes him groan, brings him so close to coming that he's scrambling for purchase on the bed again, desperate gasps rattling out of him. The cloying scent of you is all over him - stuck in his lungs like molasses, each deep breath in of you coinciding with each slap of your hips against his ass until desperation turns to pleading.

"Please. P-please. Fuck. Please."

"Please what?" you say, looking around at him. And that's when you see his cock, angry and weeping, splattering cum all over your sheets. You hadn't felt him come yet, there'd been no tensing of his muscles or twitching of his cock, just a steady stream of precum dripping from him like a leaky faucet. "Oh, look at that. You're making quite the mess, aren't you, sweetie? Are you going to clean that up? Hm? Or will I have to bill the city for my laundry?"

"Oh, fu-," he pants, and you feel a shiver trickle down his back at the empty threat, his palms pressing harder into the mattress beneath him as his shoulders draw back. He's going to come. You don't even need to move, you could just talk to him in that voice of yours, call him a good boy and tell him how dirty he is and he'd be gone, skyrocketing to a place he'd never been and making a glorious mess of everything.

"What was that?" You slow down the roll of your hips, drawing him back from that edge you'd been dangling him so deliciously over.

"No. No. Don't - Fuck."

"Then you'll have to clean up your mess."

You swipe your finger through the cum that has steadily dripped from his cock and onto the sheet below, and lean forward to bring it to his lips, pressing your hips further and further into his ass. There's a sticky sheen of sweat on his back that slicks you together, and you can't resist. You kiss him. Soft lips pressing into the muscle of his shoulder, waiting for that moment he parts his lips in a voiceless moan to slip your finger inside. His tongue laves around your digit, tasting himself on the salt of your skin and he groans, vibrating desperate sounds from his chest to yours as you fuck so deep he's seeing stars.

"That's it, that's a good boy," you coo, dragging your finger from his mouth, leaving a trail of saliva across the scruff of his cheek.

"It's such a shame I have no use for your cock when it looks so pretty, Detective," You say, lifting your leg to fuck more deeply into him. "Look at it, all drippy and useless. You're going to come, aren't you? Even without touching your cock, you're going to come and make even more of a mess."

"Yes. Fuck, yes. Don't stop."

The steady slap of your hips picks up, and you're panting with exertion now too. You could've had him coming in five minutes, but that was no fun for you. You'd waited too long for this not to drag it out, not to see how long he could hold off for you, how much of a desperate mess he could be before he was begging for release. This was it. His limit. You'd found it, and his groans were suddenly impossible to ignore, shooting white hot heat into your own core, making you feel slick with want as you fucked him. You need him to come, before your need for more friction clouds your brain and you need to slip your hand between your own legs before he even leaves.

"Such a pretty ass to ruin. Come for me, Detective. Oh, fuck. Come for me."

He stops breathing. He thinks he's died. He has to have. You think you've killed him. But then his whole body tenses and he groans out a sob, biting sheets and spitting them out over and over as he comes, and comes, and comes. You don't stop, each shuddering sob of a gasp spurring you on until he's milked dry and almost prone on the mattress.

"That's it. That's it. You did it. Good boy. Well done, Detective. Well done."

He feels so soft. His bones must have turned to dust and spurted out of his cock with that final thrust of the strap in his ass. He's never been this weightless, never been this carefree. There's not an ache in him, just pure bliss, and he's so relieved he could cry.

And you're there. Pulling out of him slowly, wiping down his back, his thighs, with a damp towel, cooling him before you dry him with another, bringing water to his lips for him to drink. Pushing his hair back from his forehead, you guide him onto his back, letting him lie down and take a moments rest you know the man wouldn't take any other time. You're fairly certain he doesn't sleep. Detective Rockford works too hard because he cares too much, you know that. And you also know he doesn't care for himself. That is why he's here, even if he'd never say so himself.

"Up you get, sweetie. It's cold. Let's get something on you," you're whispering to him all too soon. Tim's lost, the concept of time gone from his body entirely, but he supposes it has been too long, his time is up. He only paid for an hour of your time, and even that seemed much more valuable than the price you'd put on it. He should go.

When he sits up he's lethargic, reaching for his clothes as he shuffles to the end of the bed. He doesn't know you're holding a robe out for him, strap discarded. He doesn't see the concern in your eyes because he suddenly can't meet them. "Should get going, I guess."

"No. You shouldn't. Stay."

Tim looks up to you then, seeing you wrapped and fully covered for the first time in the year he's known you. You're no more on the job right now than he is, he realizes, blinking in confusion at the robe you toss next to him.

"Look, I've taken up enough of your time, I don't want to overstep -"

"I'm not asking you to stay as a client, Detective. I'm asking you to stay as a friend. Stay. Talk to me." And you say it because god knows you mean it. You want him to stay and you want him to talk as much as you know he needs it, that gap he'd bridged with his hand now being bridged by you, and your simple request that he stay.

"Some friend to have."

"A good friend to have, Tim.”

“- I didn't mean - I meant me, I -”

“The point still stands either way," you say. And you mean that too. "Stay."

And that's it. There he is. Stripped back, just like he wanted. No more Detective. Just Tim. And there you are. Sitting on the blanket draped sofa, looking him straight in the eye. You don't need to look down to see him, and he doesn't need to look up to see you.

Grabbing the robe, Tim drapes it around himself, walking on unsteady feet toward you, the mess of the sheets and his life forgotten for one more second.

"Decaf? Might not have all the answers. But I do have coffee. And that's a start."

"Yeah," he says as he sits beside you. "Yeah, that's a start."

taglist: @jupiter-soups @wannab-urs @bean-is-reading @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @youandmeand5bucks-blog @bbyanarchist @vickywallace @kamcrazy123 @valkyreally @ashhlsstuff @a-literal-goblin @ariundercovers @iluvurfather @stevie75 @toxicanonymity @thesevi0lentdelights @sp00kymulderr @corazondebeskar-reads

also a little sneaky tag if you showed interest in my snippet the other day 💛 @heareball @nerdieforpedro @missredherring @survivingandenduring

[iceclew]

Part 2 is out as well, have a look! c:

Well GUESS who's got some days off of work, and is about to waste them solemly with drawing fandom -> THIS GURL HERE IS, WOOH!! (๑♡⌓♡๑)

Haaah...yes, me and the words again.. This is way to much dialogue for a comic isn't it? I hope it helps that I put down the whole text in the description as well (see below)..

Ah, yess the old "we ran into each other sometime somewhere before, but we cannot remember of course" (honestly, I just wanted to draw the two of them to interact as kids so badly, I just had to make something up for it)

Since Soshiro would have sort of a dialect, I tried to "englishify" that with slang..? (Slang I am not familiar with, because I am not a native english speaker, and just know about it because of the internet. Sorry if this is causing confusion somewhere) And when Kafka is speaking rather different than he does, I imagine it would sound funny to a 8 y/o... in case you've been wondering his comment..

Also I don't know if ppl would go on vacation, I literally just made everything up, analyzing a universe's law is so not my speciality... (*ﾟｰﾟ)ゞ

*transcript below*

*getting out of a shelter right after a Kaiju attack*

Soshiro: 'Scuse me, have ya seen ma brotha? He's like this tall! Kafka: Uh... sorry dude, I haven't S: Can you like ... look for him? (since you'r taller and stuff...) K: Sure. So what does he look like? S: Like my brotha... K: Uh.... ok.. S: Hehe, ya sound funny! K: You think? Yeah, I'm not from around here. I'm on vacation right now. S: REALLY?! People come on vacation? HERE? Like for real?? WHY? XD K (thinking): what an annoying brat, better find his bro soon...

---

K: So, are we just looking for your brother? Your mom and dad are not around? *looking for anybody slightly resembling* S: NAH, they kill'd the Kaiju, they won't be home anytime before ev'ning. K: So they're Defence Force officers then? S: Tkch, as if! My dad's a platoon leader! K: Really? That's cool! I want to get into the Defence Force too in a few years! :) S: HAH! YOU? You look like a whimp! There's more to a D.F. Officer, than being tall, you gotta have what it TAKES!!

---

K: Oh, let me guess. And you think YOU have that? S: YEAH? Well.. MOST OF IT!! I'm not allowed holding a gun yet... But just you wait! I'mma BEAT those Kaiju's BUTTS for sure!!

---

K: Relax, I believe you, don't worry! Look at ya, a feisty one like you can become Captain in no time! S: Ah! D: K: Keep going, so we get to spare in Tokyo one day! Let's see who's the better fighter when we're grown-ups, okay? S: ... YEAH! I'mma beat ya ass, tall guy!!