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grumpyeagleandfriends · 9 months ago

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À Terre II | Poe Dameron x OC/Reader

A/N: Reader is a Resistance pilot that was captured during a solo reconnaissance mission. They escape by hijacking a ship. Gravely injured and hanging by a thread, they rejoin the Resistance by crash landing just outside of the base on D'Qar. A certain distraught squadron leader runs out to help.

Hurt/Comfort. Gratuitous, self-serving one shot TWO PART story. I have rewritten the first chapter in addition to adding on a second installment. This time it's in Poe's POV. I don’t like using “y/n” so I give the reader a generic, 1 syllable Star Wars name in the middle of this bad boy. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ I’ve been daydreaming about this for months years, so I finally decided to write it all out. There’s a little bit of a long set up, but I’m not sorry about it.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions blood and torture. Shellshock/PTSD vibes. Cursing. Tons of graphic medical stuff. Injections (so needles).

Word count: 5,439

Masterlist

Blood was everywhere when he finally made it inside the cockpit...

Even after he got her free from the safety harness, when all he could do was keep her calm and alert until the med techs arrived, he noticed the way she looked at him, the way she pulled it together to focus every time she nearly fell asleep. Hol hadn’t been able to properly talk, but with every command he gave her, she nodded and tried her best to comply.

The metallic iron smell of it nearly knocked him back when he opened the canopy. It covered everything. Her shaking hands, her hair, her flight suit, he even found it coating the inside of her mouth after he coaxed her to let him take away the life support mask.

He desperately wanted to give her water to see if she could drink, but there wasn’t any to be found in the cockpit. He wanted to put her in one of his jackets to help stop her from shaking, but the patch of trees she crashed landed into was too far from his quarters on base. He wanted to scream at her for being so goddamn stubborn, but he couldn’t shake the way she desperately clutched onto his hand.

They hadn't been careful enough when extracting her. There wasn't enough time to wait for proper immobilization equipment to be brought out to the crash site. Between Hol's blood loss and the ship leaking dangerous fluids into the forest, they made the difficult call to just move.

Seeing that utmost trust in her eyes, alongside the fear and the pain, was what really scared him the most. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if he let her die there, not after she clawed her way back to them.

He had no way of knowing at that moment, but the jostling when they lifted her out caused a broken rib to puncture one of her lungs. Poe couldn’t keep from blaming himself for his own role in that.

The second they placed her onto the hover gurney, her condition began to rapidly deteriorate. One of the med techs caught sight of her blue fingertips and immediately diagnosed a collapsed lung. Poe only just managed to clamber out of the cockpit to see it all. He stood frozen on the wing of the ship while he watched them cut open her flight suit to reveal her bloated chest. The bright glow of a laser scalpel quickly appeared and they made an emergency incision between her ribs to let the trapped air escape.

Once they got her breathing again, she was loaded onto the back of the waiting med truck and they took off. Poe was left to follow behind on the back of a ship technician's speeder bike.

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

He sprinted into the medbay only a few moments after Hol was rushed in on the hover gurney. Bypassing the waiting area and going directly through the sliding double doors was unusually easy. In hindsight it should have struck him as odd that no one stopped him, but the overstretched med staff meant that no one paid him any mind when he planted himself against the back wall in triage.

As promised, Kalonia’s team was already primed and waiting to receive her. Poe had to crane his neck to be able to see, but he counted at least seven different med techs helping transfer her over to the exam bed.

They began working like a well calibrated machine, her dirty flight suit was sliced open and quickly stripped away. As soon as they were connected, the more sophisticated diagnostic scanners lit up and began displaying the worst of her injuries. Images of her chest cavity were produced on a monitor near the end of the exam bed, along with her vitals.

From where he stood, Poe was able to catch Hol’s foot beginning to subtly twitch. He wondered initially if he had just imagined the movement, but the surrounding med staff began to take notice as well.

“Eyes are beginning to flutter, she might be starting to come around.”

Dr. Kalonia took a step back as her staff continued their work. She pulled aside the young medic who had been down in the cockpit with Poe. He began rattling off the details of Hol’s condition when found and how exactly she was transported. After a couple of minutes he began gesturing over his shoulder in Poe’s direction, causing Kalonia to promptly look up. Her eyes narrowed when she caught sight of him standing back by the door.

Shit…

His back stiffened in preparation for an argument that never came.

“Dameron, get over here!”

She issued the instruction like an admiral as she pointed him over to the top of the exam bed.

He didn't think, he just immediately crossed over. The moment he was within reach, she grabbed hold of his arm and brought him to stand where she was.

“Do exactly what you did down at the crash site, alright? Talk to your pilot. Keep her calm.”

Hol’s head gently lolled to the side on the padded exam table, her face slack and eyes half-lidded. She went still once more just as he took his place. He cupped her face in his hands, noting how cool and clammy her skin felt against his palms.

Kalonia stood to his right, a penlight ready in her hand to test the reaction of her patient’s pupils.

“C’mon, Tarmin…” She called while carefully tugging open Hol’s eyelid.

Immediately, there was a weak moan, greatly muffled by the respirator mask. Hol tried to roll away from the touch, but Poe’s hands braced either side of her head.

“Hey, hey- it's okay. Easy, kid, easy.” He whispered, holding her in place just long enough for Kalonia to work.

“Settle down, Lieutenant.” The doctor spoke as she pulled away. “You crash landed on D’Qar. You’re in medical.”

Poe didn't let go once she finished. He continued cradling Hol's head, his short nails scratching at her scalp in some attempt at providing comfort.

Her body was fully exposed under the surgical lights, revealing the extent of the damage that he wasn't able to see back in the cockpit. The bruising along her abdomen and rib cage was mostly black, as if there were large ink blots staining her skin. There were blaster grazes on her right side, localized swelling where her right forearm was clearly fractured, wounds in her lower abdomen...

So much of it jumped out at once, he found it hard to focus on any one injury long enough. He began to wonder just what sort of state she was in before the crash.

Hol emitted another faint groan, one where he could distinctly hear a wheezing sound that came from deep in her chest. Her body jerked from the force of a cough. Red flecks of blood appeared inside the clear respirator mask.

Slowly, she began to blink against the lights. A worry line formed in the center of her forehead.

"No...n-no… "

It was hoarse and strained, but everyone standing around caught the audible plea. Hol's good hand suddenly lifted in an attempt to bat away those touching her.

Dr. Kalonia cursed.

"Restrain her! I'm trying to insert a chest catheter here!”

Padded white cuffs were produced and promptly attached around each of her limbs, securing her to the exam bed.

"Hol, look at me." Poe commanded. He cupped her jaw as he leaned directly over her, giving her no choice but to comply. He made himself the only thing she had to look at. His shadow worked to shield her eyes from the glaring overhead lights while also blocking her view of the med staff.

Her gaze was glassy and unfocused, but she was thankfully looking at him.

"You've got to relax." He urged, his hand smoothing her tangled hair back off her face as he spoke. "We’re trying to patch you up, alright? Let us help."

She blinked at the sound of his voice, and though the distress on her face didn't fade, she went still on the exam bed. Her eyes remained set in his direction.

"There you go, sunshine..." Poe quietly praised, using once again the affectionate name he knew she absolutely hated. "Keep those eyes on me, don't worry about anything else."

His attention never left her, but he was aware that Kalonia and another med tech were beginning to work at prepping the incision site to insert the chest tube. He wasn't convinced that Hol recognized who he was or even that she was somewhere safe, but he couldn't risk her getting freaked out by the procedure being performed on her chest.

There was still visible fear in her eyes, but she never looked away from him. Her struggling thankfully ceased as she began to lean into one of his palms bracing the side of her face.

"You're safe, you know that?" He found himself reminding her. The pads of his thumbs traced over the outer shells of her ears, trying again to ease the visible discomfort he saw etched in her face. "Promise you, babe. You're good, we've got you."

Hol winced before swallowing. His brow furrowed as he watched her lips suddenly part.

“Poe…"

Her voice was painfully raw, and normally the sound of her saying his name would have been reason for relief, but he only worried that she was wasting her energy trying to talk.

“Yeah, hey, Hol.” He greeted in a whisper, dipping just enough to brush his lips to her hairline. "It's me. I'm right here."

He frowned when she tried to say something more, something longer and impossible to parse.

"Shh-hey, no, that's enough. Don't want you to talk anymore." He gently scolded. "We’re going to do like before, okay? You relax while I run my mouth.”

Poe doubted she remembered their conversation down in the cockpit, but she thankfully fell silent. Her eyes remained on him as he kept quietly talking to her, blabbering on about how lucky she was to get out of briefings and inventory duty for the next few weeks, about how she was going to sit back on the medbay's best painkillers and watch the trashiest holovids he could find.

He knew deep down that she probably wasn't following him entirely, but he was trying to reassure himself at this point more than her. He was keenly aware that none of what he was saying was guaranteed, but he had to give himself something to hold on to, because imagining anything else simply was not an option for him.

She had to pull through this.

She had to be fine.

Minutes passed like that, Hol's unfocused gaze trained on Poe's face as he worked at keeping her distracted. Kalonia was able to successfully insert the temporary catheter into Hol's chest, which would assure the function of her uninjured lung until they could patch up the other.

Poe listened closely as a medtech outlined all of the crucial information, providing him with the rough plan of how her treatment would proceed. Once they finished stabilizing her most grave injuries, she would be taken back for surgery. There would be some additional testing after, which would take a couple of hours...

The explanation suddenly stopped short when an alarm began to sound from one of the machines. The level of the urgency in the room immediately started to bubble over.

"Heart rate is increasing!" Someone announced.

Poe visibly paled as he watched Hol's eyes roll backward. His hands still bracing her head, he desperately looked up at the med staff, searching for some kind of instruction.

"Dameron, out!"

Kalonia swooped in and firmly shouldered him out of the way.

Before he could object, a med droid approached and began to usher him towards the door.

"Doc, what's going on?" He demanded, sidestepping the mechanical arms reaching for his shirt. "What's wrong?"

His question went ignored. Hold was entirely obscured from his view. There were too many people now surrounding the exam bed.

"She's seizing! Start anticonvulsants and prepare for a transfusion!"

"Master Dameron, the team needs to prepare the patient for surgery. You must leave."

The med droid's pincers whirred as it closed in on Poe.

"Don't tell me what I have to do!" He snapped, the outline of his jaw more pronounced as he spoke through clenched teeth.

In a moment of sheer stupidity, he pushed back hard against the unforgivingly solid metal chest. He clearly forgot that these droids were built to easily lift the deadweight of critically ill patients of any species.

The mechanical arms tightly wrapped around him, securing his own arms to his sides. They closed, crushing him flush against the droid's metal body. The gesture was completed so quickly that he could feel the air being forced out of his own chest.

Poe feebly kicked, but it was useless. The droid easily hauled him back out through the double doors and towards the waiting area.

________________________

The word about who crash-landed into the trees traveled like wildfire across base. All of black squadron, Finn, BB-8, several of the x-wing techs and pilots from various outfits formed a large group just outside of the medbay. Each of them had duties elsewhere that they were purposefully ignoring, choosing out of loyalty to be present while one of their own hung in some grave state between life and death. They were the ones who threw back countless drinks in the mess hall together, who organized a massive fantasy Gravball league that nearly sent the entire Resistance into chaos, and who pooled their commissary credits to throw each other birthday parties.

They were all present to witness the painful moment Poe was forcibly escorted out of the sliding double doors leading to triage.

"Shit!-alright, alright! Let go!" His shouts ricocheted down the hallway as he finally managed to yank himself free. The force of the motion caused him to promptly fall to the floor.

The others watched as he quickly scrambled up from the ground, stumbling and hurrying to kick at the back of the retreating med droid.

He missed, which only served to enrage him further. The doors promptly closed behind the droid and Poe spun around— his mouth set in a tight line while he began to inexplicably search his surroundings. His chest rose and fell for several beats. His face twisted into a sneer before he abruptly lashed out at the nearest object, sending a trashcan flying with his boot. The steel barrel was thankfully empty, but the sharp clang sent a shockwave across the medbay.

The few people waiting in the sitting area immediately stood up to vacate the space.

Finn was the first to take a step forward to intervene, but he was halted by a large hand on his arm. He turned his head to see Snap, skin still humid as if he came straight from the refresher.

"Best to stand back and let it pass." The pilot urged with a sad shake of his head. "His scenes are never pretty."

Finn didn't want to agree, but as he stood and watched the scene unfolding before them he couldn't find any reason to argue. Snap and the others would know better. They did know.

Poe’s hands were pressed to the back of his head, his fingers laced together as he glared at the closed doors. He could have easily pushed his way back through, but he inexplicably remained where he stood. His eyes shot a deadly amount of spite toward whatever was happening on the other side of those doors— information that, for the time being, only he knew.

His arms fell heavily to his sides. Ignoring the uneasy looks following him, he turned and traipsed over to the first row of waiting chairs, silently throwing himself down onto one of the seats.His legs stretched out while he leaned back, his arms folded over his chest.

He continued to stare at the doors, a hard glint in his eyes for the faceless goliath wrecking untold damage on the other side.

The others slowly filtered over to join him in the waiting area. A supportive hand would occasionally grip his shoulder or linger on his knee, but no one said anything. Those unvoiced questions sat heavy above their heads.

BB-8 remained near Poe’s feet, unusually still and silent.

Hours grudgingly crawled by. The light outside faded away and began to just barely creep back over the horizon when someone finally came out to speak to them.

Poe was the only one to be escorted back behind the double doors. Dr. Kalonia stood there waiting for him, still dressed in some of her surgical garb. Thankfully, her mask was off, because her facial expression alone was able to answer his most crucial question.

She was alive.

Kalonia began to turn before she motioned for him to come along.

"Follow me, Dameron..."

________________________

They walked together down the main hallway of the medical wing, back to where Poe knew the overnight patient beds were located. He remained silent as Kalonia gave the run through of everything— what exactly happened when he was forced out of triage and what they were able to correct during surgery. Internal bleeding was what caused Hol to begin seizing. They performed a blood transfusion that stabilized her enough to undergo surgery, but they hadn’t been confident that she would make it through. The surgery itself took hours, but they were successfully able to localize and stop the bleeding in her abdomen and patch up her punctured lung. They installed a more substantial drainage tube in her chest to allow excess air and fluids to escape so her lung could continue to heal.

She would need to be kept asleep so her body could focus on repairing itself, but Kalonia was going to let Poe see her while they performed some additional tests.

They came to a stop just before the smallest room along the hallway. Due to space constraints on base, most of the rooms along this corridor housed multiple beds. This room was only for patients in a bad enough state to justify being kept isolated from others.

Kalonia stood aside to let him enter first.

They had Hol lying half-covered on an exam bed, her chest was mostly obscured by bandages. The first thing he noticed was that she was clean now, so much so that it made his head spin.

It shouldn’t have been such a surprise, because of course they were going to scrub away the blood and grime before putting her on fresh bedding. But still, the contrast from when he found her sitting strapped in that downed ship was startling.

Several machines were attached to her body. She was hooked up to a respirator and receiving fluids intravenously, but Poe also caught sight of the aforementioned drainage tube extending from a patch of bandages in her side. It ran all the way over the edge of the bed into a receptacle on the floor. Her injured arm was wrapped in bacta strips and immobilized with a splint.

He remained a few feet away from her bed, a distance that he decided would be safe, because it felt too dangerous to touch her. His eyes slowly took in every piece of equipment being used to keep her stable, at first he began to count but stopped himself when he reached double digits.

His brow furrowed the moment he noticed the padded white cuffs still attaching Hol's wrists to the bed frame.

"Why is she still strapped down?" He demanded, his voice oddly distorted from hours of not speaking.

"It’s just a precaution for now.” Kalonia began to explain, seeming to choose her words cautiously. “She’s still on anticonvulsants to help reduce the likelihood of further seizures, but even while sedated there are still some tremors. With the location of the drainage tube we can’t risk her moving too violently or ripping it out when she wakes.”

Poe blinked, taking a moment to process the information.

"How long does she have to keep the tube?”

“No more than 2 to 3 days.”

He nodded while he chewed on his lower lip, his eyes still trained on Hol.

“Look, Dameron…”

She interrupted his thoughts in a gentle tone that was meant to be comforting, but it only made the hairs on the back of his neck stand straight. Dr. Kalonia was known for ruthlessly running the medbay like a battleship. They went back far too long, he knew to brace for the worst whenever she started to go soft.

Poe turned to face her, the pit of dread he felt low in his stomach was only growing. He would have given anything in that moment for them to fall into their traditional roles, for him to be the one injured and for her to be yelling at him. - Dammit, Dameron! Either make yourself useful or get the hell out of my medbay!

But she only continued to speak in that horribly gentle tone.

“As Tarmin’s commanding officer, there is something else that you should know.”

She walked him around to the opposite side of the bed, where there was noticeably less tubing.

“During the examination before her surgery, I noticed some smaller injuries that made me order full lab work.”

He watched as she lifted the bit of blanket covering Hol’s legs.

“I found infected injection sites on the insides of her arms and thighs, then these small circular burns on her ankles.”

Immediately Poe began to understand the rationale behind her delicate words.

He'd seen those marks on more than a few Resistance members who managed to escape capture. He sported similar ones himself after being captured on Jakku...after the Finalizer.

“We found traces of antipsychotics, nerve agents, and truth serum in her system.” Kalonia continued to explain.

He bowed his head as he listened, the sour taste of bile was creeping up in the back of his mouth. He pinched the bridge of his nose while the facts began to register in his mind. His teeth clamped down on the inside of his cheek, he forced himself to slowly exhale.

"There are chafe marks on her body from restraints. The partial break to her humerus looks like it's from prolonged strain during intero—"

He couldn’t let her fully pronounce the word.

"Alright!”

He didn't have it in him to yell anymore, but the tension in his voice filled the space like a streak of lightning.

To her credit, Kalonia never flinched at the sound. She stood patiently, unwavering, her face neutral as she watched him. An uneasy silence settled over the room.

He took a shaky breath, being mindful to adjust his tone before continuing.

“It’s okay.” He spoke softly, voice trembling despite his efforts. “I-I got it, Doc.”

He turned to face away as he desperately tried to calm the tightening in his throat. The corners of his eyes were sharply stinging. The best he could do to regain control was to continue biting down hard on the inside of his mouth, inhaling and exhaling through his nose.

After a couple of minutes he scrubbed both hands over his stubbled face. With the heels of his palms he rubbed at his eyes until he saw stars. Slowly, much too slowly for his liking, he was able to push his own agony down enough to recenter.

Poe turned to face Kalonia once more. He cleared his throat.

“She's not going to be in too much pain when she wakes up?” He demanded. “You can keep her comfortable, right?”

She pointed his attention to the IV stand by the head of the exam bed.

"I can't promise when she wakes up that she won't be in some pain, but we can adjust the medication through her drip and it'll take effect almost immediately."

He nodded. His hand combed through his hair before he slowly approached the bedside once more.

Poe stood and watched Hol's face for several minutes. He searched hard for any signs of movement or distress but found nothing. Her features were mercifully still and serene for the moment. She was protected under the fog of artificial sleep.

“How long are you going to keep her under?”

The question was spoken in a near whisper.

“Depends on her vitals, but at least a day, maybe two.”

Kalonia took the time to show him her vitals displayed on the monitor near the head of the bed, providing a brief explanation of what the numbers currently meant. For the moment, everything hovered just barely inside the acceptable range. It was far from ideal, but it was at least temporarily stable. They would have to see over the next few days how she progressed.

While standing there together, they witnessed a ripple of stiff movement pass through Hol’s limbs.

“Whoa…” Poe visibly straightened, alarm written on his face as he began to think the worst.

Kalonia’s hand found his arm.

“Those movements aren’t another seizure.” She assured him. “It’s a residual effect from nerve agent exposure. Think of it like the nerves in her body recalibrating.”

Poe nodded in quiet understanding, but all he could think about was the excuse Kalonia gave him earlier for keeping Hol restrained— how she didn’t want her to hurt herself. There was some logic behind it, he could admit that much. But now that he knew some of what happened to her, he could barely stomach the idea.

They allowed him to stay in Hol’s room overnight. Kalonia had a cot brought in for him to sleep on, but only under the condition that he promised two things: to use the refresher across the hall and to actually get some sleep.

When he was finally alone with her he felt oddly numb. There in the nearly dark ward of the medbay, he stood over Hol’s bed and just watched her. It took several minutes for him to work up the courage to approach, but he did it. His hand briefly rested on the metal railing, as if he was grounding himself before he finally reached to touch her.

His fingers snaked between her own as he slotted his hand over her's. Immediately he realized that her skin felt strangely warm, prompting him to reach up and feel the side of her face. A quick look at her vitals confirmed his suspicions, she had a low-grade fever beginning to form.

Poe made a note to point it out to one of the medtechs when they would come to make their rounds. He touched her hand once more before he stepped back to take a seat on the unfolded cot.

From there he watched her rest. He felt the heavy pull of exhaustion on his body, but sleep was the last thing he wanted for himself. His mind was all over the place, thinking about too many things at once.

Leia would come to visit her soon. He knew that much. Once she was past the worst and strong enough to speak, they would make her issue a report and do a formal debrief in front of Leia and her counsel.

It would be long and grueling. She would have to relive everything in great detail and be thoroughly questioned. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know all of the facts himself, but he definitely knew that he didn’t want to put her through having to recount it too many times. Those meetings were meant to be classified, but it wouldn’t take long before everyone would know.

Poe so desperately wished that he could save her from that part—when everyone on base would begin to look at her differently. He knew that it was inevitable though. While he sat there next to her bed, watching over her while she slept, he could only think about what was to come.

He knew that for however long she stayed asleep in this room, she was at least protected from all that was waiting out there. The thought comforted him some, even if it was only temporary.

He also knew that the two of them needed to talk about a lot of things once she woke up.

Her position in Black Squadron needed to be rethought. It was a massive understatement to say that her flying under him was unethical. Before Hol left for Batuu they tried to be discreet about their relationship. They both told themselves that they were doing a good enough job keeping things secret, a delusion that went well past the point of denial. They thought their regular heated arguments in front of the others and their general refusal to touch each other would provide ample cover, but their sneaking off to fuck in supplies closets hadn't always been the most covert. But now that she was back, Poe was ready to throw discretion out the window.

There were without a doubt other positions for her as a pilot, other opportunities, but it was going to be difficult convincing her. Making her understand that it wasn’t a punishment would be delicate.

He would talk it over with Leia, with some of the other squadron leaders. He would confess that he was the one in the wrong, and readily accept whatever disciplinary action came his way. They would figure something out for Hol. They had to.

Poe knew he also owed her an apology. He could have handled things differently when she volunteered for the mission, he could have spoken his mind while remaining supportive. His only memories of that conversation were just of him dressing her down, desperately trying to pull rank as a last ditch effort to keep her from leaving by herself.

The truth was that he was so fucking proud of her. During the weeks she was gone he had been livid, walking around with anger bubbling under his skin at all times. But now all he wanted was for her to hear how proud he felt, because he didn't want to leave her with those memories of their final argument.

She kept her head cool and found her way back. She survived whatever hell she fell into and fought her way out. He still couldn’t wrap his head around how she managed to pull off the execution of that landing. She had one broken arm, was trying to evade being hit with no comms system, all while coming in on fumes.

A medtech came by a couple of hours later, which woke Poe out of a light sleep.

He sat up and watched from his cot as they administered medication, checked the tubes and wires around her body to make sure nothing was out of place.

He mentioned the fever, which thankfully hadn't climbed any higher. They started her on another course of antibiotics.

“She looks peaceful, doesn’t she?” They asked him at one point.

The very moment he heard the word a bitter taste spread across his entire tongue, making his mouth twist downward in a frown. He knew they meant well enough, but his head still snapped around to look at them in disbelief.

Because "peaceful" had never been Hol.

Conniving.

Stubborn.

Impulsive.

A pain in his ass.

There were easily ten dozen choice adjectives he and quite a few others on this base could use to describe Hol Tarmin, but peaceful was definitely not one.

Peaceful was a word that people used to describe the dead.

And his girl wasn’t fucking dead.

The very idea was something he couldn’t dwell on for too long, because of the way his foundation had very nearly crumbled during those weeks she was gone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt panic the way he had at the crash site, thinking at any moment he would be forced to helplessly watch while she slipped away from him, like watching water slowly leak out of his cupped hands.

It felt selfish to have those thoughts while she was lying there in front of him, but he was keenly aware of how impossibly lucky they were to get her back — how impossibly lucky he was.

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would-this-pokemon-be-a-friend · 8 months ago

Note

Have you done porygon yet? If not, then please? ^^

[I have not! Here you go!]

Porygons are certainly an unusual case. While this species of pokémon seems to be alive, they are by no means biological organisms, at least in ways that we understand. Let’s jump right into it.

At least as far as size goes, porygons are a solid size for a pet, though they are surprisingly heavy. Usually, however, any pokémon species that gets around by levitation is able to negate most mobility issues in the home so long as they have enough airspace to move around in. In fact, porygons can get around exceptionally (and perhaps too) well. They’re power of flight seems to be boundless, as they are speculated as being able to fly into space (Yellow). Take this with a grain of salt, however, as this pokédex rumor may be referring more to porygons’ abilities to survive in a vacuum (we’ll talk about that more later). Being made entirely of programmable code in a physical form, porygons can travel in a realm we can’t: cyberspace (Red/Blue). Porygons are capable of reverting their physical form back into “program data” in order to do so (Ruby/Sapphire). This is great on one hand, because it will make it much easier to bring your pet with you on trips! Additionally, your faithful friend could help protect your little corner of cyberspace from malicious code (Shield). This ability also means, unfortunately, that it would be rather easy for your porygon to wander off across the internet, never to return. Luckily for you, few porygons have a rebellious streak…

Porygons are… well… predictable. Porygons are reportedly unable to act outside of what they were programmed with when they were created, and said programming seems to be pretty restrictive (Silver, Crystal). So, if you’re looking for a spontaneous pet, you’re looking in the wrong place. It’s unclear in the pokédex data if a porygon’s programming can be easily rewritten to give them a little more personality and autonomy. If you are adopting a porygon, it’s most likely that you are either getting them from a computer scientist who specializes in creating them (unless you are such a scientist yourself) or finding them at a rescue that found them wandering, lost in cyberspace, so there’s a good chance the programming you get is what you get. But hey, I’m not an expert! Porygon science has come a long way in the last thirty-ish years since their invention (Silver, Crystal, Sun). At least, it seems that they were invented thirty-ish years ago? A quite similar creature was observed in what is now the Sinnoh region during its ruler surveying, though it couldn’t possibly have actually been a porygon, could it (Legends: Arceus)?

On the bright side, if we look past the risk of them getting loose in cyberspace, porygons are rather easy to take care of. They don’t even breathe, and it has been speculated that they can function in pretty much any environment (Yellow, Gold). Due to their restrictive programming, most porygons are very even-tempered, which is good given their combat abilities. Porygons’ move pools largely depend on their programming, but they are physically capable of using some pretty dangerous electric-type moves like Thunder Shock, Discharge, and Zap Cannon, which could easily prove deadly depending on the context. An attacking porygon could present a threat to any human, but this factor doesn’t tank their score too bad given their predictable, programmable behavior.

If you are looking to adopt a porygon, it is important to acknowledge that the pokémon you’re adopting, while alive, is not as spontaneous or expressive as many biological species. That being said, so long as you can somehow prevent your little friend from wandering off into cyberspace with some careful firewalls and restrictions, they are quite easy to care for. I think they look pretty charming too, personally.

#pokémon #pokemon #porygon #pkmn irl #pr-b

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catmansquad · 1 year ago

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“Unstable” (2)

I had intended for the first part to just be an excerpt I’ve rewritten, but since you people are clearly thirsty for this crazy, dangerously obsessed variant…(100+ Notes (Sweats))

So, here we are. More Yandere!Miguel

You were fairly sure you couldn’t mark the exact point in time where your life had suddenly become spontaneously more interesting. On second thoughts, you most definitely could; the other Monday, you were just on your way home from grocery shopping, arms heavy with bags, aching with the shopping and mind ticking over for what you could make. Would Miguel eat your cooking, or would he be exhausted from work again and subsist solely on store-bought empanadas? You admitted a soft sigh, well aware that your permanently exhausted husband had no time for your cooking any more. He had little time for anything but work and sleep these days. You were just considering that you could tempt him with something spicy when your attention was seized by a screech of tires.

You watched in horror as a car on Auto-drive screeched from the road, mounting the pavement and racing straight forwards, towards you. You were frozen in fear, a deer in literal headlights. Only the car never hit you, seconds before impact, you were grabbed by a strong arm across your waist, pressed against a broad body and both were sharply launched up and away as the car raced over where you had been, screeching for a few feet further as the brakes applied and the engine shut off. You didn’t see any of this, you were still trembling, eyes screwed shut. You felt soft grass underfoot. ‘Hey… You’re alright.’ That deep voice soothed you; you could feel it rumbling in that broad chest, and your eyes slowly opened, you looked up and around; you were being held by a masked figure who towered over you, clad in red and deepest blue. ‘… Y-you… Saved my life…’ ‘Yeah, I did… Sorry I couldn’t save your groceries, too. The important part is that you’re safe.’ You gasped softly as you felt the figure’s other arm come around to embrace you in a reassuring cuddle, almost squeezing you against that broad form before slackening his grip. You swallowed; you could feel just how buff your saviour was; that suit was utterly skintight. You tried not to blush, not to be embarrassed. You were married, with a loving husband. ‘C-can I, uh…?’ At your unfinished question, your saviour hummed, then finally released you from that embrace. You turned around to face the mystery man; as tall as Miguel, but outclassed him in sheer muscle mass. ‘Who are you…?’ You watched that mask shift, eyes narrow, they hummed again. ‘I’m…. I’m your friendly Spider-man. Just looking out for you.’ His hand was huge and warm on your shoulder, then he launched webbing from his wrist and was gone into the city. You were still, aware of broken bags and the pavement marred with the black streaks of tire burns. ‘… What the hell is a “Spider-man”?’

He followed you home, from the shadows, from the rooftops. He was in this world now, close enough to touch you. Holding you in his arms had only been a brief taste of just how deep his affections ran, in time he knew you wouldn’t want to leave his embrace. It had been perfectly easy; for Lyla to hack and reprogram the Auto-drive GPS, technology in this world was so laughably primitive. So very easy to engineer a tragic accident to rescue you from. Already, she was proving her worth once again, already setting more events in motion… He would have you, your love, your trust, as soon as he had dealt with the spare…

Of all the things that Miguel O’Hara could have imagined happening, he did not expect to be kidnapped on his way home from work. There was no creaky white van, no gangs in balaclavas. No, he was out into the car park when he registered the feeling of something wet and sticky gluing itself to his back, and then his feet were no longer on the ground. He floundered desperately for something to grab onto, but there was only empty air and the ground that was getting further and further away. Momentum ceased suddenly as a hand closed sharply around his neck, almost cutting off his air entirely. ‘Miguel O’Hara…?’ The masked figure demanded in a growl. ‘Wha…?’ He wheezed, trying to draw enough breath to speak, his feet were still not touching solid ground, his entire bodyweight being supported by the hand around his throat. The masked figure laughed, head shaking as if in disbelief. ‘Of course you are… Pathetic. We’re going to go somewhere quiet, and have a little talk, O’Hara, and if you behave yourself, I might just let you keep breathing…’ The strangled choking gasp squeezed its way out as the hand on his throat tightened crushingly, just for a moment.

You glanced at the clock, listening to the relieving sound of a key turning in the lock and the front door opening. Stepping out into the hall, a relieved smile settled across your face at the sight of your husband shutting and locking the door behind him, twirling the ring of keys around one finger before his eyes found you, a look of elation crossed his features, just for a brief moment. ‘Mig, I was getting worried, you’re not usually so late. Don’t tell me you stayed behind again? Seriously, I know your work’s important, but it’s not good for your health…’ You stepped closer, hands resting on his shoulder and a little yelp escaped you, unbidden, as you were all but pulled into a crushing hug, feeling him pull you tight against him, his face nuzzling into your neck as he inhaled your scent. ‘Heheh… Hey, what’s gotten into you, Mig…?’ You returned his hug, grateful for it, feeling him shiver softly at your touch. ‘Mm… Only good things, why’d you ask?’ With some reluctance, he stepped back, still smiling. It had been years since you had seen him like this, so full of life, so full of energy.. ‘You’re usually just so… Exhausted-‘ Your gaze turned critical; voice serious. ‘Miguel. Answer me, truthfully, right now; Are you on drugs?’ He chuckled at your answer, hands squeezing your shoulders reassuringly. ‘No! No, of course not. I… I managed to convince work to move my vacation time up. For the next two weeks, I’m all yours…’ His voice slipped into a low purr, leaning in for a kiss. You stopped him, hands on his chest, hesitating.

‘It’s…. Strange.’ ‘Strange?’ His smile faltered, just for the briefest instant. ‘… Yeah, just strange, seeing you so… Happy, so full of energy. When you weren’t back on time, I was starting to worry that something had happened, and then you come in practically bursting at the seams with joy… What did you do with my old husband?’ You laughed softly, and after a second, he joined in, squeezing you into another hug that you didn’t resist. ‘Oh, mi corazón, I’m the same man I’ve always been…’ He held you close, close enough that you could not see the crimson glint of his eyes, or the vicious smirk of triumph that crept onto his face.

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‘Turn out your pockets. Everything. Wallet, keys, ID… All of it. Everything.’ Miguel O’Hara was in a panic; battered, bruised and bloodied, he struggled to obey fast enough. His kidnapper was not after the secrets of his job, did not want the details of his impressive bank account. Nor was he messing around, he had just witnessed the terrifying manic crush a steel bar effortlessly- nothing more than an effort in intimidation, to show off his inhuman strength. It had the desired effect. ‘W-why are you doing this-?’ ‘Why…? WHY?!’ The figure leaned in, scowling, masked eyes narrowing into slits. ‘It’s because you are WEAK! You’re weak. I’m not. I’m so much stronger than you- so much better than you- So… That’s why you’re going to go away now…’ Clawed hands snatched the belongings out of his grasp, still the voice was thick with venomous hatred. ‘… You’re going to go far, far away, and you’re not going to see or speak to your partner ever again… If I ever see you again, O’Hara. If I get even the tiniest inkling that you’ve been making contact with them… I’m going to find you, I’m going to hunt you down, and I’m going to snap your spine like a toothpick…’ He watched those masked eyes narrow again, voice a low growl. ‘… Comprende? Yes?’

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

‘I’m the man you married…’ You squirmed in delight as he peppered kisses on your cheek, still held in his arms, like he couldn’t get enough of you. ‘So, mm… Mig, give me just a moment, please…’ ‘I can’t help myself, you’re just too… Addictive…’ He finally released you, he had not taken more than a few steps into the door and already affection had spilled forth like a near endless font. ‘Go on… My restraint is only so long.’ You took a moment to recompose yourself, pulling him by the hand into the lounge, and he didn’t resist. ‘So… Two things, the first; since you’re on vacation now and have no further excuses; we’re still on for tomorrow night?’ You watched his eyes search your face softly, smile fading slowly. ‘Uh…’ ‘Seriously, Miggy? This is why you need to get more sleep. We were going out to the Yew Crozier for dinner with my friends? Remember now?’ He hung his head, smiling softly in embarrassment. ‘… Of course. What fun we’ll have. What was the second thing? You mentioned two.’ ‘Two? Uh, well, technically three things, but these two are entwined. I was nearly run over today, Mig… Someone’s Auto-Drive GPS decided to spontaneously plot a route right through me.’ You watched shock write itself across your husband’s face. ‘Mi vida-!’ ‘W-wait… I nearly was. I was saved by… Um. Promise you won’t laugh?’ You waited for Miguel to nod with a gentle smile, his eyes sparkled with mirth. ‘… I think I was saved by a… Superhero? Like, the guy came out of nowhere, picked me up like I was a sack of feathers and carried me to safety.’ Miguel raised an eyebrow, still smiling. ‘A Superhero, really? So, I’ve got competition, you’re saying? Was he hot?’ ‘Miguel!’ He laughed at your shocked response, waiting for you to calm down with a sly smile playing across his features. ‘No, I’m married! To you!... He was buff, though, and warm. Very buff.’ ‘Right…’ He nodded, eyes glinting as he stared into your own, then shuffled closer. ‘… Well, I’m warm and buff, too. Give me some affection, mi vida…’ His tone slowly dropped into a soft purr, hands taking your wrists and guiding them under the layers of clothing, letting you feel his warm skin and hard muscles. Much to the delight of you both. ‘M-Miguel… Have you been working out without me knowing?’ ‘Heh… I thought I’d get myself in better shape for you… Brr, your hands are cold, though…’ You kept your hands on his chest, snuggling closer against him with a pleased smile. ‘Mm… I love my tall, buff husband….’ Once again did you miss the crimson glint of his eyes, the smile that grew too wide for him to continue concealing his sharp fangs. He had practiced his smile many, many times, just the right amount of joy and sincerity to make it seem genuine without revealing those pointed, venomous mutations. Already, the dark flower was blooming in his gut; tomorrow he would have to be utterly on point- your friends, a whole evening with them, the mere thought nearly made him scowl. But tonight… Tonight he would have you all to himself- and oh how he planned to enjoy every single second… Already Lyla was mining the names, faces, and numbers of your friends from your phone, your social media connections, and all of their connections. Forming a spiderweb of information, he could tug and pull… To find the troublesome threads- and make them snap.

#spider-man: across the spider-verse #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader

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cas-backwards-tie · 5 months ago

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Chapter Three: Fate Rewritten

The Missing Title

Helmut Zemo x Reader

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Summary: After bumping into Sharon, you're escorted back to her apartment in High-Town. What lies in wait is way more than you'd anticipated in store for your night.

Words: 6.4k

Warnings: Partying, Alcohol, Power Dynamics, Semi-Smutty, Inferences toward sex, Age Gap

Mentions of: Government, Betrayal, Treason, Hypocrisy, Grief

A/N: I've been waiting so long to get to this part! Ahhh, I feel like this is really when things will start to change, considering the reader's backstory and her growing relationships with the guys. Not to mention that some of the main plot points are finally being set in motion. I decided to not fully wind up writing them together since the chapter got so long, but I'm sure it'll def pop up in flashbacks later on down the line.

It's safe to say that you're more than a little out of it by the time you guys get into Sharon's vehicle. She insists on driving, and the guys need a good view of Zemo to make sure he's in check. That leaves the three of you in the back: Sam, you, and Bucky. As your journey takes you back a similar way you'd come, you can't help but still be fascinated with the lights. What's Sharon got in store for you all? What's her plan? While you're not super familiar with her, you wonder what she was doing in Low Town Madripoor in the first place. Surely, she hasn't been following you all this whole time.

Once she parks outside a luxury-style apartment, you follow Sam out the back door and follow Sharon into her place. "Woah," you whisper, taking in the fact that not only one security guard--slash--doorman stands out front, but two. Through a big metal sliding door lies an art exhibit, glass containers lined with neon blue lights illuminate different sculptures and craftsmanship. Real antique and pricey-looking things.

"Looks like breaking all those laws is treating you well," Sam comments as he walks beside Sharon alongside the containers. Whatever she'd been going through when you'd first had your run-in has clearly dissipated as she seems to come to life upon Sam's teasing.

"Well, at some point I thought if I had to hustle, might as well enjoy the life of a real hustler. You know how much I can get for a real Monet?" She asks, gesticulating with her arms as she explains her situation. While Zemo lingers a few steps behind you with Bucky trailing, you can't help but slow your steps upon this information.

"Easy, deactivate your hustle mode," Sam warns, "You sell fake Monets." He wants to clarify. While Sharon might pretend to allude to a profited criminal life such as Zemo, Sam clearly thinks she's a goodie-two-shoes.

"No, she means real. This gallery specializes in stolen artwork. Monet. Van Gogh. Classics," Zemo explains nonchalantly as he follows Sharon, continuing to round the exhibit.

"So it's true then? What they say..." You ask them, eyes shifting from Zemo onto Sharon, then finally Bucky who stands a few feet before you while Sam occupies the space by your side.

"It's true. You know, half the artwork in museums like the Louvre is fake. Real stuff sits in places like this," Bucky answers, eyes still taking in the pastel-dotted canvas.

"There's no way," you whisper to yourself, voice trailing off as you take in the scenery. Heading down the two steps, you approach Bucky's side, eyes scanning over the Monet painting before you. You've seen his other works in museums, though now you know they were fakes. Regardless, you don't think you'd be able to tell the difference.

"Okay, guys, I see what you're doing. You're more worldly than good old Sam," your friend complains, still stationed where you stood a few moments ago.

"Yeah? What's Google say?" Bucky asks, a playful tone curling around his words as he physically rounds Sam. This elicits your attention as you shift your gaze onto Sam, glad he's now enlightened onto the, well... not-so theory of conspiracy you and Bucky both seem to know about.

"No shit," Sam exclaims, clearly bewildered by the thought. In all honesty, you can't blame him. To think people would do something so greedy and frivolous? Useless? It takes seeing it firsthand to really believe, and it seems Sam's eyes are finally opening to that aspect.

"Come on, guys-" Sharon calls from the stairs, Zemo waiting a few steps behind her as they stare in your general direction. "You need to change. I'm hosting clients in an hour," She informs.

While you don't question her, you are curious as to what sort of clients and business she does... besides selling art, that is. There's a world of art, of course, yet you know that there's only so much a lifestyle of it can afford. Following the group upstairs, you're taken aback by the fact that this whole place is starting to seem like Sharon's.

"Of course, I've got all this stuff out here for you guys-" Sharon eyes the men, "-but I've got a few things you can borrow for tonight. Come with me," she commands.

Following Sharon through a series of archways and pristine doors you find yourself in a massive bedroom. Intricate patterns are embroidered on the comforter, and through an open doorway, you can see that there's a walk-in closet. It's precisely where she's led you, her hands gesturing for you to follow. "I know. Nice right? Every girl needs a walk-in," she comments before chuckling to herself.

Taken aback by the wide array of shoes on the shelves, purses on hangars, coats, dresses, pants, and shirts all hang neatly in their place, their own rack for each category of piece. Though you aren't sure where to even start, let alone if you even want to. Everything is too expensive, you couldn't possibly use them. Sharon speaks up.

Her fingers run across the fabric, only stopping once she spots something, though her back is to you and therefore your view is obscured. "Try this on, I have the shoes to go with them and together? I'm sure you'll have a great night!" She says over her shoulder before winking. With a quick hand she tosses the hangar to you, which you scramble to catch. "I'll see you downstairs, then."

The dress is a plain black fabric, a halter top cut, two slits on either side of your hips at the start of your thighs. It's a little more exposing than what Zemo had picked, though with everything that's happened tonight, you feel for some reason that you can't bring yourself to care. If someone sees something, it's not like it's the end of the world. Besides, with this dress you could wear a thong or panties. Though the panties would have to be matching or sexy, intentionally meant to be seen as a fashion statement. Deciding to just go for the dress, no bra needed and your panties already discarded, you're glad for the comfy snug fit the fabric offers. It's far more stretchy and accommodating than Zemo's. The shoes you have on work, the only thing left to do is to put your hair up. Finding a claw clip on Sharon's vanity, you figure she won't mind if you borrow it for tonight. After all, it's a lot less intimate than a dress.

With a wet wipe from the bathroom, you're all good to go. Makeup is natural enough to pass as anyone, hair is different, so is your dress, and while the shoes may not be, with the darkness of the gallery you're sure no one will notice. Especially not if there's going to be drinking; and no good party lacks a variety of drink. Heading back to the foyer Sharon had originally brought you to, you find the guys settling in nicely.

Taking in the intricate pieces placed throughout the room, you inspect each one carefully. "Much better," Sharon comments, heels clicking against the wooden floors announcing her return.

"What's going on, Sharon? You don't ever wanna come back home?" Sam asks. The shuffle of fabric and the faint tinkling of metal tells you he's changing his shirt again! Trying to find something suitable for him is practically impossible, and this, you swear. Out of your peripheral vision, you see Sharon place something on the arm of the couch while Zemo stands by the bar.

"They'll lock me up if I ever step foot back in the States. Madripoor doesn't allow extradition," She informs.

"Good to know," you joke to yourself. Fingers running along the smooth wood of the desk behind the couch, you don't notice how the comment seems to have everyone's eyes lingering on you for a moment before Sam chuckles and shakes his head.

"Look, sorry I didn't call, but after the Blip and the chaos, I just..." He attempts. This piques your interest, not initially intent on eavesdropping, though this sounds like something a lover might say. Did Sam and Sharon-? You don't wanna know... do you?

"Look, you know the whole hero thing is a joke, right?" Her tone softens, a genuine question reaching out to form some sort of connection. An attempt to regain a friendship, you think. "I mean the way you gave up that shield, deep down you must know it's all hypocrisy."

Eyes rising from the necklace displayed by the clothes rack, your eyebrows furrow in surprise. Wasn't Sharon CIA? To join the government so outright, then denounce it only a few years later? Something's fishy about it and eerie in a way you don't like. Even if what she's saying elicits a subconscious subtle nod of your head.

"He knows. And not so deep down," Zemo comments with a raise of his drink. This garners everyone's attention for a moment. You can't help but stare as you linger on him. Curious... Questioning.

"By the way, how is the new Cap?" Sharon asks, hands in her pockets. You aren't CIA by any means, but you know how to read body language. She's clearly got her guard up, but for what? You're not sure.

"Don't get me started," Bucky groans.

"Please, you buy into all that stars and stripes bullshit," Sharon argues. You round the room, peeking through the windowed panes of the glass doors into surrounding rooms to see what goodies lie there. If the rooms you've seen so far are anything to go by, you're sure the rest of the apartment complex is loaded with treasures. "Before you were his pet psychopath-" it doesn't take looking to know she's referring to Zemo, considering her positioning and emphasis, "-you were Mr. America! Cap's best friend."

Although you don't comment, you can't help the way your lips curl inward in a silent attempt at holding back any sort of chortle or chuckle from emerging.

"Wow. She's kind of awful now," Bucky comments. While you might guess he may be joking sarcastically, you can't be sure. Is he just insulting her? Being passive-aggressive? You can't tell.

"Karli Morgenthau and at least seven others have taken the serum," Sam informs, passing you as he rounds the couch the other way and sits across from Bucky.

"You guys really should steer clear of all this for your own safety," Sharon warns. Being in Madripoor and clearly in a position of wealth and selling artwork underground, she must know the rumors.

"We know it's a risk, but we won't leave until we find the person who cracked the code," Sam responds, unfazed and defiant of her advice. Elbows on his knees he leans in closer.

"We got a name. Wilfred Nagel," Bucky discloses. Sharon gets up and crosses Bucky to get to the bar, Zemo gets out of her way and walks toward you to sit in the lone chair by the side table.

"Nagel works for the Power Broker," Sharon replies. A dissatisfied hum rumbles in your chest. You don't want to think about the past, nor worry about how you're going to find the Power Broker to stop the supplier.

"We need your help, Sharon. I can get your name cleared," Sam offers, all the men's eyes intent on her as she pours a drink. Fingers running over the edge of a tapestry hung on the opposite wall, you listen intently.

"You haggling with my life?" She asks, tone sounding genuine to you.

"Not like that," Sam corrects.

"I don't buy that," She responds, and really, you can't blame her. "You pretending like you can clear my name."

You have to admit that Sharon is starting to grow on you in some sense. She's smart, that much is clear. While you don't outwardly boast the things you know will be demonized, she does, and you can respect her for that, if anything. Though you haven't weighed in much, you've been listening. Of course everyone has their judgments and suspicions, and while you may be leaping to conclusions, there's a fishy suspicion brewing in your mind. You only wonder if anyone else is catching onto what Sharon is putting down. Eyes flickering over to Zemo for a moment, you notice him meet your gaze. Immediately looking back to Sharon, you can't help the tiny smile that snags at your lips, blush forming on your cheeks. Originally intending to gather intel, for some reason you couldn't handle the pressure of his gaze.

"-I'm willing to try if you are," you zone back in on what they're saying. "They cleared the bionic staring machine, and he killed almost everybody he's met," Sam points out. A chuckle escapes your lips and you shrink in on yourself, not having expected that.

"-I heard that," Bucky comments to Sam, though his eyes and dissatisfied look are aimed at you. You don't even have to see it from your peripheral to feel his stare, the sense of it sending an internal sort of shiver down your spine.

"I don't trust charity," Sharon posits, intent on finishing their conversation.

"All right, a deal then. You help us out, and we get your name cleared." Sharon accepts Sam's extended hand and they shake on it. Downing her drink, she places the used tumbler aside and starts toward the door you'd entered from.

"Well, I sell to some pretty connected people. Lay low, blend in, enjoy the party. Try to stay outta trouble. I'll see what I can find." With that, she's out of the foyer and onto whatever business it is that she's doing.

"Trouble," Zemo repeats playfully with a shrug of his shoulders, a mischievous look in his eyes.

"Yeah, that's what you better not be," you warn. Eyes meeting his, you can't help but find that his playfulness has spread to you, even if you know you can switch into gear and act in accordance with the mission if need be.

"Well, you know me," Zemo taunts. With a swig of his drink, he lays the finished glass atop the coaster on the table beside his chair.

"That's the problem," Bucky quips, standing as Zemo moves to follow where Sharon had gone.

--------

You have to admit, with wherever Sharon stands in your likes, she can throw a good party... that much is clear. Originally determined to view all the authentic art pieces lingering around the gallery, it hadn't actually taken as long as you'd have thought. With a drink or two offered along the way, you can feel yourself start to loosen up. Hors d'oeuvres are littered throughout the party, and with Sharon being such the great hostess, you hardly feel the usual sense of guilt for indulging when it comes to fancy parties. It also doesn't help that they're really good and you hadn't eaten a lot, really, since Zemo's jet was scarce of in-date snacks. Eating expired foods wasn't really a risk you were willing to participate in today.

As the night goes on you find your way to the dance floor after a little persuasion from Sam. While you all might still be focused on your mission, the excuse of blending in is one of necessity. It's not really a party if there isn't dancing, right? The Avenger eventually decides to ditch you in favor of making small talk with some of the other partygoers. He's most likely trying to seek information, knowing him.

Dancing with Sam was different than dancing with Zemo. You hadn't anticipated for this to happen, but considering he's maintained a central viewpoint for the boys, that just so happens to be the dance floor. He's discarded his jacket at some point clearly as his chest is in full display in the plum sweater he's donning. It'd started off friendly, simply busting out your lamest dance moves for fun in the same vicinity. Yet, as the songs played on and you grew closer in distance to make conversation, the vibe between you shifted.

There's a reason they say not to mix drinks... and now you know why. It takes a matter of a half hour for your resolve to break, the inner dialogue, the constant fighting of the comical angel and demon on either shoulder bickering with one another. Overall, the devil had won- there was no use in denying what you want, that you have a plan, and are pursuing it. You're going after what you want. Using any chance to get closer, any excuse to feel his hands on you. the recent memory of his hot breath fanning across your neck, the spark when your lips met... it's still heavy on your mind and hot in your blood.

"You should know this one," you joke across the few feet between you as you sway to the music, the beat of the music ramping up, the bass and beats getting faster and faster toward that familiar climax you all know so well. 'There's not a soul out there-' bouncing to the rhythm, you let your hips sway as your arms find their way above your head.

'Give Me,

Give Me,

Give Me A Man After Midnight~'

It's a remix, the techno music is very different from the original, however, you can't deny you enjoy the song. It's fitting if nothing else. If anyone were to ask why you want this, you couldn't explain it--not rationally--and looks aren't a good enough reason, you know that better than anyone. While there are certain characteristics that could be said of his mannerisms and personality, you wouldn't dare to compliment or lead to the ego of a madman overextending its peace. Many would argue it already had, after all.

He doesn't seem to mind either. Whether you're simply keeping up the act, even if it's unnecessary here, you both find yourselves indulging in the ambiance around you. Breath heavy with the adrenaline of dancing and the higher temperature of lots of bodies on the dance floor, you're being bumped and jostled by the people around you. His hand extends at some point, loosely wrapping around your waist as the two of you draw nearer to one another. Over all, it's safe to say that Sharon may just have predicted your 'great night'.

As it draws closer to the wee hours of the morning, Sam makes his way around to advise you all of making it an early night. Tomorrow is supposed to be busy, so it makes sense. While the four of you head upstairs in a staggered manner, you find that once you're changed and sat on the bed that you still don't feel ready to officially end the night. Eyes drawn to the red dress and accompanying apparel you'd borrowed earlier, you can't help the thoughts that follow. However lewd they may be, it doesn't stop your mind from drawing up a vague plan.

Part of you knows it's a bad idea, that you shouldn't do this, but then again... what's the worse it could lead to? A one night stand? There's no reason that leads you to believe, rationally, that any of the same thoughts are going through his head at all. Therefore, you continue your trapse down the hallway. The wooden floors creak every so often, and you don't miss the way that Sam's clicking fingers on the keyboard come to a momentary halt before returning to its previous pace. It'd go unnoticed if you didn't know better, but you know he's well aware of your presence, just as you are of his.

You'd already thought this through--the excuse--the lie. It's a shame, really, to have to lie to a friend whom you love dearly... yet, you know there's no telling the truth in this circumstance. Yet, there is... isn't there? After all, you know it'd be taking a play from Zemo's book, you're sure, no doubt, but anyone who's smart knows that all lies hold some semblance of the truth. Hence, your excuse; smooth and comforting material weighing your hands down by your stomach, you're about to walk past the back of the couch when his soft voice stops you.

"You're going to visit him?" It's a reasonable question, a check-in. Something to note, since, he is a criminal... a dangerous person. Someone to be kept in check. Unpredictable, as they'd said.

"Just returning these," you answer, lifting the bundle of clothing and the accessories of your disguise for Sam's viewing.

"I'm sure he could care less, but, by all means-" Sam extends his hand in the direction of the hallway. "If he tries anything-"

"-call out, I got it. I'm only planning on dropping this off. Maybe asking him something if he's up for conversation. But it shouldn't be too long. Don't worry," you attempt to reassure him. "You should get some sleep soon, too, you know? Especially if we're to do this in the morning," you shift the topic, intent on reminding him of what you hope is tiredness showing, even if the bags under his eyes grow heavier with the hours.

With a nod in your direction, Sam lets his attention drift back to the computer screen, intent on whatever work it is he has waiting within the digital world. Though you'd like to say this relieves you, lifts a burden from your shoulder, it only makes the weight on them sink further into you. Whether it's dread, guilt, or shame at all of the incredulous scenarios that run through your mind in possible what-ifs of the conversation to play out between you and the Baron, you can't do anything but shake your head in an attempt to dissuade them. Bare feet padding across the wooden floor, you notice how the dim light that peeks from under the door gives your heart a reason to speed up. Really, its the realization that you've never truly been alone with this man since you've met. The rumors, perhaps, the danger they claim he holds... the possibility of a supposed madman snapping at any point is equal parts exhilarating and yet, still terrifying. At least when you let yourself truly contemplate this fact.

With a hesitancy at the door, you lift your small fist up to the carved oak, lingering... debating. While you'd thought all resolve had fled the moments after you'd downed your fifth shot... the buzz of alcohol has long since seemed to dwindle away from your mind, the accelerating carefree feeling emptied from your veins and replaced by the cautiousness of someone who Sam would tease is entirely, all you. Determined to defy the limits of the box your closest friends place you in for one reason or another, you gently knock on the door.

There's no response. Something you'd expect, if not for the way that there's a shuffle of fabric and then a sigh on the other side. "Come in." Cold golden ornate knob within your grasp, you turn it and push the heavy door open enough for you to slip inside before quietly closing it behind you.

"Hi." It's the first word that comes to mind, the only thing you can think to say, to break the silence between you as he takes in your bare goosebump-riddled legs and the satin robe you have on.

"Hello," he returns the sentiment, unmoving from his position, torso upright against the headboard as he lies in bed, legs outstretched before him. "What a surprise to see you, Schön. Though I should've guessed from the light footsteps and quiet knock. James would certainly not allow me a moment of privacy, nor Sam." Sitting up a little straighter, his hands clasp in his lap. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Swallowing your shyness, as you can't simply stare at him forever--that'd be far too embarrassing--you lift your arms a bit for emphasis. "I thought I would return these to you." There's a wooden chair with a striped pattern of cloth covering the cushiony seat standing by the vanity. That's where you place the pile of folded clothing and shoes. Although you're no longer facing him, you can feel his gaze lingering on your figure. When you turn around again, he has his head tilted, no doubt thinking about something.

"You can keep the clothes, Schön, I don't need them back. However, I'm sure you knew that. Why are you really here?" He questions.

"What if I really was just here to return the clothing?" You offer, mirroring him unconsciously with a little tilt of your own head.

"Then I'd say you're courteous, and ask how you liked the outfit I picked out for you," he retorts. Even from across the room, you can spot a flicker of something within his irises. Whether he's playing with you, toying with you, or testing you, you're unsure. This question, however, puts you on the spot. A bemused smile graces your lips and you don't try to hide it. Taking in his state of wealth, you decide not to comment on how expensive you thought everything was, as you'd rather not know. It's better to play on his level.

"I... thought it was very nice. Not something I'd normally wear, but for a nice evening out, I think it was a good pick. The shoes were cool, the gems on the back," you recount.

"The color suited you wonderfully. Brought out your features, just as I'd predicted," he comments with a somewhat smug look upon his face. Seemingly half-placated with the notion, though there's still something gnawing at the seams of his resolve. "There's another reason you're here, whether you're willing to admit it or not." This is a test, you're well aware.

"Mmm," the hum leaves your lips before you can even begin to think of a retort. Turning on your spot, you can't help but run your fingers along the carved wooden back of the chair, walking your fingers along it and taking a step further into the room as you think. "Am I?" You stop moving, offering a look in his direction. "What if I said that you intrigue me? That I wanted to ask you how you do it?" You posit.

Tongue sneaking out to wet his lips, the Baron listens intently. Though he silently chuckles to himself at you returning his question with another question, the second half of your thoughts elicit a narrowing of his eyes. This notion has caused pause for his own thought. "Do... what, Schatz?" He plays along, subconsciously leaning a little closer despite being across the room.

Though the various thoughts and moments from tonight race across your mind, there's one theme that you can't bear to continue reliving. One thought, one realization that you know will have you getting nowhere in the coming days. Jaw threatening to clench down on itself, you can't help but sigh as your hands ball up into fists by your sides. "I... tonight, I just noticed how... in every instance, no matter what seemed to be going on, you... didn't seem scared. Like nothing fazed you," it comes out a whisper. Those final words. Though you'd been trying to search for the right words, everything came out how it wanted to, yet in the end you couldn't help but whisper the truth. It seemed like nothing fazed him. Meanwhile you... were downright terrified. Scared in a way no one has made you feel. Ever. And the worst of it is that you know it's not over. Tomorrow you will get up, alongside the rest of your friends and acquaintances and get geared up and ready to face a man who's only haunted your past.

"Oh..." Zemo responds, your name falling off his lips as if you were simply a child, a silly girl that he feels pity for. Something shifted in his demeanor by the time you finally raise your eyes to meet him again, not sure when you had dropped your vision to the floor. Possibly too embarrassed to admit the truth.

It's this moment... that's when things changed, you think. Time settles in the space between you, the air thick and heavy with confusion and a cluster of effervescent emotions bubbling up and out of you both into the air, a swirling and confusing domination of raw emotion. There's no denying what's there; the truth, the matter of your age held right before you in time like a reflection of your souls. While you'd both endured a heaviness of trauma encumbered in your life time and time again, there's no denying that he's the older man, that he's experienced more... seen more, done more, lived more. And you... well, let's save the stereotype for literature digests, will you?

"Don't-" you warn, the rise of embarrassment hitting you like a brick wall as you begin to march toward the door with a speed that leaves him in a whirlwind. What surprises you both, however, is the way that as soon as your hand is reaching for the doorknob, his is roughly placed atop it. His hand effectively trapping yours underneath. You hadn't even heard him get up, yet you can feel the heat coming off his body only inches away.

"Come," he beckons, "listen." With gentle hands he peels yours away from the knob as he guides you over to the side of the bed, simply sitting. A pat of his free hand on the empty space beside him lets you know what he wants. Really, you'd want it too... if it weren't for the conflicting emotions in your stomach making you want to tear up.

He seems to pick up on your hesitance as he stands once more, hands tentatively moving to ghost over your shoulders, tacitly asking for your permission. When you don't push him away, he places them on you, hands encompassing your satin-covered shoulders. "You have to understand, Meine Süße," he starts, voice holding a softer tone than you've ever heard him use. "I joined my country's military as soon as I was eligible. From the time I was a recruit to the time I eventually became a Colonel..." Zemo sighs as he tears his gaze from you, the motion eliciting your gaze on him in turn. "The point is, I have been through more, seen more, than you and anyone will ever know. And despite my training, the truth still remains... disregarded by most."

Soft hand sliding down your shoulder to your wrist, his long fingers gently wrap around it as he guides you toward the bed. Sitting, you follow suit beside him, shoulder to shoulder as his arm winds its way around your shoulder. "As I see it, there is only reason to be afraid of death if one feels they have something left to live for. Would you agree?" While speaking you'd noticed his gaze, even if no longer stationed on you, become more far off and glazed over. As you silently ponder on his words, his eyes find your face, gauging you no doubt.

"Yeah, I suppose so... though are you saying you don't have anything left to live for?" You prod, eyes shifting between his as you attempt to read him, the two of you finally making eye contact once more.

"I did, once, yes. Though your friends would most likely also claim my recklessness only provides evidence for this theory," he answers. Zemo may not mention it explicitly, but you know that he's referring to his family. You'd heard the stories from Sam, the details from Bucky. That's why he tried to destroy the Avengers. Or did, considering the rift he'd created.

"Maybe... but you know that most people would argue that when you don't feel you have a reason to live anymore, that's an opportunity to find a new one, right?" You offer. Brushing your hair behind your ear, your vision drifts from his face toward the wall before you both. "And don't get me wrong. I understand. I do, really... I'd be lying if I said that I felt I had any sort of reason right now, but... I also think there's a certain cynicism in giving up hope. Maybe it's my naivety... my lack of experience in life comparingly... but I believe there's hope for everyone."

He hums in contemplation, "Perhaps." It's the only answer you receive, his eyes still lingering on your face for a moment before he, too, finds his own spot on the wall across from the bed. Neither of you move, still stuck in quiet consideration.

Held safe within his warm arms, there's a relaxation that finds you in the blue. You hadn't anticipated the night going this way, and yet... you wouldn't change it for anything. The answer was unexpected, but you can't deny that you'd gotten an answer. Heart thumping steadily in your chest, you finally take in a deep breath before leaning back just enough to peer up at him from underneath your thick lashes. "Thank you, Zemo," you whisper. There's no reason to be loud, not when the night is so quiet, so still, and there's only so much room between you.

"Helmut," he offers, a slight nod of his head downward in your direction, a squeeze of your hand in reassurance.

"Thank you, Helmut," you repeat, teasing slightly as you use the name he'd offered. An amused smile graces your lips and his grip on you loosens, glad to see you're no longer feeling beaten down. Unbeknownst to the both of you, while his grip has loosened, the distance between you is increasingly closing. In a matter of seconds, you can't help but jump off the ledge you'd been teetering off all night long- diving into the ocean that is Helmut.

Pressing your lips to his gently, the shocked gasp that resonates through his closed mouth easily turns into a hum as he returns the kiss, then draws out into a growl as his hand roughly finds your cheek, gripping it tightly with a desperate need. A whimper involuntarily leaves your throat as this happens, unsure what you've unearthed. Slowly forcing himself to pull away, his forehead rests against yours as you both breathe deeply, in need of the oxygen that streams into your lungs and filters through your blood. "Why?"

It's a question you hadn't anticipated receiving from him. An answer that you weren't prepared to give. Even if you both knew of the inklings and sparks that'd been building and dancing around you all night. "Because you were right," an airy laugh echoes in the space between you, "earlier. I did want something else, even if I wanted this, too." A smile stretches upon your lips, and the contagion spreads, Helmut mirroring it as an amused smile of his own tugs at the corners of his lips. The moment is short; a brushing of your noses against one another as you breathe in the same light-hearted air. Each of you tempting the other to be the first to lean in and capture a kiss from the other. Some unspoken instinctual game, perhaps.

Lips darting in for another peck, you're not surprised when his hand moves from cupping your cheek to rounding your head in search of a hold, a grasp of some sort. His hand winds into your hair, fingers gripping it tenderly. Pulling you in with his lips, he draws back, making you careen after him in search of his lips. Yet the instant he lies back, hands moving mindlessly down to your hips to help you straddle him and stay steady, the spark is interrupted. Helmut lies on the bed, a look crossing his face that leaves you knowing.

How can one read a stranger like they're a book they'd left open on a coffee table, passed by dozens of times? The heat where your clothed sex meet his undeniable erection. a spark sated in nips and kisses you'd been teasing each other with all night, yet there's something unsaid. "We don't have to," you voice it. "I don't want you to do anything you don't want to." The hand that's not secured on his chest and holding you up runs down the front of his robe, the thick and cozy material running beneath your fingertips.

"I want to..." his voice trails off, "I just..."

"Don't want to offend her. I understand," you answer for him. Lips pursing into a thin line, the upward tilt of the inner corners of your eyebrows betray that semblance, showing your empathy. Even if to him it might appear as some sort of pity. "Though... if I may?" You inquire.

"You may," he encourages, curious to hear your thoughts. Warm splayed hands lie on your thinly robed hips keeping you steady and preventing you from grinding down on him and teasing further, even if you aren't presently doing so. A precaution, nonetheless.

"I know I didn't know her, and I've only heard a little, but... if there's anything I can say, I'd think she'd want you to be happy." The sentiment lingers in the air, and you offer him a saddened smile, quickly intent on clarifying. "And I'm not saying that to get you to sleep with me, I just... I think you should know. If anyone hasn't said it, I think any wife that truly loves her husband would eventually want him to find happiness again. However, it may be."

Silence settles in the air for a moment, and his lack of response elicits a spike of anxiety as you continue to voice your thoughts. "I know it probably doesn't mean anything coming from me, a stranger, but I still do believe in what I said," you chuckle, "and that includes people some may otherwise consider criminal, but... I believe there's hope for you. To find another reason."

"Verdammte Hölle," he curses. One of the hands on your hip squeezes for a moment. "I know," he acknowledges, "I just..."

"Haven't since?" You question, noticing the slight pinch of his brows. It's a guess, a posture in relation to the circumstance you both come from.

"Exactly," he affirms. Searching your eyes, you leave him no room for doubt as you lean down so you're chest to chest.

"Then we'll take it slow. If that's what you want," you reassure him, eyes searching his for some sort of clue into his thoughts.

"Yes, just bear with me, Schatz. It's been a while for me," He reveals, a hint of red tinging his cheeks. Whether it be from blush, embarrassment, or lust, you can only think of how handsome it makes him look in the golden light pouring from the bedside lamp.

"Me too, don't worry," you reassure. Hands resettling themselves on his chest, you both lean in, lips easily finding their way back to one another.

~~~~~~~~

translations:

Schatz = treasure, sweetheart, darling

Schön = lovely, beautiful, nice

Verdammte Hölle = fucking hell.

Meine Süße = my darling, sweet, dear, honey

forever taglist: @ohdamnadam , @safarigirlsp , @jynzandtonic , @moonlightsolo

tmt taglist: @wheres-mylove , @ashy-kit

#baron helmut zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #tmt #the missing title #the missing title series #my series #my writing #mcu reader insert #marvel reader insert #helmut zemo x reader smut #tfaws reader insert #the falcon and the winter soldier reader insert #read tags on top

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astro-ellie · 2 years ago

Note

omg abby fingering herself thinking about her sister's friend face down on the bed, full weight on top of her as she take the strap from behind while being called pretty??? 😔❤️‍🩹 stay strong abby! you'll get there someday

a/n: rewritten and done!

she should feel guilty. she really should. this entire thing is not ethical in any way.

but this feels way too good to be thinking about what’s right and what’s wrong. no, all abby can think about is how good her fingers feels inside of her, and what she would do to you if you were here. here in her bed, in her arms.

it’s embarrassing how worked up abby already is. her skin is damp and warm, and she’s already clenching around her two fingers. this is really your fault, you’re the one who has her this worked up.

it’s all your fault, your sweet voice, your pretty face and how flustered you get around her. abby loves how easy it is to make you crumble, she just loves your little school girl crush on her.

you drive abby fucking crazy, and she wishes you were here right now. she’d start with pulling you into her lap, sliding her hands down your body. she’d press a few kisses on your neck before working the buttons on your jeans.

just the thought of getting to slip her hands down your pants is enough to have abby moaning. she thanks her lucky star she’s all alone in the house, ellie sleeping over at dina’s, joel visiting tommy and maria.

abby thinks about how she’d get you real wet with her fingers, maybe even get a taste. “oh fuck” slips past her lips, and she works her fingers faster. she can feel her high coming, fast. if she wasn’t alone, abby would probably have been more embarrassed.

abby thinks about the blue strap hidden in her closet, thinks about what she’d do to you with it. imagines you pushed down onto the sheets, ass up. she knows she wouldn’t be able to resist teasing you, rubbing the toy against your lips without slipping it in for real. she’d wait till you were begging, begging for her.

“oh my god, yes” abby’s getting more and more breathy, and the muscles in her stomach are tightening. it’s the thought of your face as you cum on her silicone cock, that gets her there. she can see the way your eyebrows would scrunch up, your mouth would fall into an silent “o”.

abby thinks about the way you’d clench on the toy, how your toes would curl. she thinks about how she’d continue to fuck the toy into you even after you’ve reached your high, how she’d bend down and press her chest against your back.

abby feels her cum run down her hand as she lets out a fucking whimper. she thinks about how you’d moan her name as she whispers into your ear, how pretty her girl is for her.

#abby anderson blurb #abby anderson smut #abby anderson drabble #abby anderson x female reader #abby anderson angst #abby anderson x reader #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou #abby smut #blurb #best friend’s sister

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queenshelby · 1 year ago

Text

Yes! Mr Murphy (Rewritten)

PART FOUR: THE ESSAY

Pairing: Cillian Murphy x Reader

Warning: Angst, Age Gap, Teacher x Student, Mentions of Depression, Anxiety

PLEASE COMMENT AND ENGAGE!

PLEASE NOTE THAT I HAVE REWRITTEN THIS STORY AND PART TWO CAN BE FOUND HERE (rewritten).

A week had passed and you had settled back into drama school without any problem whatsoever which, to you and your best friend Emma, was a surprise.

You had told Emma everything. You told her about the night you spent with Cillian three weeks ago, you told her about who he was and you told her exactly how you felt about this man being your lecturer now. It bothered you and you desperately wanted to quit, feeling torn about the attraction you still felt towards him while being with James.

Luckily for you, however, Emma was the voice of reason. Like always, she supported you, retained your secrets and reminded you that it would just be for four months and then he would move on and so would you. The semester would be over by the end of November. It was your final one and you would probably not see him again after that.

“Don’t forget that you are on a scholarship. You need this and, no doubt, this class will help you with your acting skills” is what Emma reminded you of and, since you were grateful for the place you were in these days, you agreed with her. She was right. You needed this in order to leave your past behind as, just like Emma, you went through the so called “foster system” in the US which was nothing short of horrific.

Both, Emma and you immigrated to the United States without a family to support you. You arrived as refugees at the same processing centre when you were just ten years old, making you both unsuitable for adoption which was largely due to the fact that most families approved for adoption wanted babies or toddlers under the age of three.

As such, you both moved from one foster home to another and the last of them was the worst for you. Your so-called foster parents were strict and any time you did not obey to their rules, you were punished for it. Food was withheld from you and, on occasion, you were even beaten to the point where your skin turned blue. During this time, you had been to hospital five times and no matter how often you complained, nothing changed until you ran away.

You had nowhere to stay for a while and then, when you turned sixteen, you moved out into a home designed for girls like you. It was a home for young women who went through abuse and this was exactly where, after several years, you reunited with Emma.

The facility provided excellent care for anyone who needed it but, on occasion, you felt somewhat worthless and ashamed about having lived there. Thus, you eventually took not one, but three jobs while furthering your studies at night through a state-run school. You moved out shortly after that and the college you went through helped you and Emma to apply for a scholarship abroad.

Together with eight other students in the state, you received some funding to attend different universities and schools across Europe, for which the ones based in Dublin became your choice.

Unlike London, Dublin was affordable for you both. You were now sharing a tiny studio apartment, and the money you received alongside your scholarship helped a lot.

You were an excellent dancer and, because of it, you now only had to have one rather than three jobs to support yourself, making your life relatively easy in comparison to your past.

In accordance to James and Lorraine however, who were rich and entitled, you still worked too hard. You had nothing in common with them and, even though James had been dating you for years, he always criticised you and your life choices.

He criticised you for having run away from your foster-home. He criticised you for working forty hours per week and he criticised you for saving money almost religiously.

On occasion, he also criticized your looks and the fact that you dressed too plainly. Your clothes were largely second hand, a mix of denim, sneakers, and plain coloured shirts. You owned two dresses, both black and wearing make-up was a rarity for you and you were told by your boyfriend that you should be making more of an effort for him.

But then, why should you? He never made an effort for you and being with him made you wonder whether you could ever leave your past behind. He had no idea how good his life had been while the memories of your past kept haunting you, playing with your mind.

You reflected on your past quite often. It was what kept you grounded even when you were around people like James and Lorraine. But speaking about this pain was something you struggled to do ever since you opened up to James about your upbringing. It was almost like he was embarrassed by you because if it and this hurt more than the bruises you sustained all those years ago.

Unfortunately for you though, reflecting on your past was something you were required to do as part of your first essay in PRAC300. You had to write about yourself, in a creative kind of way, drawing parallels between any painful events you encountered and a fictional character you were reading about. You had to write about how you felt in the midst of a difficult situation and then describe how you would show your emotions about such events in front of others.

Why this was relevant to your acting skills you did not know, but you wrote down what you thought anyway without putting much effort into your work. You made something up and when you submitted the paper to Cillian, you also chose to ask him about the curriculum for this unit moving forward. Again, you were playing with the idea of quitting now, but you weren’t quite sure how.

Until such day, you had largely ignored him and he had ignored you. In class, he pretended that you did not exist and rarely ever called you out to answer any questions. Without your knowledge though, this was his very own defence mechanism. It was his way of coping while he adjusted to the fact that he was meant to be teaching you now and by asking him about the essay and upcoming unit content, you took him off guard.

In addition to your questions about the curriculum though, today was also the day where, even if this particular essay was not in play, you could no longer have ignored him as, just last night, photos of him on a date with a fellow actress emerged on Twitter.

Of course, you took no interest in Twitter, but other disappointed students like Lorraine shared this information with you before class. The actresses’ name was Sophie O’Callum and she was currently filming in Dublin. Sophie was in her late thirties which, to you, seemed like an appropriate age for Cillian. She was blonde, skinny and incredibly good looking, creating a fair bit of jealously amongst your peers and this emerging jealousy quickly became evident to you during class.

Usurpingly, after hearing the news, Lorraine was rather upset about the date. She was now trying it on hard with your fellow lecturer and this, in itself, became amusing when Cillian shut her down.

It was obvious to you that he was annoyed by her and whilst you felt sorry for her, you also secretly enjoyed the fact that he retained his professionalism in class especially when Lorraine made advances towards him.

But, that’s not to say that you were not a little jealous too about Cillian’s date with an equally famous actress and you did not know why. You only ever slept with Cillian once and the fact that he was seeing someone else should not have bothered you. But did it. It upset you and, thus, when you finally walked into his office after class to ask him about the essay and unit content, you had to put on an act. You had to pretend that you did not care about his date and, for all you knew, he probably bought it.

***

“Hey Y/N, how can I help you?” Cillian asked after you walked into his office before shutting the door behind you.

“You look like you had a big night” you observed while watching him rub his eyes for the millionth time that day. He did this all throughout class and now he did it again, right in front of you.

“What makes you say that?” he wondered.

“You look a bit dusty” you pointed out with a giggle in order to lighten the mood.

“I may have had a few too many pints, but don’t tell the dean, alright?” Cillian teased, knowing that you would not say a word to the school’s principal.

“As if I would” you pointed out nonetheless before bringing up his date. “Although, you do realise that the pictures of you and Sophie O’Callum are all over the internet, right? You both looked drunk and knackered” you laughed but Cillian simply furrowed his eyebrows.

“Seriously?” he asked after picking up his phone and googling himself.

“Don’t you follow yourself on socials?” you wondered as you watched what he was doing.

“I don’t have social media” Cillian chuckled before telling you that he was too old for it, which was a comment that amused it.

“Oh please” you laughed which was when he quickly and somewhat unexpectedly addressed the rumours he was reading.

“Just for the record though, this was not a date. We went out for drinks and then we went our separate ways” he pointed out and, whilst you secretly felt relieved about what he was saying, you put on your acting hat and furrowed your eyebrows.

“And you are telling me this why?” you asked as if you were not interested in what he had to say and Cillian bought it and snapped out of it.

“Good question” he said before asking why you were in here to see him.

“I have a question about the essay which I handed in earlier today” you said before carrying on. “How are my emotions relevant to this class?” you asked and, before you could point out to him that you felt uncomfortable with the essay topic, Cillian began to explain.

“Well, learning how to act starts with learning about emotions and how to display them on screen or on stage. Often actors can draw from their own experiences and…” he said just before you interrupted him.

“But this stuff is personal” you blurted out to which Cillian simply shrug his shoulders.

“It’s part of the curriculum Y/N. I didn’t write those essay templates. I don’t even get to grade them” he informed you, causing you to sigh.

“But you will read them?” you wondered.

“Yes. I will read them and then pass them on for grading, with my comments…” Cillian began to explain and you interrupted him again.

“Fuck” you spat. “We slept with each other and I don’t want you to know about my past and my fucking emotions” you told him and, to your surprise, Cillian reacted in a gentle kind of way.

“Y/N, I won’t judge you for whatever happened to you in the past. What you write in your essay is confidential and whether we slept with each other or not is irrelevant. We both agreed to put this one-night stand behind us and that is what I am doing, alright?” he said and this was all you needed to hear before storming out of his office.

Three days later…

Three days had passed and, like most Mondays, you arrived at school early that morning. You had just been for a run, showered and sat down with your lunchbox, which is when you saw Cillian walk into the lecture hall with a cup of coffee in his hand.

He was surprised to see you there and, after putting down his mug, he approached you.

“Y/N,” he murmured almost nervously.

“Cillian. Good Morning” you smiled and, after engaging in a little small talk, he addressed the elephant in the room.

“After class, could we, maybe, talk about your essay submission please” was what he said and your heart immediately skipped a beat.

“Yes. Sure. I will see you at your office then? What time works for you?” was your response and, within seconds, you locked in a time while, the truth was, that you had no idea about what you were going to tell him. What was it that he needed to hear from you, you wondered? The truth? You weren’t going to give him that. He was better off failing you and get the professor to give you a bad grade.

So clearly, this was not going to go anywhere and, just as you were sitting in Cillian’s class again, you reflected on all the pain you felt when thinking back at when you were a young teenager.

It was this kind of pain you did not want him to know about so you sat there, awkwardly, like a pathetic loser, raising your hand, answering questions, to make up the credits that you would need after he failed your essay.

You put on act and, luckily for you, he never called you out that day. He left you be, sitting quietly at the back of the class room and then, without giving it any thought whatsoever, you were the first one out the door after a two-hour session, wanting to avoid him at all cost.

Yes, you needed to go and see him at his office. But you had no intention to actually do so, at least not now while your heart was racing and anxiety took over your anxious brain. You had no idea what to tell him and simply wanted to be left alone right now.

“Will I see you in ten?” Cillian reminded you nonetheless in passing as the students behind you were all hanging back, chatting and joking with the others. Lorraine, in particular, attempted to put on an act of her own, flirting with Cillian again.

“Yes, I will see you then” you confirmed nervously before you quickly made your way to the ladies room.

The lady’s lavatory followed a dull theme of light green. It was dated and made you feel a little nauseous.

You were nervous about meeting with Cillian about your essay and thus splashed some cold water on to your face before taking deep breaths. Then, when you looked into the mirror you saw the ghost of a girl who had died a long time ago.

Your face was gaunt and all your features were sunken in. Your eyes, once your best feature, were the only things that seemed to stand out now, as if you were just that, all vacant and lifeless. There was nothing else to look at. You were already disappearing and realised that you were all bones and baggage now, made up of shadows and secrets and nothing, nothing at all.

Then, you recalled what your dance coach had said to you just recently, telling you that you were one of the best dancers in class, but you lacked emotion. You lacked expression and you certainly lacked happiness. It was obvious to him, which is why he suggested an acting class to you. But perhaps acting skills were not what you needed. Perhaps you simply needed some happiness in your life, but felt as though you were not entitled to it.

Then you remembered, that, just a few weeks ago, you did feel alive and happy for one night only and this was the night you had spent with Cillian.

It was strange, exciting and sensual and certainly felt different to when you were with James who did not help the way you felt within your own body. You were insecure and, at least in your mind, there was nothing special about you.

Being with James was like a bad habit, just like smoking. You kept him around and went back to him simply for the fact that he provided something to you which you were familiar with. He provided structure, security and you adored his family.

But he did not excite you. Life did not excite you. It never did. It was painful to be who you were and, thus, you wanted to break every mirror in the bathroom. Every time you saw yourself you saw the sad little girl you used to be and still were, caught in this viscous cycle of negative thoughts. You were afraid to take risks because it had been enshrined in to you throughout foster care that taking risks was wrong. You lacked your very own family and love and often wondered whether your life would change one day.

Then, eventually, you locked yourself into a stall to get away from your reflection. You knew that you were nearing another mental breakdown any minute now and began to scream, quietly, but loud enough for others to hear.

It was quarter past ten now and you had been there, inside the lavatory stall, for fifteen minutes. You put your head in your hands, your fingernails digging into your face, wanting to scream but not having the nerve to do it.

Traumatising thoughts about your past visited you just like bad dreams did at night. You were losing your mind or maybe you have lost it already.

Some time passed, but you could not tell how much. You just let yourself slip away from reality for a bit but then, suddenly, the sound of the restroom door swishing open made you jump, startling you out of your mad, mad thoughts. A familiar pair of brown leather shoes came to stop outside of your stall.

"Y/N? Are you alright?" were the words you heard next and, suddenly, time slowed. Your skin burned and your voice was shaky when you spoke.

"Please go. You are not meant to be in here" you said although you were not even sure if you really wanted him to, but you said it anyways.

"But I am in here now and I am not leaving. Lorraine said that you have been in the lavatory for over half an hour. So, please come out before I tare the door open and embarrass myself in front of the entire school” Cillian chuckled, but with great concern in his voice. He knew that you were simply hiding in there and he was clearly worried about you and your wellbeing.

“Fuck. Seriously?” you stammered as you got up slowly and opened the stall door.

“Yes! Seriously Y/N! Clearly, you are avoiding me and I thought that we talked about everything that we needed to talk about. But, I supppose I was wrong as, first, you submit this ridiculous paper to me and now you are hiding from me…’ Cillian then said quietly as he was facing away from you in what you presumed to be an effort to give you some privacy, but his eyes then met yours when you looked in the reflection of the mirror.

You saw yourself too, standing in front of him with tears in your eyes.

“Y/N, fuck, are you okay? Did something happen? Should I call the student counsellor?” Cillian then asked anxiously when he noticed your tears and you tried to hold his gaze, but his eyes were too intense so you looked down at the tiled floor.

"God no, please. I just had a moment. I am okay” you stammered quickly but Cillian looked sceptical.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he then asked politely but you shook your head.

“I think I embarrassed myself enough already” you then told him but his eyebrows furrowed quickly.

“You are afraid of your own emotions and I get that. Most people are. But you know what I have learned throughout many years of acting?” Cillian said quietly again but, this time, with a warm and gentle smile.

“What?” you asked, wondering where he was going with this.

“That accepting and dealing with your emotions is an integral part of life. Unless you do that, you are not going to be happy and you most certainly will struggle with the line of work you chose. So, if you need to talk with someone about the way you feel, then talk to me. I am here to listen and what happened between us doesn’t matter, alright? I am not the kind of person who sees things superficially and, I don’t know why, but I do care about you. I want you to be okay” Cillian then explained while gently rubbing his palms over your upper arms and you were glad for his words and the way he spoke them, in a gentle and caring way.

“Thank you, Cillian” you cried before taking a deep breath. “Can I redo my paper?” you then asked. You still did not want to talk with him about your past just yet and hoped that he would accept your offer in lieu of an explanation as to why you were so anxious right now.

“I was hoping that you would and I want you to know that, when you do, I will not judge you or think any less of you for what you write” Cillian reassured you and, after you gave him a quick nod and wiped away your tears, he walked towards the door of the lavatory and held it open for you.

“Can you redo the paper by Wednesday? I need to pass it on to the unit co-ordinator” Cillian then said with a slight chuckle and unbothered by the fact that he just came walking out of the ladies’ bathroom with you.

“I can. And I am sorry for my slobby work” you then said and Cillian smiled. God, he was so beautiful and you stared shamelessly at him. He should not have become a lecturer at school full of young female students. Temptation was going to come knocking at his door, hordes of twenty something year olds begging to be noticed, to be loved, to be fucked. It was insanity and, just like Lorraine and some others, you wanted him and that was another form of madness.

A few days later…

Eventually, Wednesday came about and, when it did, your first stop was at Cillian’s office. You had promised to hand in your revised paper by nine and so you did.

This time, your effort was six pages long and included a large spiel about the foster care system in the US and how it shaped you from an emotional perspective.

It also included an array of emotions you believed many others like you felt when dealing with every-day life and you drew an analysis about them to the character you read about.

It was a paper which you had prepared with great care and thought and, in the end, the references to pieces of literature within your writing impressed Cillian so much so that, on Thursday evening, he sent you a message on the school’s online portal.

“I am impressed. This was certainly worth the wait” he said with an emoji on the end and his message certainly made you laugh.

“I am glad, because it wasn’t easy to write knowing that you would be the one reading it” you responded quickly after you saw Cillian’s message pop up as a notification on your phone at around 10 o’clock that night and, the fact that he wrote to you that late made you wondered whether he was thinking about you.

Clearly, he had read the paper on Wednesday morning already before making his notes on it and sending it to the unit co-ordinator, so why did he only message you now? There must have been a reason for it, right?

Unbeknownst to you, there was most certainly a reason behind this message. Cillian had, indeed, been thinking about you and the truth was that he was taken by what you wrote in your essay.

He saw the care you took in writing down your every thought and your very own emotions and, whilst he could sense that you were hurt by the system, he did not consider you to be weak. To the contrary, he considered you to be much stronger than you thought yourself you were. You took matters into your own hands after the system had failed you. Unlike James, Cillian was impressed by your courage and soon realised why it was you who had been chosen for the scholarship.

You were determined and, whilst you struggled to come to terms with your feelings about what happened to you, you were emotionally intelligent. You knew what you needed to do and you knew about the bad influences in your life. You just had to act upon your desires, follow your goals and leave your pain and restraints in past.

As such, Cillian had nothing to add to your paper and thought about it every night since. There was something about you which intrigued him even more now and his thoughts about you were not just sexual anymore. His interest in you was on a different kind of level now and the feelings he was starting to have for you bothered him, causing him to supress his very own emotions.

He had to put on an act of his own, pretending that he was not interested in you but, every time he had a pint with his best mate Dermont, Cillian’s true feelings surfaced as, suddenly, the conversations they shared were about you.

Even though Cillian assured him that he had forgotten all about your short lived fling, Dermont did not believe him as his friend spoke about you with a lot of admiration.

In addition to that, Dermont also knew that Cillian was not the type of guy who would engage in one-night stands and then never think about them again. He must have liked you if he took you home, to his house that night. And he most certainly had not forgotten about you now that you were his student as every conversation about his work was also about you, your talent and the way you interacted with him.

A few days later…

Eventually, Friday came around and it was another day where you had a lecture in PRAC300 before commencing your on-stage experience for which you were each given an on-stage character role and a script to read.

The roles were allocated randomly and when you were assigned the role of a mother who had recently lost her child, you could not help but sigh. It was not a role you were confident to act out and, yet, you knew that you had no choice. You had to take the role just as the other students had to take theirs. This included James who, also, ended up with a role that he was unhappy about but, unlike you, he spoke about it in Cillian’s class.

“Cillian, man, I think there is a mistake” he said in an arrogant way. “This role should be given to a girl” James determined, causing Cillian to furrow his eyebrows.

“Why?” Cillian asked, seeing that James had been drawn for the role of a character named Tina.

“Because Tina is a girl. I am playing a fucking girl” James laughed but Cillian did not think that his comment was funny and neither did you.

“Not exactly James. The role is non-binary” Cillian explained before telling him that this was an acting class. “It is important for you to step out of your comfort zone” Cillian furthermore said before pointing out that two female students in the class are portraying male characters as well.

“Now, if I can get everyone to schedule a time with me for the next week so that we can go through your role, one on one, that would be fantastic. I intend to allocate half an hour to each student” Cillian said and, of course, Lorraine and some of the other female students were quick to snap up the first available spots, leaving them with next to no time to prepare.

Luckily for Lorraine, she was portraying a young female teacher who was in love with her student. It was a role based on a book you had read quite recently and the fact that she got this role was rather amusing to you. She had an interest in Cillian and it was basically a matter of roles in reverse, if only Cillian had known.

When it was finally your turn to book in a time with Cillian however, you realised that your work schedule clashed with his remaining availabilities and it was at this point that he made an exception for you which was something that got you talking.

“I give dance classes from 3 o’clock to 6 o’clock each day and I cannot get out of them. It pays the bills and I am teaching ten teens for their upcoming dance competition in Cork so I have no idea what to do” you told him after the last student left the room and, sure enough, he remembered your passion for dancing.

“You teach dance? I did not know that. Are you enjoying it?” Cillian asked surprised and you nodded.

“Yes. I love it” you told him while he looked at his calendar.

“Alright, so how about 7 o’clock on Thursday then? It is after hours but I could come in and see you here” Cillian offered and you were surprised by his suggestion.

“Is that not too late for you?” you wondered, knowing that he had children as well.

“Well, generally speaking, Thursdays and Fridays are good for me. My ex has the kids those days and, even if they were to come over, they are old enough to look after themselves for an hour or two” Cillian responded before telling you that they often do their own thing now that they are older, meeting up with friends after school and playing games at the local arcade.

“So, where do you teach dancing?” Cillian then wanted to know, being more chatty than usual.

“At the Dublin School of Dance. I teach contemporary dance and ballet” you told Cillian who, again furrowed his eyebrows.

“My daughter goes to that school twice a week” Cillian told you before showing you a photograph of her which he took during her last class.

“No way! I think I have met your daughter then” you said while Cillian was sliding through the photographs and you could immediately see the resembles of him in his daughter. They had the same pale freckled skin and light-coloured hair.

“Really?” he asked with great surprise and a hint of concern.

“Yes. She is in Miriam Mill’s class, isn’t she?” you asked and Cillian nodded before telling you that Miriam was leaving soon. She had an offer from another Dance School in London which she took.

“She is leaving, yes. But, your daughter will get another pretty awesome teacher soon, so don’t you worry” you then teased and Cillian furrowed his eyebrows quickly.

“Really? Is that new teacher good?” he asked without realising that you were going to be his daughter’s new teacher.

“She is the best” you joked before telling him that you would be taking on the classes for her age group in a couple of weeks.

“Talking about awkwardness” Cillian then said with concern, seeing that this may become a little weird but, to you, it meant nothing. If anything, you were looking forward to meeting Cillian’s daughter properly and preparing her for the dance competitions.

“Yeah, I mean, you could enrol her into another dance school if you like” you said nonetheless but he chuckled.

“And explain this to my ex how?” Cillian asked while cocking an eyebrow.

“Well, you could tell her that you slept with the ballet teacher who also happens to be your student at drama school. I am sure that would make quite a story” you joked and Cillian quickly reminded you to be discreet.

“Y/N, please…” he said while you laughed.

“God, relax Cillian. I am going to make sure that she has fun and excels with her routine for the finals. There is no bad blood between us and, like I said, nothing ever happened right? It was just sex, a one off, that is it. No one will ever know about it. My lips are sealed” you promised him and Cillian gave you a reluctant nod.

“Yes, it was just sex” he repeated quietly after ensuring that there was no one around. “So, Thursday, 7 o’clock then?” he then asked and you confirmed.

“Yes, 7 o’clock is great. Thank you. But I must go now. I am already late for training. Thanks Cillian” you said before grabbing your things and walking through the door.

To be continued… Please comment and engage. I love getting comments and predictions pretty please! Tag List

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#cillian murphy #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian x fem!reader #cillian fanfic #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy smut #cillian murphy x reader #cillian murphy x you #cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy x y/n #cillian murphy x oc

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obxone · 2 years ago

Text

Assumptions (Part 3)

Rewritten/Edited-ish-- ~2.2k words

Master Page

This might become a full blown series, but I'm not sure yet. Enjoy!

The day had started great, but now it is not. The couple miles back to your house from town seemed short when you started, but after being two miles in, the realization of how much it is after being on your feet all day sets in. Your car would need mechanic work, and that makes you nervous because you are responsible for it. It had been one of the conditions for you to get a car at sixteen. You are responsible for gas, insurance, and maintenance. You had checked everything you could think of, and your trusty mechanic friend, JJ, was not answering texts or calls before you started the walk home. It is another five miles at least.

You groan loudly, hating the shift in karma. A truck passes and rolls to a stop a few feet in front of you. You frown, not ready to fight off some random drunk loser. You pause, not nearing the truck. Instead, you wait for them to get the hint and drive on. But the driver’s side door opens, and out steps Rafe.

“Hey, you okay?” He asks, moving around the back of the truck and coming closer. His expression is worried as he looks you over in an attempt to catalog any injuries. You look past him, waiting to see his kook buddies step out, but no one does. It is just him, and you are not sure if that terrifies you, or not.

He looks good. His white t-shirt brings out his summer tan and highlights his toned physique. His favored cap on backward, pulling his hair back from his face and letting those frosty blue eyes become unleashed.

“I’m fine,” you respond, crossing your arms over your waist, aware of the situation of being alone in the middle of the night on the side of the road with him. “What are you doing out this late?”

“Picking something up. Why are you out this late?”

“Car trouble.”

“So you walked? From The Wreck?”

“Yes.” You reply, tightening your arms around yourself self-consciously. “I could not fix it by myself.”

“Why didn’t you call your parents or a friend?”

“Working, and I tried.”

“Come on.” His tone is casual while he extends his hand for you to take. You raise an eyebrow at him in question. “I’m not leaving you here in the middle of the night.”

You look him over, trying to decipher if you are safe with him. He frowns, understanding the reason behind your hesitation.

“I won’t hurt you. I’ve already told you that.”

“You did,” you agree. The idea of walking another five miles have you giving in and grasping his hand. He walks you to the truck and helps you into the passenger side. Once he is back in the driver's seat and heading towards The Cut, you take the time to look over at him, the faint glow of the dashboard lights illuminates his facial features.

“You know where I live?”

“Yeah. Remember our date that you bailed on.”

You look down at your lap and fidget with the hem of your shorts. “About that…”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says before glancing at you and then back at the road. “This makes up for it.”

A smile teases at your lips, it is an easy fix for you to partake in. “All right then. Thank you for saving my aching feet from walking another five miles.”

“Promise me that next time, you will call me instead of walking, okay?”

“I don’t have your number, Rafe.”

“I’ll give it to you.”

You watch the familiar surroundings of the island pass until he pulls into your driveway and puts the truck in park. You turn to him and begin to say thank you again, but he locks the doors.

“What-?”

“Give me your phone.”

You pass it to him and watch him input his number before his phone pings with a text sharing your number with him. You take your phone back and put it into your pocket. He has an unreadable expression while he looks at you. His hands are back on the wheel, clutching the leather-bound circle.

“What is on your mind?” You ask, trying to understand the kook prince that only seemed to confuse you each time you interacted lately.

He reaches over, brushing your hair behind your shoulder before his fingers move to your throat. His thumb drags down the length of your neck. Your inhale is shakey, and your nails press against your palms as he touches you. He smiles, knowing what he is doing to you.

“Why won’t you date me?”

“I told you,” you respond, voice breathy from his touch. “I’m a pogue.”

“I don’t care.” He looks at you through his lashes, a teasing smile on his face.

“You don’t?” You reach up to take his hand in yours and bring it down to the console so you can focus on the conversation and not the fire igniting from his touch. “I thought that is why all the fights between your Death Squad and my friends happen.”

“Death Squad?”

You nod, briefly pulling your bottom lip between your teeth.

He frowns, “That was for Topper.”

His fingers fill the space between yours, and your palms rest against each other. You stare down at your conjoined hands. Your heart thuds so loud you are sure residents of Figure 8 can hear it from here.

“Rafe, you and I would never work. Think about it.”

“I have.”

The silence stretches out as you think about the best way to handle this. He is relentless, and you know he is going to be true to his reputation and keep on until you give in to him. But you know giving in to someone like Rafe Cameron would likely mean losing yourself in the process. Rafe is all-consuming, you have seen it in previous girls that slept with him and seemed to be hooked on him after. But Rafe did not date, not seriously anyways. He always wanted to have fun and move from one girl to the next. It is a story that is old as time and told over and over, and the ending never changes.

“Have you ever been told no?” You ask, lifting your head to meet his gaze.

He smiles then, looking away before turning back. “Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

He shrugs. “I have no way to prove it.”

You laugh, shaking your head before reaching for the door handle.

“Lunch, tomorrow?” He asks, his hand reaching for yours again. “Please? It doesn’t have to be a date. We can be friends having lunch for now.”

“Did you just say please?” The surprise is clear on your face and in your tone.

He laughs, head tipping back and his eyes closing before he looks at you again. A simple shrug of his shoulders. “You’re worth saying please for.”

Your cheeks heat, and you have to look away from that piercing gaze as you try not to fumble at his revelation.

“Dammit, Rafe.” You mutter under your breath, but he still hears it. A faint chuckle leaves his perfect lips. “Fine. Lunch tomorrow. You can take me to my car so I don’t have to walk.”

“Perfect,” he responds before you exit the truck. He waits until you are inside before he drives away. You lean against the closed door and shut your eyes as you realize you basically agreed to a date with the enemy.

— — — —

You laugh as Rafe finishes telling you about Kelce tripping and face-planting on the golf course earlier that day after too many drinks. The sun illuminates his blond locks like a halo, and he smiles at you. He enjoys your laugh, his eyes sparkling when you meet his gaze again.

“Poor Kelce.”

“He did it to himself.”

“Fair,” you offer before taking a bite of your food. “How many did you have then?”

“None. I knew we had our date.”

“Lunch,” you amend before looking at him. “A proper date is over dinner, not lunch.”

A frown takes over his lips, and you feel bad for it. He has yet to seem anything but happy until now. Happy Rafe stirs something inside of you. You like the idea of being the one that makes him smile so wide his face probably hurts. He is complicated, and you understand that more today than before. He is also careful with who he shows what to, and you know none of the other pogues or most of his friends ever see this side of him.

His face lights up a little, and you see a mischievous look take over. “So, I need to hold you as a hostage until dinner?”

You fight back a smile. “It’s Sunday, so no. I have work.”

“How many nights do you work?”

You think about it before responding. “As many as the Carreras need. I like the extra cash.”

“For books?” He asks after he finishes his bite of food.

You smile a little. “Car maintenance this time, it looks like.”

“I’ll make sure they give you a fair deal, Babe.”

You flush at the pet name and look away before clearing your throat. He reaches across, his fingers brushing your heated cheeks. You open your mouth but close it when you see a different look on his face. It made your skin tingle.

“What am I going to do with you, Rafe Cameron?” Your voice is soft and airy to try and hide the feeling he was causing.

“Date me.”

You laugh before swatting his hand away. “You are incorrigible!”

He shrugs. “I know what I want.”

“You think you know what you want,” you correct.

“Oh Baby, I know.”

“Rafe!”

He laughs before he takes your hand in his, and they rest together on the tabletop. “I’m not giving up.”

“Oh my god,” you sigh, dropping your head back as you stare at the clear sky and relish the sun. “I don’t think you realize how terrible of a match we would make,” you confess, meeting his gaze. “I’m also working way more than you probably realize, and when I’m not working I am reading. I’m home with my nose in a book. Happily, I might add.”

“Is that why you are so hard to track down?”

“Pretty much.”

“Then I’ll hang out with you while you read and take the rest of your free time.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Cameron.”

He smirks before stealing one of your french fries.

He takes you to work after you finish eating. His fingers tangle with yours, and your hands rest on the middle console as he drives to The Wreck despite your best efforts to break free of his hold. You silently wish on all your good karma that no one is outside when you arrive. The pogues would never let you live it down and would probably be mad at you for spending the first half of the afternoon with him.

He parks in a space near the entrance and turns the truck off as you unbuckle and shift to the front of the seat while pulling the mirror down. He is silent as he watches you gather your hair in your hands to tie it back.

“You are beautiful when it’s down, but I think I may like it up a little more.”

“Would you stop?” You ask while laughing. “I get it, okay?”

“I don’t think you do,” he responds before reaching over to touch your ponytail. “Because you would agree to be mine.”

You look at him, narrowing your eyes before glancing at The Wreck’s door. “I have to go.”

“See you tonight?”

“No!” You chastise him. “I already told you.”

“I know,” he mutters before dragging his index finger down the back of your neck, and you shiver at the feeling of his touch. “I had to try.”

A bold feeling settles in your chest, and you lean over to peck his cheek. His skin is warm and soft under the press of your lips. His arms fold around you, keeping you pressed against the center console, and you blush before you lean back slightly.

“Thank you for lunch, helping me get my car to the garage for repair, and for driving me to work. But I have to go.”

He turns his face to yours, and your lips are barely a breath apart. Your breath hitches, and he smirks, liking the effect he is beginning to have on you.

“See you later, Future Girlfriend.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter before reaching back to remove his arms, and you climb out. You meet his gaze, and he winks at you before you close the door and turn for the front door as he starts the truck. A stupid smile on your face until you see Kie watching you, arms crossed over her chest, a look of surprise and irritation on her face. You hear the truck leave as you grip your apron bundle tightly in your hand. She had seen it.

“What was that?” She asks, her tone clipped.

“My car broke down, and he helped me get to work.”

“Looked like more than that.”

“It’s not, I promise.” You say before reaching for her hand and squeezing it in yours. “He did ask me out again, but I said no again.”

“Okay,” she responds, following you in. “I trust you know what you are doing.”

“Thank you,” you smile before patting her hip. “Let’s have a good shift okay?”

“Tips for days,” she confirms with a smile, letting the Rafe sighting go.

Part IV

#outer banks #obx #rafe cameron #obx rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #outer banks rafe cameron

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kmomof4 · 1 year ago

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Anon Ask That Tumblr Wouldn't Let Me Post

Ohhhhhhh my, nonnie!!!! As all the other respondents to this ask have said before me, this was HARD!!!!

My top three fics- that I reread the most, at least once a year- those were easy...

Dark Hook Comes to Storybrooke by @hollyethecurious and @winterbaby89

Fairytales by @kymbersmith-90

And the Swan-Jones Trio Unlocked series, and now in addition to the SJT, I've added the Swan-Jones Family fic, Cross Every Line by @totheendoftheworldortime

But beyond these fics, there are SO MANY that I LOVE SO MUCH, it is LITERALLY IMPOSSIBLE to narrow it down.

So instead of trying, I'm gonna go down my list of authors I read the most and give you my favorite of their fics... Ready?

@artistic-writer Alii Dimidium Lunam, but only because she wrote it for me, I dreamt about it before it was written, and it was a big part of the inspiration for the CSSNS way back in '17...

@jrob64 Sowing Seeds of Trust

@snowbellewells for Marta, I truly could not choose, so I'm going with her latest fic, Deluge written for this years CSSNS

@whimsicallyenchantedrose Taking Back Neverland

@zaharadessert After much waffling and indecisive hand wringing, I think I'm gonna have to go with Halloween Gambit...

@motherkatereloyshipper Lost Girl: Found

@nachocheese-itsmycheese Darkness Will Be Rewritten

@cosette141 Begin Again series

@deckerstarblanche A Twist of Fate

@the-darkdragonfly The Ripple Effect series

@donteattheappleshook More

@elizabeethan Never Nothing series

@goforlaunchcee Waning Moon

@caught-in-the-filter Sharing the Joy

@thepirateandhisson Once Upon a Mama Mia

@xarandomdreamx The Curse of Misthaven Manor

@ohmakemeahercules I Knew I Loved You

@jonesfandomfanatic Meeting Your Needs

@teamhook The Wolf and the Savior

@mie779 Fragmented Lies

@sailtoafarawayland Fallen and Wanting series

@cs-rylie Irish Betrothal

@spartanguard Even Death Won't Part Us Now

@hookedonapirate Tangled Up in Blue

@iamstartraveller776 The Nightwalker Chronicles

@undercaffinatednightmare Once Upon a Shapeshifter

@booksteaandtoomuchtv Have to go with her brand new one for this year's CSSNS, Witchy Woman, because even though there's only one ch so far, I know it will be checking every single one of my boxes, so... there it is...

@searchingwardrobes Hope Is the Thing With Feathers

@grimmswan Orchid Island

@stahlop Making a Memory

@shireness-says A Fate Woven in Thread and Ink

@exhaustedpirate post mortem

@wyntereyez Squid Pro Quo

@eddisfargo Not a Day Will Go By

@kazoosandfannypacks Window Seat

@kazoo5480 Breaking Down

@anmylica Something About December

@veryverynotgoodwrites Perilous Harbor

@beckettj The Huntsman

@athenascarlet It's Complicated

@myfearless-love Untie My Silhouette

@ohmightydevviepuu (if I fall asleep) the shadows win

@killiansprincss A Court of Vines and Shadow

@hufflepuffinstorybrooke If You're Lucky, Love Leaves Scars

Those above are all at least still semi-involved in fandom, on Tumblr or on discord, even if they haven't necessarily written or updated anything in a while. Tumblr is being ornery, so I'm going to have to cut a few fics from this list and the fics from authors that have either moved on from CS fandom or RL has taken over. So I'll put those on another post in a few minutes... hopefully.

Update- Well, it did work, but just so all the recs can be found on the same post,

Here

Is the link to the Tumblr post with the rest of the recs!!!

#anon ask #that Tumblr wouldn't let me post #favorite fics

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lighttailoring · 11 months ago

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Imperial polycule nightmare????? 👀

Oh this one is a literal nightmare. I've been trying to write it for months - it was supposed to be just a fun little bit of pornography with added character study but trying to actually write the three of them into bed has been like trying to get three greased up cats to stay in a bag. I have rewritten most of it twice. It's still not finished. They’re impossible I swear. Just fuck already

Just FYI one of the tags is ‘Orson Krennic Inserts Himself Into The Narrative’

After a heavenly walk through the fragrant, twilit courtyard and the sumptuous entrance hall, Krennic’s arm placed lightly around Meero’s waist, the pair find Karn exactly where Krennic told him to be found; directly at the centre of the main bar, attracting the attention of a considerable number of the crowd. His suit is immaculate; the jacket is composed of three layers of complimenting shades of blue, each in a subtly different textured fabric, over a snow white high-collared shirt. Naturally, it brings out the gorgeous blue of his eyes at the same time as perfectly offsetting the silver grey of Meero’s dress. It's a one of a kind garment, hand-stitched by an obscure designer - that designer, of course, being Karn. Krennic has chosen a fairly plain yet richly constructed dark grey ensemble for himself - merely a caretaker, displaying his birds of paradise. [should it have a cape???]

Karn has styled his hair a little differently; finally used a pomade in favour of that industrial strength gel he insists on at work, letting his natural curls show through just a little. His cheekbones are perfectly defined in the golden lamplight of the hall, his easy smile as he very conspicuously chats to a pretty woman who very conspicuously isn’t Meero is equally dazzling, and Krennic wants to turn him around and fuck him over the bar right now, with everybody watching.

Patience. He has heard that it's a virtue.

#tag game #keero #toxic throuple edition #sickos window

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starshinedragon · 2 years ago

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[Picture source: Eleanor Nightwalker's YT videos] <3

SSO REWRITTEN / FULL STORY SERIES

-> SSO Rewritten is how I would write the main story. The posts will complete the whole main storyline. -> Opening ALL the areas in the horse part of Jorvik (Harvestlands, Winterdale, Springvalley, Summerplains and Jorcrater) -> Story from arriving to Jorvik to defeating Garnok. -> You can find the story related posts with the tags "sso rewritten" and "sso full story series". -> Up to the point where Anne steals the 5-Leaf Clover, I didn’t change anything (unless they did since I played the game lmao), we do it how it is in the game. From that point on, the real party starts. -> The story to come: more detailed descriptions of scenes, unlocking new areas, new factions, new characters and new storylines!

So saddle up and get ready for an adventure!

In this post: Characters Harvestlands: Phase 1-2-3 Winterdale: Phase 4-5-6 Springvalley: Phase 7-8-9 Summerplains: Phase 10-11-12 Final Battle: Phase 13-14-15

CHARACTERS

Rules: --SSL (Starshine Legacy) is the most sacred canon: can’t change it. --Consistent SSO lore, exploring the same Themes as SSL. --Characters staying true to their original SSL selves. --Use Star Shine Legacy and Star Stable Season riders heavily as inspiration. Expand on the stories and worldbuilding suggested in there. --Thus characters’ personalities, magic system, world, etc can’t be changed, only added to. --The Dark Riders are: Sabine and Kaahn (red maned black warmblood, red eyes), Jessica and Erebos (jet-black Friesian), Katja and Tyrann (dapple grey Arabian with light blue eyes), Elise and Acheron (light maned, dark body Rocky Mountains horse)

A, SOUL RIDERS

LISA (Heart of the 5-man band) --Goth aesthetic, “rocker girl”, punk spiky hair, wears black and blue clothes. --Is still into rock music, looks almost scary, but is the heart of the team. --Music based healing powers. --She was the leader of the team in SSL. In SSO, the leader is Alex, but Lisa also remains important.

LINDA (Smart guy of the 5-man band) --Nerd aesthetic, likes to wear green things. Usually the source of exposition. Scout. --Introverted, but will infodump when scared or nervous. --Teaches MC how to see the visions, see truth and dispel illusions.

ANNE (Lancer of the 5-man band) --Prep aesthetic, wears the trendiest light coloured clothes, likes light blue and pink. --She can get like a moody diva sometimes, but mainly brave, loyal and unconditionally devoted. --Sulking sometimes, but not morose. --Teleporting and light powers to dispel the dark magics.

ALEX (Leader/Big guy of the 5-man band) --Jock aesthetic. Likes to wear red and grey, camo, comfortable or even “fighting” clothes. --The one that usually decides they have to act, the others follow her. Anne’s more calm and collected energy balances out Alex’s hot-headedness. Playful bickering. --Reasonable, listens to others now, warrior with a good heart.

B, DARK RIDERS

SABINE (Strong guy) --Short and thin, with short, black hair. Main colours are red, brown and grey/white. --Rival of Alex. Short, angry powerhouse, bone-headed, many times refusing to listen. --Fiery personality, rich, spoiled brat, who secretly thinks, she’s better, than the other Dark Riders, while being deeply envious of them. --Has fire powers. Emotional, easy to anger, will fall into traps playing into that.

JESSICA (Prideful) --Tall and thin (wanted to be a model), prep/goth aesthetic, wears only black, very fashionable. Green eyes. --Rival of Anne. Both start off as prideful, but Anne learns humility by admitting that Alex leads better, than she would. Jessica never lets go of her pride and feeling of superiority and in the end it will be her downfall and fatal flaw.

KATJA (Smart guy) --White, ice blue and light grey colours. Piercing ice blue eyes. Her hair is unnervingly, unnaturally icy white, almost glows. Wears only white, her flowing coat more fashionable, than warm. Always in the mini skirt outfit, even in the coldest weather as if she’s not cold at all. --Medium height, but the most terrifying of the Dark Riders next to Elise. --Rival of Linda, the only one, who can outsmart her. The only way to defeat her is with the truth. --No violin: while it is a nice aesthetic an all, in SSL, there was nothing about Katja being into music. That alone ofc wouldn’t mean she can’t have it, but the fact that Lisa is into music and Aideen was into music does. Magic through music seems to be connected to the good guys and it is generally a good guy trope, so I would stick with that. But she can absolutely keep her violin theme music, just not as her playing.

ELISE (Hateful) --Dark skin, long black hair in small braids, golden (almost sith) eyes. Violet and black colour scheme. --Rival of Lisa. While she is a healer and peace-mediator, Elise sows discord among people and destroys. --As tall as Jess and also muscular (Sabine’s new model’s body type basically) --Wears camo pants and combat boots, military type clothes, sleeveless tops. --Because Eleanor Nightwalker’s design of her is about as close to perfect as humanly possible.

Main Oppositions Table: attributes, that would guide the writing process

C, SECONDARY CHARACTERS

--HERMAN (Mentor): should be less of a goofball. More mysterious, always knows more than he tells us, but not out of malice or forgetfulness, but to protect MC from the grim truths.

--FRIPP (Mentor): is not an annoying rat in SSL. He is our main mentor and guide, alien and distant, but not because he’s bad, but because he has lived so long, raised so many generations of Soul Riders to fight Garnok and watched them all fall and die. Also kinda lost faith, that the druids can beat Garnok. Now, he’s trying not to get attached, to not get his heart broken again, when his students fall. Eventually he learns to open up again and gains back his faith in victory.

--MR SANDS (Redeemed Opponent): since he was manipulated to turn bad, he would eventually turn back to good, to our side, after realising all the damage he’s done, driven by his past love for Rosalind and recent one for Justin and the desire to correct his past mistakes. When he helps us and leaves the dark side, comes into conflict with Darko and is injured. In Winterdale, he is recovering in Pine Hill and is now kind of our ally and our greatest source of insight against Darko, who now leads the Dark Riders.

--DEREK (Ally): is not a postman. He is a badass spy, a secret government agent in SSL and he could get secret agent storylines like spying on GED, Dark Core and Mr. Sands’ enterprises. It would be first during his quests, while spying on Mr Sands, that we realize, Sands maybe wants to leave the bad side behind.

#sso #sso headcanon #sso rewritten #sso story #sso characters #sso lisa #sso linda #sso anne #sso alex #sso elise #sso jessica #sso katja #sso sabine #sso soul riders #sso dark riders #sso full story series

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alivegoast · 2 years ago

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HC: I bet Lotor drinks a fruity little drink bc he can't shoot whiskey.

He's paranoid- how could I ever possibly let my guard down? Alcohol? Never- it would leave me vulnerable to attacks.

He never went to college, as his nanny taught him everything (sure he might have had a separate teacher for the art of the sword/weapons/piloting, but who in their right mind would socialize with the PRINCE? No way am I going to risk getting executed (Don't even think about inviting that guy to parties, he's like the ultimate cop's kid)

Sure, he could drown his pain in alcohol BUT he could also, more satisfyingly, debatably, drown it in vengeance and violence.

Anyways, thank you for asking, but I 100% put this HC into "it's not easy being blue: rewritten". I just love the small stuff.

#Lotor #Drinksafruitylittledrinkbchecantshootwhiskey #voltron #ao3 #It's not easy being blue #Fanfic #Writitng #Writing #Headcanon

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chaoticriderlessb · 2 years ago

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Carmen Sandiego Thoughts

Ok, mostly really random, and I know I don't really get on Tumblr, anymore....

But, I've recently rewatched "Carmen Sandiego" on Netflix, mostly for a fanfic of mine that's now being rewritten. I totally thought there had been a season 5, but then again, I am an idiot, lol!

I gotta say, though...(spoiler alert for those of you who have not seen the show, yet) the last half of season 4 really disappointed me. Personally, I hate it when creators or show writers decide to just make the main character evil, especially out of the blue. I never grew up or watched the original "Carmen Sandiego", but I know that in the original, I think Carmen was evil. For the most part, anyway. Even so, in this reboot of "Carmen Sandiego", I didn't like what they did with her in the last half of season 4. That was just...very strange, and like I said, I personally don't like when main characters just suddenly turn evil.

I also didn't like that V.I.L.E. was so easy to take down when they're supposed to be...what, the most powerful evil organization on the planet? They had like, over a hundred operatives or something, and even the faculty members were supposed to be pretty powerful! Not just physically (Coach Brunt), but also mentally (Maelstrom). I feel like Cleo and Bellum would've been a combo of both, especially with Bellum's tools. Out of the four of them, I would've thought Maelstrom and Brunt to be the hardest to take down. But instead, every faculty member (except Shadowsan, of course) were so easily caught? What?!

Carmen being evil was just...pointless. It didn't even last very long, and there was nothing shown for it, other than a random time-skip. I just don't think it was very necessary.

About the Gray/Carmen thing.... I'm not much of a shipper, and I never shipped those two, together, anyway (honestly, if anything, Carmen and Julia being a thing would make more sense, but...ship whoever, I guess...just don't war over it, please). So, I'm not sure how to really feel about that, other than to me, it was just weird.

And if I remember, correctly, from the last time I watched the show's finale, Carmen just up and split with everyone? Ivy, Zack, Player...did Shadowsan go with her? And what about Carmen's mom? They never found her! Did they?! I don't quite remember....

Overall, I do think the last half of season 4 was very rushed (no thanks to Netflix probably pounding on the show's door to hurry things up or whatever...because it's Netflix), and I also think that yeah, there should have been a season 5, and made that the last season. I don't think I'll be rewatching season 4, again, if I'm being completely honest. I mean, first half of it was fine, and I liked the episode with Ivy/Dash Haber (I do ship them, sue me). But other than that, I think I'll be rewriting things for my fanfic or something.

Some people say that season 3 was pretty useless, but I don't know, I liked it. To me, the different shift in tone was nice, and giving the V.I.L.E. faculty a lighter side made me laugh. I don't know, maybe I'm just easily amused by that kind of thing. I don't really see anything wrong with the 3rd season...but, that's probably just me.

Anyway, those are my thoughts for today. If you agree with me, cool. If you don't, cool but please don't get at me for my opinions and feelings. Please, respect them.

Later!

#emjei squawks #random post #my thoughts #carmen sandiego #carmen sandiego season 4 #thoughts #feelings #my opinions #carmen sandiego netflix

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whomeidontknowthem · 6 months ago

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Content warning: slavery, implied sexual slavery, implied torture, implied non-con

From the author: THIS STORY IS GOING TO BE REWRITTEN. The details will change. Once I have a new version, I will take this one down and repost it as it's own thing. It's necessary so I can get the story progression and worldbuilding straight, as now I have plans for a series based on these characters, but initially I didn't put much forethought into it.

When six years ago Kris promised she'd never give up until she found Ayzan, she didn't know how it'd be. She thought it'd be simple: she had a trail to follow and people to interrogate, and she'd not give up until she got to the bottom of it all. She did, get to the bottom of the whole slave trade organization. Ayzan was not there.

She followed more trails, then, went through the names in encrypted documents, through sellers and buyers and all the people in between, got into fights that almost killed her and conflicts with higher ups that nearly ended in worse disasters.

Ayzan wasn't there. They weren't anywhere. No matter how she tried, what lead she followed, how many times she rode across the country and visited places where only a quick smile and smart words separated her from being found at the bottom of the nearest lake, they were not there.

Ayzan had simply disappeared. Kris was told that they had probably died and that she should give up. Should accept it. Move on and live her life, not haunted by the echoes of her past.

Deep in the dark of the night, these words rang in her head and she gritted her teeth against the desperation and grief.

She dreamed of them often.

She saw them:

As the teen barely older than her, when Ayzan cheated her in a game for all the money she had left, and then bought her a dinner and showed how to move someone's attention away until their pouch found a new home in her hands.

As a friend that held her during the long nights after her mother's death and made her laugh through tears until she felt alive again.

As a lover with a tongue made of silver, who teased and teased and teased until she learned how to answer and then it was Ayzan's turn to hide their red face behind their hands.

As a figure larger than life and the closest family she ever had.

At the end of every dream, they smiled, their eyes turning into half-moon slits of pure giddiness. And then they turned and walked away, and no matter how she tried to run and reach out, she could never stop them.

So, it was easy to hold on to the hope the first few weeks. It was easy to cling to the determination as the weeks turned into months that threatened to turn into years. When years passed by and the features of their face in her dreams grew more and more blurry, she wondered if the others had been right. If she was supposed to move on.

Which was why Kris wasn’t searching for them that day. Walking through the underbelly of a city as if it was her second home, among the dangerous and the poor, the unlucky and the cruel, she didn’t think about Ayzan, focused on the mission at hand. She was far from the lands she called home, on the southern peninsular with different customs, traditions and laws. Slavery wasn’t frowned upon here. She felt her skin crawl and kept her mouth shut because she was alone. In places like this, it was all too easy to disappear and never be found if you’re not careful.

Kris meant to walk past a makeshift slave trading ground. She did it more and more often lately, sparing a glance or two to the poor dirty things huddled together in front of a small scene, because stopping and truly looking felt like flaying herself row only to be met with unavoidable disappointment. Hope hurt, these days. And there didn’t seem to be much reason to hold on to it anymore, — Kris started to accept.

Nearly accepted, before her eyes locked with the familiar pale blue. Before their eyes blinked, widened, suddenly focusing, as she stopped dead in her tracks. Before she looked at the dirty face with unfamiliar scars and greasy short hair that once fell on the shoulders in radiant curls, and her whole being froze, overwhelmed with the sense of recognition.

Someone bumped into her and she muttered a quick apology and ignored the obscene yelling, and with a long look sweeping across the market, noting the other slaves and the seller and the few people walking by, ducked into the nearest side street to wait for her hands to stop shaking.

Ayzan was right there.

Thoughts ran through Kris’ mind in a hurricane, leaving a few facts in their wake:

She could not confront the slave seller. Back in her kingdom, sure, she could afford to deal with whatever mess it would cause, but not here. She couldn’t get into a fight directly, nor did she know enough to go through the indirect means.

Besides. Kris could not tolerate the idea of leaving the market when Ayzan was right there, so close. Closer than ever in these six years. She couldn’t leave and hope she’d find them again. She needed to get them now, and leave with them.

It meant playing by the disgusting rules of this place.

She opened her purse, counted the money. Cursed. Took a deep breath. She’d accomplished more with less. Failure was not an option.

Kris returned to the market from another street and strolled by, her gaze lazily moving from one face to the other and never stopping at Ayzan for longer than a second. Her clothes made her look like a wealthy foreigner, she knew and made sure her face reflected the bored expression she often saw on an experienced buyer. It didn’t take long for the merchant to come to her.

“Have something caught your eyes, lady…” he drifted off.

She inclined her head. “Teyol,” a fake surname naturally rolled off her tongue, made more realistic with the skilled northern accent. The merchant immediately answered with a wide smile.

“Come, lady Teyol,” he invited. “I have many remarkable items here. Something for anyone’s taste! Has any of them caught your eyes?”

Kris let him lead her closer to the slaves, all sitting right in the dirt, all tied to a long railing by short leashes connected to rough leather collars. Hardly the astounding selection the merchant was trying to sell it as. Ayzan was among them, sitting to the side, and Kris felt their stare on her face as she refused to look in their direction more than necessary. She inspected other slaves instead, letting the merchant pitch his property and feigning interest. Out of the corner of her eyes she saw Ayzan sink back in line as the merchant pushed them back in passing. They didn’t do much of anything to make her turn attention to them, and Kris was infinitely grateful. It would go so much easier if the merchant didn’t suspect any connection between the two of them.

After looking at two slaves and nodding along to the merchant’s tales, Kris finally decided it was enough. “What about that one?” she asked and pointed at Ayzan, who flinched from the sudden attention of the both of them. “They seem pretty.”

“Ah, you have a great taste, lady! They’re one of the better ones,” the merchant hurried to assure her. “Years of training. Very obedient, and can do many things, too, outside and inside the bedroom, if you know what I mean.”

He flashed a grin, untied the leash and tugged at it, making Ayzan follow on their knees. They didn’t try to use arms to help them. Ayzan stopped before her, kneeling and keeping their head low, the looks they’d been giving her this whole time disappearing in an instant. She could see their hands, one curled on their lap, shaking slightly.

It took all her willpower to not reach out to hug them then and there.

Instead Kris let her gaze slip from their form, rising to meet the merchant’s eyes with a pleasant smile. “Where were they trained, then?”

“In Ashtar,” he answered instantly and proudly. Kris nodded in understanding and approval as her stomach sunk. Ashtar. She met enough people who’d been through that place to know it was nothing short of awful. She knew also that a slave from Ashtar wouldn’t end up in a place like this for no reason. There was something else there, something that’d lowered Ayzan’s price so much they ended up covered in dirt and rags, sold on the street among other cheap slaves. And these were cheap, Kris could see, no matter what the merchant was trying to tell her. She’d been to enough auctions to know.

“Ashtar,” Kris felt her lips move when the silence went on for two long. She was distantly impressed that her voice sounded calm as it did, tinted with curiosity and doubt. “They have an awful lot of scars for someone from there.”

Slowly, she reached out and put a hand in their hair — so, so short, when she knew they always preferred to let it grow out, — coaxing them to look up. There was a moment of resistance as they tried to flinch away, sink even more onto themself. The merchant noticed immediately and tugged their hair with no hesitation.

There was a quiet, sharp exhale, and then Kris could finally see their face. Her blood turned cold from just one look.

There were scars there, those she’d noticed even from afar: a wide one crossing their cheek, an old one through their brow, leaving pale skin where once was hair. This close, she could see more: a thin line starting from under their ear and going down to their neck. Many small but uneven, angry red dots around their lips, in an uneven pattern Kris took long seconds to recognize as what it was: the marks left behind from the thread that once held their mouth shut.

Never, in all her years, had Kris wanted to kill so much as at that moment.

And then, there were their eyes. She looked into them, finally, and had to fight to keep her features relaxed. There was so much in those blue eyes, so much she never wanted to see there: hurt and barely contained fear, and confusion, and, more than anything else, desperate, painful kind of hope. They didn’t say anything, didn’t even try to, only looked, until a smack came from the merchant, forcing their gaze down.

Kris silently let out the breath she didn’t know she was holding, before tuning in the merchant’s words.

“…long time. They were a feisty one once, you see, with a spirit. All the better when they’re finally broken, isn’t it?” he smiled as if it was a joke. She laughed and nodded in agreement. “I can lower the price for the scars, but believe me, they’re worth every coin you pay for them.”

“And how much is the price?” Kris asked. The merchant smiled widely.

And said, “two thousands.”

It took her a moment to convert the sum to the currency she was more familiar with. She didn’t need to fake the indignant snort. “That much?”

Kris knew the prices, that was the thing. She saw so many of such places, so many of such people putting a tag on a person’s worth, and she learned the numbers. Slaves from Ashtar meant to be pets, toys, pretty playthings for their owners, trained to be obedient and appealing in every way the owner wanted. They were meant to be kept healthy and beautiful, and any permanent mark immediately dropped their price.

Two thousands was too much. She’d give it barely seven hundred, maybe eleven if she was generous.

She felt bile rise up in her throat as she realized she was thinking about Ayzan in these terms. She felt the shudder go through their body as her hand stayed in their hair. Kris hoped the gentle touch felt reassuring.

“They’re the best you can find around these parts,” the merchant answered quickly.

“A pleasure slave, scarred like that?” she replied coldly. “Hardly.”

“A highly trained slave with just a few unfortunate but faded marks. You said it yourself, lady Teyol, they’re pretty. You won’t have to work hard to forget the scars are there at all.”

“Well, I don’t think I can just ignore them, they’re quite unsightly, in my opinion,” Kris argued. “You said you’d lower the price for them.”

“And I already have,” the merchant assured her. “You see, ordinarily I’d ask two and a half, even three thousands for them!..”

“Don’t try to cheat me,” Kris cut him off. She crossed her arms, letting go of Ayzan’s hair with the last gentle stroke, and added, softening her voice. “You are a smart man, lord…”

“Just Relo, lady Teyol.”

“Relo. You must know when what you’re asking for is beyond any limit.”

“Forgive me, but I don’t think it is,” the merchant continued stubbornly. “They’re the best you can find around these parts. Try finding other shops or even going to the auctions, see for yourself. Ashtar slaves are hard to come by.”

“Perhaps they’re hard to come by because there’s no need for them here. Who else would you sell them to? The mines? Even with all their… training, you’d be happy to receive even a few hundred.”

“I’m sure there’ll be those who understand the value of what I’m offering,” Relo countered.

Kris saw as his pose changed, closed off. She spoke quieter, friendlier once again. “I must say I am one of those people. An Ashtar slave is something I’d gladly buy, but not with this price; like this, I’d be better off making the trip myself. It wouldn’t be much more costly, and I’d surely find one there that isn’t so… defective.”

Ayzan was quiet before the two of them, hunched onto themself now that nothing held their head up. Kris sneaked a glance at them and saw the white of their knuckles as their fingers dug into their thighs. Ayzan made themself so easy to ignore with how quiet and motionless they were, and Kris hated herself for talking over them like this.

“Perhaps, I could go a bit lower without it being a loss,” after a few seconds of consideration, the merchant relented. “Eighteen hundred, how does that sound?”

Kris laughed, “I was thinking more in terms of five or maybe eight hundred,” and quickly raised her hand when Relo opened his mouth to protest. “But I apologize, I understand, it’s not an adequate compensation for your efforts. The transportation itself must have cost quite a bit. Perhaps, we could settle on a thousand?” she flashed a persuasive smile.

The merchant answered to her smile with his, but then shook his head. “I’m afraid it is so low I’d have to try my luck somewhere else. Seventeen hundred is the lowest I can go.”

It was better, closer to the real price. She only had fourteen hundred in her purse. She needed to go lower.

She turned her attention to Ayzan once more, looking them up and down in search of something to use as a leverage. They were skinny, pale, but this was normal for a slave, even desirable in the eyes of some. Easier to control, when they’re weak from hunger. Ayzan didn’t look like they’d starve at any moment, and that meant she couldn’t use it as an argument. Kris needed something else, and fast.

“It is a serious investment, you understand,” she said to the merchant who nodded. “I don’t want to disrespect you in any way, Relo, but, you understand, a slave bought for… the reasons… that I’m considering, needs to be in an appealing form everywhere. With such scars on their face, who knows what can be hidden underneath their clothes? Please don’t take it as a sign of distrust…”

“No-no, lady, I understand,” Relo reassured her. “It’s only natural to want to make sure.” He tugged the leash and then once again when Ayzan hesitated, frozen in place. Relo frowned and shot an apologetic look to Kris, which she waved off with a smile. “Get up and strip for the lady,” the merchant spat, “you know what’s going to happen otherwise.”

Finally, Ayzan moved, slowly rising to their feet but never looking up. They tugged the coarse, badly cut in shape fabric they had for a shirt up with their left hand, Relo helping them get it off the leash. Silently, Kris begged for forgiveness as they pulled their pants down with one hand. When she caught a sight of their face, it was uncomfortably, eerily empty.

Finished, they stood before her and the merchant, not making a single move to cover their body. They trembled slightly, and Kris wasn’t sure if it was from cold.

There were scars on their body, but not as many as she feared. The one starting below their ear continued on to their chest. On the opposite side, there were lines starting from under their armpit and going down, where Kris knew very well the skin was more sensitive than in most other parts of the body. Even the shallow cuts must’ve hurt as hell. A few were on the legs, but they looked more accidental and less like deliberate torture. Their right hand was half covered in pink scar tissue, their little finger missing in its entirety. When Relo told Ayzan to turn around and they obeyed, Kris could see the long, numerous lines left by lashes, layered on top of each other so that there was barely any healthy skin left.

She stepped forward, raising a hand, and barely kept her face neutral when Ayzan tried to flinch from her touch. “Stand still,” the merchant grumbled and tugged the leash. He looked apologetic once more, “You know how some of them are, when with new people.”

“I understand,” she brushed it off once again. It was a good excuse to use with something else, but it wouldn’t get her much of an advantage by itself. Instead, she ran her fingers down Ayzan’s body as they kept horribly still except for rapid, panicked breaths. She prayed for forgiveness once more, taking their left hand and rotating it around.

Then, she moved to the right hand. The moment she raised it, slightly rotating the wrist, a shudder when through Ayzan’s whole body and a quiet, pained whimper escaped their tightly pressed lips.

Kris immediately let go of their hand and turned to Relo, who looked incredibly upset. “You must be kidding me,” she said, letting some of her fury reflect in her tone. The merchant frowned and stepped closer.

“Must’ve pulled something,” he found an excuse and shot a glance to Ayzan before grabbing their hand and forcefully rotating the whole way. Ayzan tried hard to stay silent. Kris saw how their breath hitched, their eyes fluttering shut, and stopped the merchant’s attempts to pretend it was nothing.

“Do you want to hurt them more,” she snapped. “Because if you do, I won’t be buying them for sure.”

That made Relo hesitate and ultimately let go of Ayzan’s hand. It fell limply down their side and they took in a deep, rough breath, their eyes still tightly closed.

“I apologize, lady Teyol, there wasn’t anything like this yesterday,” the merchant explained, and Kris felt too tired to guess if he was lying or somehow managed to genuinely overlook such a problem. “I’m sure it’ll heal in no time, but, because of the circumstances, I will cut down some more. Sixteen hundred.”

“Thirteen,” Kris replied. “I can’t know if the injury is permanent or will heal, but it’ll require attention and money. I’ll have to find a healer to look at them! Not only at the arm, too, who knows what else is wrong!” she made sure it didn’t sound like a threat, but was sure the merchant did hear it as such. She didn’t know what else she’d find if she continued on with the inspection. Whatever it was, it was in Relo’s interest to stop from trying.

“Fifteen,” Relo returned an offer with a wince. “You must understand, going any lower would put me at a loss…”

“Fourteen. They aren’t even as obedient as you promised, hesitating like this. Can I even trust you that they’re from Ashtar? Or is it something you’ve lied about just like you neglected to mention that they can’t move their right arm?”

The merchant winced again. He must know, Kris thought, that with such an injury he had no luck of selling them to anyone. Even the mines would refuse a slave that couldn’t use one hand. Now that it was noticed, he couldn’t afford to cling to the bigger price. What she was offering was already generous. He must know that. He must accept.

Relo chews his lips, deep in thought.

Then sighed.

“Fourteen hundred it is, then. Deal.” She shook his hand and gave nearly all the money she had to him. After being paid, Relo smiled with much more sincerity. Kris found it hard to much his enthusiasm.

She helped Ayzan dress up, mindful of their arm, and took the leash from the joyful merchant. Just a few minutes, until they got to the room in the closest inn, she promised herself.

Ayzan didn’t make a single attempt to look up at her, following her steps as a second shadow, quiet and gloomy as one.

In the inn, she cut the small talk with the innkeeper short, getting a key for a room with one bed (it would be suspicious if a slave was given their own bed; she’d sleep on the floor if needed) and swiftly making her way upstairs. She let them inside the room first and shut the door after herself, immediately slumping before it.

“Holy fuck,” she breathed and then muttered a whole string of curses as the adrenaline wore off, leaving her fingers shaking. She did it. She’d got them. She’d got them.

She took half a minute to herself, staring at her hands and willing her emotions back under control. Then she looked up.

Ayzan stood where she left them, in the middle of the room, their head hanging low and left fist tightly clenched. They were so still she couldn’t even notice if they were breathing. They didn’t move to look at her, not even once.

“Hey,” she whispered and stepped closer. They tensed but didn’t back away. She worked on removing the collar, letting it fall down once she was done. “Ayzan, will you look at me? Dear?” gently, oh so gently she touched their chin and guided it up. They used to be higher than her. Slouched as they were now, she had to look down to meet their eyes.

Back in the market, there was fear there, and she’d thought it was the worst. Now, she searched and searched and could only find — something like defeat. Like resignation. They looked at her with pale blue eyes that always used to crinkle in a smile, and this time there was nothing.

Kris was the one who let out a shaking breath and had to fight to hold back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, softly as she could, when her voice was back under her control. When she let her hand fall, Ayzan’s head immediately hang low, too. “I didn’t mean any of what I said to that bastard. I just— you're worth so much, but if I didn’t make him think I didn’t care, I— I couldn’t let let him take you away! I’m so so sorry you had to hear it. You had to— I’m so sorry. None, none of that is true.”

Ayzan’s chest slowly rose in a deeper breath than they’d taken before. If Kris wasn’t staring at their features so intently, she’d miss the way their lips twitched, just a bit.

“Love,” she begged. “Ayzan. Say something, please?”

Their lips twitched again, opened just a bit. They didn’t look Kris in the eyes, but their gaze moved just a bit closer. Slowly, quietly, they breathed out in a raspy voice, “Kris?” and then fell silent again.

“Yes. Yes, Ayzan, it’s me. I’m here, I’ve— I’ve got you. I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore, okay? I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” she repeated and reached out to clench their good hand in hers. Ayzan didn’t move, staring at their hands as if unable to see it. “I’ve got you,” she repeated again as her heart bled from the distant, uncomprehending look on their face.

After a long stretch of silence, Ayzan’s lips moved again. “What do you want me for?”

It felt like a punch. Like somebody made a hole through her chest and squeezed her heart until it turned into burning mash, coating her insides with pain. She took a breath that sounded like a sob.

“Nothing. I— nothing like that. I needed him to believe that I did, but I wouldn’t— I didn’t—“ she tried to find words to explain and failed. Ayzan stood before her, terribly still, terribly distant, terribly tense. As if they weren’t safe. As if they expected her to hurt them.

She tried again, “You’re not here as my property. I am very, very happy to see you alive. I’ve been searching for you,” she paused as her breath hitched. She hadn’t been searching for them this time, had she? She would walk right past them, not pausing to even find out that they were so close. She’d nearly given up. She forced the thoughts down, focusing on here and now and the fact that she’d found them. “I want you to be free, and safe, and happy. This is all.” She repeated, helplessly, when they didn’t move, “this is all.”

Kris watched their face as they breathed. There was no reaction to see if they understood, if they even heard her. Ayzan’s face used to be so open, so emotive, all their feelings written loud and clear all over it, be it a bright smile or childish pouting. She rarely remembered them genuinely upset, but even that was better than the careful, nearly complete blankness. As if they weren’t here at all.

She fought to blink back tears. “May I hug you?”

Their brows twitched, barely perceptible. Their eyes moved to the side. They didn’t answer.

She didn’t reach out to touch them.

She took a deep breath instead, trying to ground herself. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know it’s sudden and hard. We have time now, okay? You have time. You’re safe, and here, and—“ another deep, deep breath. “You’re safe. I promise you. I won’t ever let you be hurt again. I promise.”

Ayzen didn’t answer, but Kris saw as their breaths grew deeper, slower, calmer. It was okay. They were here, and they had all the time in the world.

Whump prompt XVIII

Caretaker is trying to buy whumpee to free them.

Only they cannot afford the asking price, so they're left haggling down whumpee's value, picking out every conceivable flaw and arguing with the seller that whumpee really isn't worth that - all fully within earshot of whumpee.

#look I'll be real with you. I haven't had that much fun with writing in *years*#if just one of you tells me you want more #I will write more without any hesitation #the continuation? Ayzan's pov? their time as a slave? i WILL write more if any of you show even the smallest desire to read more #honestly id probably even consider writing some other whumpy prompt if you want me to #putting my most fun fantasies to paper is *so* cathartic #having a whole community liking the same thing? holy shit. i never expected this to be the case.#whump #slavery whump #rescue whump #whumpee #nonbinary whumpee #caretaker #female caretaker #whump scenario #whump prompt #whump story #whump writing #if any of you want to have notifications for this future series #(that is going to take until the middle of summer before I can fully work on it)#do write me so I can ping you later

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