#east facing first floor plan

[rangerbarbz]

Professor Pines

Author’s Note: hey y’all! This is the start of a professor Ford AU that I’m working on. Thank you so much for being patient, and I am so excited to hear what you think about this! Sorry if some of this is inaccurate. I have not gotten my masters yet 

“Prologue” 

You sat outside Dr. Pines’ office bouncing your leg to expend the anxious energy flooding your mind. You were rearranging your manila folder of papers for the third time already. You couldn’t decide what would be the best order for him to read them in. Not like it really mattered anyways. It was just a nervous fidget to keep your mind off of the fact this was the last shot for you to get a sponsor for your Master’s research. He was finishing up a meeting with another student; you could hear pieces of his deep voice through the oak door. You hadn’t gotten to meet Dr. Pines yet. Your conversations hadn’t breached your Email inbox, but you were eager to finally have a discussion face-to-face. 

The door creaked open and a young man walked into the hallway, slinging a backpack over his shoulder. “Have a good day! I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” Dr. Pines called out to him. You exhaled through your mouth and placed the folder in a binder that held laminated pictures you had taken. You stood up from the cushioned bench you were sitting on to enter his office. Any confidence you might have regained was lost when you ran face first into what could be your research mentor. Your face and arms collided with his broad chest and caused the papers kept snug in your folder to spill out onto the linoleum floor. 

“Oh good heavens, I am so sorry,” Dr. Pines apologized, bending down to pick up the scattered papers at your feet. This could not get any worse. 

“Oh, no it’s fine. I- I am sorry. I should’ve announced myself,” you replied, a furious blush spreading across your face. You had also joined him on the ground to pick up the remaining papers. 

He chuckled. “You’re quite alright. Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you as you both stood up. He had a small smile on his face as he handed you some lined notebook paper filled with your rushed scribble. His fingertips brushed against yours in the process. You could feel they were calloused; a sharp contrast to your soft ones. 

“Why don’t we get started,” he said, walking towards his desk. “I’m excited to hear what you have to say.” He sat down at his swivel chair and scooted forward. “I spoke with some of my colleagues from the biology department after receiving your email, and I think you have some very interesting ideas.”

You beamed at him as you began to shuffle through your belongings. “Yes, yes! I know you are a lover of cryptozoology like myself, and I wanted to speak with you about studying some creatures that I came face to face with while visiting the Appalachian Mountains earlier this year.” You handed him your binder which he immediately began to flip through. He was careful and nodded along as you continued to speak about your experiences in east Tennessee. It was nice that he seemed genuinely interested in what you had to say. 

You had not had that luck with other professors you had spoken with about your findings. They either didn’t care or believed it was a hoax. It was until you had checked out a book at the library about a town in Oregon written by none other than Dr. Stanford Pines that you realized he was the key to fulfilling your plans. You had never had a class with him when you were an undergraduate, so you didn’t know much about him besides the fact he was very intelligent and had six fingers. 

He’s not so bad looking either. He was wearing a light blue button-up with a brown tweed coat over it. He had thick, gray hair with a lighter silver streak and wire rimmed glasses balanced on a strong nose. He ran his hand over his stubble and raised his eyebrows towards your photos.

“This is…” Dr. Pines paused. His eyes met yours as he closed your binder. “Incredible.” Your eyes widened and you failed to suppress the ecstatic grin forming across your face. 

“T-thank you, sir,” you replied. 

He then stood up from behind his desk to sit in the chair beside you. “Y/N, this is truly remarkable. I mean,” he began to flip through your notes from the folder, “the amount of thought and organization that went into this is unlike what I've seen in other students.” He gazed at you, his expression softening. “I’m sorry my foolish colleagues didn’t see your potential, but I’m glad that I could be the one that did.”

You felt like you could cry. “You have no idea how much that means to me,” you responded shakily. “Does this mean you will be my faculty sponsor?” 

He gave you a toothy smile and got on his feet to extend a hand towards you. “I am going to do everything in my power to make sure you get the answers you deserve. This summer, I am proposing we travel out to the Appalachia and take a look ourselves.” You hopped up and took his hand into yours, giving him a firm but enthusiastic handshake. 

“Thank you so much, Dr. Pines. I am so grateful for this opportunity.” You started to pick up your things. “Really, I am just so excited, sir.” 

He chuckled, waving his hand dismissively at you. “No more formalities, Y/N. You can just call me Ford. We’ll be spending quite a lot of time together this summer, so I’d rather you just use my real name. It’ll be easier for both of us.” 

Your face became slightly warm and you gave him a small smile. “Okay. Sounds good, Ford,” you said, trying out the name for yourself. 

“Y-yes very well.” His voice had faltered. Was he blushing? “I won’t keep you. I’m sure you’re busy; I’ll be emailing you.” 

“I’ll be expecting you. Have a good day, Ford. It was nice to meet you, and thank you again for this,” you said sincerely,  placing your hand on the rickety door frame.  He grinned. “You too, Y/N. I look forward to working with you.” You gave him a little wave before walking out of his office. This was going to be the start of something wonderful.

Author's Note: There will be more but this is just setting up the story!!

[deaddovedecadence]

Title: First Meeting (The Sunshine Verse)

Summary: You come face to face with the leader of the Batclan mob

Warning(s): Possesive behavior, scarring, kidnapping

You don’t remember being drugged, you don’t remember losing track of Lyre, you don’t remember going anywhere and yet you’re here, stuck in an unfamiliar room, a chain on your ankle. You’re unsafe, you know this, and there’s nothing you can do about it. The room is clean, not a speck of dust anywhere, and it smells like lemons, not lemon scented cleaner but real, fresh lemons. You hate it. It's not your first time being kidnapped but usually you’re confined to a dark room or messy, dirty basements that make you want to throw up. This is your first time being kidnapped since joining the force (you had a really unique childhood okay)  and you can’t help but wonder why you've been taken, if someone thinks you'll have real information for that.

Soft, well muffled sounds start up next to the door but quickly fade to silence. You hate it here, the thick silence, the not knowing where your best friend (brother) is, the chain that rests on your ankle. Speaking of the chain, you haven’t tried to walk yet and you can’t help but be curious. Slowly, carefully,, you get yourself out of bed and walk to one of the doors, letting it creak open. It;s only a bathroom. There’s one other door in the room and you’re pretty sure that you know where it leads. Out of here. You start walking towards that door but the chain stops you before you can get too close. Going back a few steps, you make a few loops in the area that seems safe and attempt to run towards the door. Immediately the chains are pulling you back and you slam to the floor. Well whoever has you certainly isn’t an idiot, which makes your job all that much harder. 

Eventually you pull yourself off of the floor and crawl to the bed. As soon as you’ve arranged yourself in a manner that doesn’t hurt too much, you’re asleep. 

“Lyre,” you call, listening to the echoing chirps of the birds, trying to ignore the sounds of “lyre, lyre, not lyre,” to themselves, loud as can be. It’s foggy out today, but not so much that you can’t see in front of you. The walk to work is weird without your best friend, but peaceful, even though the birds are chirping loudly, mocking birds calling Lyre’s name. As you’re approaching the police station, you note the crowd of people, how their murmurs grow and change. They’re all saying his name. You get closer and your best friend (brother) is just laying there, spread out on the pavement, his blood staining everything a terrible shade of red. You kneel down, staring at him. Lyre’s eyes are wide open, unseeing and you can’t help closing them. Your hands are red now. 

You wake up screaming. 

It takes a minute of blind panic for you to calm down and become aware of your surroundings again. You’re in the same room as yesterday and still sore as fuck. The only real change is that there’s a chair in the middle of the room, well more like a throne (you may or may not role your eyes) and a man sitting on the throne. He’s wearing a venetian carnival mask, black with a white bat around each eye. Every gothamite knows it as Sire’s mask. 

You’ve been kidnapped by the fucking bats. Shit! 

“May I help you?” You ask politely as you can manage. Sire’s mask, cold and porcelain keeps smiling,golden even as the man takes off his fucking mask. You’re going to die, you’re going to fucking die. You look down so you can’t see his face. The man sighs.

“You can look up. I have no plans to kill you. Rather I’d like to thank you. You took care of my son while he wouldn’t allow me to.” Now you’re confused. You chance a look up and meet the eyes of bruce fucking wayne, gotham’s biggest  philanthropist. You don’t even know what to say, because the man who’s been credited for saving Gotham is the one keeping it in order as the cruelest man on the east coast.  “I don’t understand Mr.Wayne. I don’t know any of your children.” 

Bruce Wayne smiles faintly, “Not even Jason?” Every single person born and bred in Gotham knows the tragedy of Jason. It’s said that a mobster went after him and killed him, and in revenge Mr. Wayne swore to oust the mob from Gotham city. Knowing what  you know now makes you wonder what really happened. “No offense but I’m pretty sure that Jason is dead.” Wayne laughs bitterly. “We thought so but when your friend Lyre had to go to the hospital,, my doctors found something pretty interesting. A blood match. Would you like to guess who exactly is the match” everything starts to fade out and go dizzy. You were the one that made Lyre go to the hospital because he’s always hated hospitals. “Was it Jason?” 

“It was Jason.” Wayne unless his legs, neatly rearranging himself. “I’d like to tell you a story.” You shrug, looking away. “When my son was a child, he lived on the streets. One day I had a meeting in Crime alley and he was crazy enough to try and steal the tires off my car. You can’t help the laugh that bubbles out of you. It’s so much like the Lyre you know that you know, mischievous and carefully reckless, always doing something that he shouldn’t be. What was real? “And when I came back to my car, there was this tiny vicious little boy fighting my guards and fucking winning. I’ve always been fond of stubbornness and there was something about Jason’s desperate desire to survive that stuck me so I brought him home with me. He’s been a member of the family ever since.” 

When Wayne talks about Jason, you’re reminded of a Pet owner talking about their best show animal or something. He’s not talking about them like they’re humans but as if they’re prizes to be won. He sounds like a collector, marveling over his trophies. You can’t help but want to upset this man, can’t help but dislike him. 

“If he was a member of your family, why did he leave you?” Maybe he’ll hurt you, maybe he’ll kill you but either way you’re going to mouth off for lyre. Wayne’s expression doesn’t even change.  “I have six other children,” he explains, “and half of them have anger issues. Do you really think that you’re going to phase me?” 

Your logical mind reminds you to be polite, your desire to live tells you to go apeshit. “That doesn’t answer my question,” you snap, ignoring his question all together. He doesn’t even blink. “Jason left because he didn’t agree with our methods. He did not understand the reasons I allowed my youngest to work in the basement at twelve nor did he appreciate our love. “ You’ve heard the stories from Lyre about his family, about the scars he carries from their love. Now that you've met Wayne you can’t help but wonder how many of those scars are physical. There’s a scars on Lyre’s back, tally marks, five of them to be exact. Are those from here? Are his tattoos from here? 

“When do I get to see Lyre again?” 

Wayne smiles Serenely, and for a moment he doesn’t look like a monster, instead he looks soft, and almost genuine. “When Jason calms down enough to be safe to be around again.” You tilt your head, wonder what he means and carefully do not ask. “Am I stuck in here permanently?” Wayne shakes his head politely. “No you’ll be coming to dinner tonight and Alfred will help you order anything that you might need.” That’s not what you mean. You want to go home. “Can I go home?” “This is your home.” You scoff and bear teeth. “My home is a little apartment by the wharf, not a mansion full of crazy people.” 

Wayne’s smile turns sharp, vicious. “I’d like to remind you that your privileges hedge on your good behavior. It’d be very easy to lock you away until you’re feeling more polite.” You get the feeling that wayne isn’t making a threat. He’s making a promise. 

[zvezda-writer]

Mafia!Nikto x reader

(this is just something I've written when bored at work, don't take it seriously!)

Having someone special in his life wasn't something Nikto was expecting, especially a wife, but seemed like destiny had other plans for him. Life as a mafia lord was full of business deals and sometimes those deals included weird things, like when he made an agreement with a group from Madagascar and ended up getting a hyena as a ‘gift’. He named her Sputnik.

This time wasn't different. They've been discussing a gun deal with the British for some months and finally had reached the final contract, there was only one problem: Nikto would never accept their final request. A marriage. Your uncle was eager to get rid of you and decided that marrying you with some crazy Russian you've never met before was a great idea.

Obviously Nikto refused, he had already things enough to deal with, and he hated the idea of sharing his space with someone else. So why did he signed the papers after seeing your photo? Why did he ordered his housekeeper, Dasha, to prepare the whole second floor of the east wing of his house just for you? Why did he ordered Dasha to bring you fresh flowers every morning? Why did he ordered one of his men to find out everything you liked and simply set up everything to make his house perfect for you? For the sake of the deal, of course.

There wasn't no ceremony, he just signed the papers and the lawyer send it up for you to sign too, and even when you moved to his house you didn't saw him. He'd spend his days locked on his office, the only contact between the two of you being the texts you exchanged sometimes.

Until one day you went out with your friends, and your bodyguard of course, and ended up drinking a bit too much. The first thing you did as you set your foot inside the house, late at night, was head to his room, not even bothering knocking before entering, finding him sitting on his bed with some papers in hand and his back leaned against the wall.

Oh, this wasn't the sight you were expecting. That massive, scary and scarred russian had the most beautiful bright eyes staring at you in pure shock. He expected you to run away, scream or look at him with disgust at the sight of his burned and scarred face completely exposed. Instead, you closed the door, let your bag fall on the ground and walked to him, sitting in front of him on the bed.

None of you said anything for several seconds, his anxiety hidden behind his stoic face, his voices going overdrive as every second went by.

–You’re my husband.

Was the first thing you say, staring into his face with mixed feelings, curiosity and surprise crossing your eyes.

–Да.

His voice wasn't what you expected either, it wasn't as deep as he looked like he'd have, but it was still rich and heavily accented. Hot. You stretched your hand, smiling at him like someone meeting a new friend.

–I’m Y/N, your wife. Nice to meet you.

Oh, his heart fluttered at your smile. You didn't seem scared or disgusted by his scars at all, you were just… so incredibly bright. Like a whole set of Christmas lights. He took your hand in his, his touch as gentle as it could've been against your soft skin.

–Nice to meet you…

He was entranced, completely hypnotized by you. You two kept staring at each other in pure silence like the two weird things you were, not sure what to say or how to act.

Maybe this agreement wasn't so bad after all.

[asliceofzosan]

in which Sanji is in Shells Town when Zoro eats the rice ball off the floor

It isn't often that Zeff's plans to get rid of him involve actually making Sanji leave the Baratie on a supply run (mostly because they never work. Sanji always comes back with more produce than the budget allows for which pisses the old geezer even more). But today, he was persistent that he go all the way to Shells Town. Fucking Shells Town. It isn't exactly the first place Sanji would think of when wanting quality ingredients.

However, if there's anything Sanji is, it's that he's stubborn. He'll comb through every market stall if he has to. He's coming back to the Baratie with three kilos of overpriced bluefin tuna if only to raise Zeff's blood sugar out of spite. Zeff raised a brat. So he's going to act like one.

Disembarking off of his boat, he makes a beeline first for a reputable restaurant in town. Cooks know what cooks want. He'd rather shave off time by asking a fellow chef where are the best places to get supplies. A few lovely ladies point him in the direction of a well-loved little restaurant at the edge of town and he each gives them a kiss on the back of their hand as a thank you.

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintances, my angels." He says with a wink. Both girls only give him blank stares and walk away from him. He still sighs dreamily as they soon fade from view. It's a lot better than getting hit in the head.

He walks ahead to the restaurant, finding it a little crowded with a couple marines. No matter. Sanji isn't exactly known by face around the East Blue. He begrudgingly understands now why Zeff doesn't want to go here and instead forced Sanji onto his sailboat by himself.

With an irritated flick of his hair, he strides into the restaurant, sitting at a table near the window so he could light a quick cigarette before asking for the chef.

"We already have our order—"

"No. More food is better! Gotta feed the brain!"

Sanji's ears pick up the conversation in the table next to him as naturally as he does breathing. With the amount of times Zeff makes him wait tables instead of actually cooking in the kitchen, he's become skilled in the art of being a gossip. Tie him up in the middle of a marine base for admitting that, he doesn't care. There's only so much one can do to keep themselves entertained.

"We have to figure out a way to get inside the base."

"Luffy, I don't think that's a good idea–"

"It's not a good idea because I don't have a plan yet!"

"Well, what's your plan?"

"..."

"Luffy..."

"I'm getting there!"

Sanji chuckles. Whoever this Luffy kid is, he sure sounds interesting.

But before he could get another slice of their conversation, a commotion at the bar piques his interest even more. He uncrosses his legs, sitting up a little straighter, and watches as a blond man in a suit scolds a girl for running into him, calling her stupid and mocking her.

Sanji quirks an eyebrow at him. No matter what, no man should speak to a little girl that way.

"You dropped my food."

This time, a man with green hair catches his attention and with a quick glance, Sanji sees that there is smushed up rice balls on the floor by the blond's feet. Sanji sees red immediately. He's just about to go over there and give the guy a piece of his mind when the green haired man kneels down, grabs a glob of dirty riceball, and puts it into his mouth.

Sanji tunnel visions on the way his lips move, slowly chewing, savoring the otherwise spoiled riceball in his mouth like it's the most delectable piece of food he's ever eaten. The whole restaurant watches with bated breath, but none held tightly in his chest as much as Sanji's is. The man scrapes every grain of rice off of the floor, licking the remaining traces off his fingers.

He doesn't know it yet, but Sanji's heart has spilled out of his chest, and is now in the hands of a dirty green haired swordsman. With each bite he takes of the sullied riceball, the more Sanji's soul is sucked out of his body and placed into a state of near heavenly revelation.

Then the swordsman picks up the plate and offers the other riceball to the irritated blond man across from him.

"Now you eat one and apologize to the girl."

Sanji doesn't know what happens to his heart because the aching in his chest feels like he's out of breath. Maybe he's dying. It feels a lot like it because suddenly Sanji genuinely has forgotten how to breathe in this moment.

It gets even worse when the fight breaks out. The man barely even breaks a sweat. In any other circumstance where there is a fight, Sanji would go right in and make sure none of the dishes fall to the floor. But it seems that even then, Sanji's interference isn't needed.

Because the man's hits are calculated, careful despite the rough and tumble of the fight. He barely even gets his swords out. And he, Sanji notices with a bright smile, makes sure none of the tables get hit. He contains it all in the small space in front of the bar.

The final nail in the coffin is when he takes a giant swig out of his mug, shakes it a bit to see if there's any more drink inside, and casually chucks it at an oncoming marine and knocks him out cold.

Now Sanji is used to falling in love easily with beautiful women. All they have to do is smile at him and he'll be on his knees for them. He has experience in that department.

But what is Sanji supposed to do when a brutish man with a kind heart glances at him briefly before taking the other riceball in his hand and shoving it in his mouth?

Sanji thinks that this is how he falls in love with a man.

His plate is wiped clean before he hands it back to the little girl, who looks up at the man with stars in her eyes.

Sanji figures that maybe the way he's staring at the man isn't too far off from how she's looking at him.

Sanji comes back to the Baratie with no supplies and an earful from Zeff that doesn't register in his brain.

His mind instead is filled with just the memory of the green haired man, his lips pursing ever so slightly around the riceball in his mouth, and the smallest smile he gives the little girl as he thanks her for the food.

Sanji wonders if he'll ever see him again.

He learns how to make different kinds of rice balls in the meantime.

---

A/N: did somebody say sanji would fall in love with zoro if he saw him eat food off the floor? say no more !!

EDIT: part two, debt and doing dishes is up!

[buckyalpine]

Catch Me If You Can 1/3

Mob!Bucky x Single mom police officer Reader 

This is a crack fic, ridiculousness, cuteness, angstttt. 

Warnings: Kidnapping, fluffffff, single mom reader, crappy ex, Mob Bucky is a whole ass warning 

LMK how you feel about these 2 

Part 2

Part 3

-

The plan was simple. Not the most ideal, not the first thing the mob boss would have planned to but desperate times called for desperate measures. He needed this shipment to go through and he was done being patient. 

“We gotta move quick” Bucky murmured, driving slowly behind the target, the dark windows of the SUV making it impossible to see who was inside. As soon as the traffic light turned red, they stopped the truck, swinging the doors open and stepping in front of their mark. 

“Hey! What are you-” 

“Shh, just get in the car” Bucky towered over him, his face stern, cocking an eyebrow at the big eyes that stared up at him. Sam and Steve were by his side with equally stoic expressions, nodding to the open door, their hostage reluctantly getting into the backseat with an annoyed huff. They drove to Bucky’s club, target in tow as they made their way to the office, strange looks exchanged by patrons, looking at Bucky’s latest captive. 

Steve shut the door while Bucky strode across the room to answer a call, breathing a sigh of relief hearing the deal had gone off without a hitch. Nothing had been seized and the deal was set, thanks to his last minute decision. He reached for a crystal decanter, pouring a glass of whiskey for himself when a voice caught his attention. 

“Why am I here” Bucky turned around to face all 4 feet, 2 inches of his hostage, little furrowed brows knitted in the middle, arms crossed with his chest puffed out, a heavy bookbag making his solid stance a little wobbly. “Is this because my mommy wants to put you in jail?” Bucky nearly choked on his whisky while Steve snorted, doing a poor job to mask his laugh. “I can see why. Kidnapping is against the law” 

By this point, both Sam and Steve were nearly on the floor, attempting to keep their stoic expressions on by covering their mouths, covering their laugh with a cough. Bucky raised a brow, not sure if he was insulted or impressed at the sass and lack of fear the 8 year old had. None of them were exactly fans of anything that involved children. It was an unspoken rule; children were always left untouched. He had to break that rule this time though, knowing if things had gone south, it would have led to a gang war which would have been far worse than the stunt he just pulled kidnapping a police offers son. 

Police officer. 

Bucky had most of the justice system and law enforcement at his fingertips, all happily bowing to his bidding, letting his deals and illegal activities slip under the radar. Most were more than happy to comply with what he asked. Most were happy to turn a blind eye. 

Except the departments newest officer. 

The absolute bane of his very existence.

The only person who had actually ever managed to get him arrested though he was quickly released; no one else wanting to get on his bad side by actually pressing charges. 

But you refused to back down.

At first Bucky brushed it off, figuring you’d get with the program and eventually quieten down but no. You were constantly there, making his job more difficult than it had to be, your irritatingly righteous need to keep the city free of gang activity driving him up the wall. 

The last straw was a few weeks ago when he had set up an arms deal with the East side of the city, an exchange of weapons, but more importantly, a possible alliance between groups. Things going successfully would mean more protection for both the North and East and stronger joint front. You had managed to track communication between the groups, readying a team to shut down the exchange, ignoring the warnings you got from the mob boss. 

Bucky was done playing nice. 

It was more than the police just showing up. His power meant everyone listened to him. No one, not even the law disobeyed or strayed from his word. A single officer looking to take him down would have shown weakness; that he didn’t have all the control he should have. Weak links were unacceptable.

Which lead to his plan.

To hold onto your son for awhile so you’d abandon the plan you’d put together, none of your colleagues willing to stop anything on their own, everyone retreating far away from the deal while it took place. 

And it worked. 

He had managed to take your son while he was on his way home from school and you had been informed of his location. Everything else went smoothly; problem solved. Still, nothing prepared him for how unbothered and how at ease his little captive would be. 

“I’m guessing you’re the man mommy calls -” Your son blinked at Bucky, chewing his lips, thinking for a moment before continuing. “She says I can’t use those words. I’m gonna call you Uncle Bucky” He shrugged, plopping onto the chair, grabbing one of Bucky’s fountain pens, proceeding to doodle on a notepad on the desk. 

“You-you can’t-” For the first time in his life Bucky found himself speechless, looking incredulously at the little boy proceed to draw, the mop of dark brown hair on his head, covering his eyes slightly. 

“It’s Mr. Barnes” He muttered, while your son tossed his book bag off to grab a comic book that was inside, drawing a character that was on the cover. 

“It’s Jordan” your son replied, now fully focused on his Batman cartoon. 

“I like this kid” Steve half wheezed while Bucky stared at the little thing in front of him, his lips struggling to stay in a firm line, the corners itching to tug up into a smile. 

“Mommy said you’re a bad man” He piqued, looking at the mob boss from the corner of his eye, “I can’t say you did yourself any favors today Mr. Uncle Bucky” 

Before Steve and Sam could full on belly laugh, your panicked voice carried through the bar, nearing the office. 

“Jordan? Jordan!”  The office doors slammed open to your frantic face, running over to your little one as soon as your eyes landed on him, scooping him in your arms, “Baby, are you okay?”

Bucky felt his heart soften for a moment, watching your heart break and mend itself all at once as soon as you had your son wrapped in your arms again. He shook his head, reminding himself of why he took your son in the first place, ignoring the warmth that was trying to melt his soul. 

“You fu-” You bit your tongue, taking deep breath, keeping in mind there were little ears listening. “How could you?!”

“Had to get a message across doll, you don’t seem to listen” Bucky shrugged while you let out a law growl, hauling your son up and grabbing his school bag, wanting to get him out of there and back home more than anything else. 

“This isn’t over” You shot over your shoulder before leaving the office and exiting the bar. Bucky couldn’t help but smirk slightly, he didn’t like you but he couldn’t help but admire the fiery fearless side of you that never backed down, not even to him. 

“M’sure it isn’t, mama bear” Bucky murmured to himself, inspecting the little doodle your son left behind; an image of Batman and a small Robin. 

Of course you were not able to do anything about the kidnapping; none of the higher ups were willing to put their neck on the line to arrest Bucky and your boss shrugged, giving you a very pointed I told you so look. 

Jordan also seemed unaffected with the whole ordeal, often asking you what Uncle Bucky was up to these days as if he were a colleague from work. Truthfully, you were not even 100% what Bucky had been up to. Things had been suspiciously calm ever since the incident happened and while you were thankful for some peace and quiet, you wondered if he was up to something. 

Nothing was ever quiet with that man. 

Meanwhile you also had other problems to deal with. While work calmed down, your stress was higher than ever looking at the number of missed calls on you phone from Jordan’s father. The very man who decided he wanted nothing to do with either of you the day you found out you were pregnant. The man who promptly kicked you out of the house to fend for yourself. The man who had now decided would be a great time to reenter your sons life and be a stand up father. 

And maybe get some spousal benefits from your job. 

You could never catch a break. 

A few weeks later - Bucky’s office

“You kept this, huh?” Steve picked up the doodle on Bucky’s desk, smiling at the way Bucky’s eyes grew wide before trying to back to his signature frown.  

“Didn’t notice” Bucky lied, though his best friend could see right through him, knowing Bucky didn’t keep just anything on his table, every single item on the desk having a purpose. 

“He kinda reminds me of you” Steve pointed out, thinking back to all the times little Bucky had stood up for him when they were kids, putting on a brave face in front of the meanest. “Kinda looks like you too” 

“Hm” Bucky grunted, wondering himself why he still had the picture. He made a conscious decision not to throw it out; each time he had to write something down, he’d grab a paper below it and carefully put the drawing back on top. Steve was right; Jordan did look like him when he was little and had the same feisty, sassy personality as he did though he was sure the bravery your son had was from you. 

You.

In a strange way, Bucky missed having to deal with your nagging and threats to take him down; business had been quiet so there wasn’t a reason for you to chase after him. You made things interesting; it’s not that he wanted anyone to make his job harder than it had to be but sometimes the challenge was nice. Plus it didn’t hurt that you absolutely gor-

For fucks sake. 

“I need a drink” Bucky shook his head, flicking away the odd feeling he started to feel in his tummy, deciding he needed something stiff over whatever he had stashed in his office. Steve snorted, easily reading his friends thoughts while they made their way to a locked cabinet below the bar counter, fishing for something that would silence unnecessary thoughts. He grabbed a glass, dropping in two ice cubes and filling the glass, taking a long draw of the dark liquid before his attention was pulled elsewhere. 

Bucky’s eyes grew wide seeing the mop of dark hair and big eyes make its way through the crowded bar, customers giving each other strange glances at the little boy with a school bag who had no business being in a gang leaders club.   

“Kid, what are you-

“Mommy’s hurt” Jordan looked up at Bucky with teary eyes, swallowing away the lump that formed in his throat, putting his best brave face on instead, now wasn’t the time to cry. 

“What?”

“She - someone hurt her” 

The thought of someone hurting you sent a surge of anger through Bucky, his jaw clenching as he slammed his glass down. It was ironic, considering the number of times he had wished you would disappear but not like this. Not once had he ever thought of hurting you; at the end of the day, you had always stood for what was right. 

“Where is she” Bucky took Jordan’s hand in his, holding it firmly to ground him while making his way outside and towards the SUV. He didn’t have to even look at Steve to know he was already by his side and sliding into the drivers seat. 

“Home, we live on-”

“I know where you live kid” Bucky chuckled slightly while Steve was already weaving through traffic and pulling up to your street, screeching to a halt in front of your house. 

Bucky helped Jordan hop out of the SUV and lead him to you, the front door left while open with the handle broken off. There were clear signs of a struggle, seeing broken pictures on the floor and a few dents in the walls, the mess continuing all the way up the stairs to your bedroom. Bucky instructed Jordan to wait downstairs with Steve, worried about what condition he was going to find you in. 

You were holding yourself up against the wall, your arm clutching your bloodied side, putting pressure on the gash that sliced you. Your head still throbbing from where you had been hit. You could barely register what was happening, gasping at the sound of Bucky’s voice suddenly in your room. 

“C’mon, doll” His arm snaked around you, pulling you to his, holding up some of your weight. 

“Where are we going” You wanted to fight back but the pain was making you dizzy and spots were starting to cloud your vision. 

“We’re -woah-” Bucky caught you before you slipped, scooping you in his arms, bridal style “We’re going to get you fixed up” He spoke softly, carrying you out of your room and carefully down the stairs towards the SUV. You were in too much pain to protest, slipping in and out of consciousness during the drive over. 

Steve had already slipped Jordan into the front seat, the both of them chatting over who would win in a hotdog eating competition; Superman, Batman or the Joker. He could see Jordan sneak worried glances behind him to look over at you, fidgeting with the straps of his backpack. 

“She’ll be okay” Steve whispered to him, giving him a reassuring smile as he pulled up to the mansion. “Your mama’s strong, y’know she’s the only one Uncle Bucky is scared of” He gave your son a wink before helping him out of the car and opening the door so Bucky could carry you to his room. He carefully set you down on his bed, wasting no time grabbing a first aid kit he kept tucked under the bed for emergencies while you groaned, trying to sit up. 

“Barnes, what are you-”

“Just lie down doll, let me clean this up first” He carefully lifted your blouse to assess how bad the injury was, soaking a cotton ball in some disinfectant.

“Ah!-” You winced, hissing out in pain at the saturated cotton ball Bucky pressed onto your skin, cleaning the area as gently as he could, his focus shifting between getting you better and wondering who did this to you. He’d have to worry about that later. 

“Sorry, sorry” Bucky murmured, gently blowing onto the cleaned area, cooling your skin before grabbing a needle and threat, starting on some sutures to close the gash. “I’ll be quick, just bear with me” You gritted your teeth feeling the needle poke you.

“How-how do you know how to do this” Your voice was strained, struggling to keep it steady while Bucky threaded the needle as gently and quickly as possible, neatly closing off the gash. 

“Gotta know this in my line of work, sugar” He smirked giving you a lopsided grin when you rolled your eyes, squeaking when he gently pushed you back down when you tried to get up. “Rest for a bit” 

You reluctantly laid against the plush mattress looking up at the baby blue eyes softly peering down at you, the same blue eyes your normally wanted to poke out of frustration. 

“I’ll be fine, we can go ho-” You were going to say you could go home but it was clear home wasn’t the safest option, not after what had just happened. 

“C’mon, stay here for the night” He wasn’t exactly going to leave you room to do anything else, there was no way he was going to let you go home after what he had just seen. He was more than happy to sleep in a tent outside of his own home if it meant you’d just stay somewhere safe. “At least for today” 

“I-we can’t-Jordan-” 

“-WOULD LOVE TO STAY HERE” 

Bucky let out a genuine laugh hearing your sons voice carried through the doorway where he was clearly eavesdropping. You snorted, shaking your head and closing your eyes at your sons antics, exhaustion making it hard for you to move anyway. 

“We shouldn’t be here” You whispered, feeling your conscious battle within yourself. You were supposed to be fighting for the right side of the law. Bucky was the opposite of that. Then why didn’t this feel wrong? You’d spent countless hours trying to put him away. So why did you feel so safe? 

“I don’t-

“Just for tonight” Bucky stated softly but firmly, leaving you little room to argue. He grabbed you a tshirt and some joggers of his, letting you clean off and chance while he slipped out of the room. He was met with curious eyes peering up at him, your son patiently waiting to know if you were okay. 

“She’s okay, just getting cleaned up. Let your mama rest” Bucky whispered, leading Jordan to the TV room where Peter was busying himself with video games. “Hey Parker, brought you a worthy opponent” Peter grinned, handing Jordan a controller and shifting over so he could plop down beside him. 

“She’s gonna be okay?” Jordan whispered up at Bucky, feeling a sense of calm around the man his mom usually used no-no words to describe. Surely he couldn’t be that bad? 

“No one’s stronger than your mama” Bucky smiled, ruffling his hair before coming back to check on you. You had slipped back into bed, ignoring the way Bucky’s clothes were soft and comfy to wear, his scent making your insides flutter unnecessarily. 

“Don’t you look cozy, officer” Bucky smirked, sauntering over with a glass of water and pain killers, leaving them on the bedside table for you. You rolled your eyes though gratefully taking 2 tablets for your aching head. 

“Where’s Jordan?” 

“Currently beating everyone’s ass in Mario Kart” 

“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook Barnes” You tried to keep your voice firm but the playful smirk he was giving you was infectious. You bit your lip to keep your lips from tugging up, choosing to frown more instead but that only seemed to egg him on more. 

“Course, darlin’“ He drawled out, giving you a wink before bidding you good night, “Wouldn’t have it any other way” He turned the light off and gently shut the door, making his way back down to make sure Jordan had something for dinner. 

You pulled the covers up, sighing into the soft plush pillows and sheets, letting sleep take over, ignoring the way your inner conscious continued to debate itself. He didn’t have to help you. Didn’t have to keep you safe. Didn’t have to do any of this and yet here you were. You and your son. Both safe. Because of him. 

Maybe he wasn’t so bad after all...

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyess @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @psychomanniac-blog @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @kingfleury @peaches1958 @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @xnorthstar3x @kryoee7 @alina02 @gh0stgurl @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club @eralen @perdidosbucky-yyo @clqrosmgc  @buckybarnessweetheart  @pandaxnienke  @manyfandomsfanvergent 

[romancecroc]

Lucanis Romance (Pt. 2)

This is an alternative take on finishing his companion quest (confronting Illario after saving Catharina). In this version, the whole "I made paella and your favorite" drink did not happen.

Things have felt different between them. Especially after Spite somehow dragged Rook into Lucanis’s subconscious and helped them align on a goal.

Nothing had really happened before that. Just the occasional lingering glances. Hands brushing against each when nobody could see. Overprotectiveness during battles.

But with all that was going on, it was almost impossible to find quiet moments. To reflect. Or to talk. 

And with all her confidence, Rook didn’t dare bring the topic up again. Nor make a move. 

But she felt closer to him. Especially after witnessing all his inner troubles, his regrets. 

But was that enough? How would you name this? Having feelings for someone, feeling close to them and yet… nothing happening?

What exactly did I want to happen?

The thought caught Rook off guard.

Guilt was starting to build up. They never said they were in a relationship after all. Lucanis didn’t owe her anything. 

But at the same time… there was a sense of frustration?

“Rook! Are you listening?” Teia said, waving her hands.

“Ah.” Rook responded, finally snapping out of it.

She was in Trevisio. They were getting ready to save Catharina and set Illario straight.

Teia and Viago were preparing, but Lucanis was nowhere to be seen.

Apparently he would join in later.

“Don’t worry, Lucanis knows the plan. He’ll join you at the mansion. Are you ready to go?” Teia asked again, patting Rook’s shoulder.

“Yes, sorry. We will get Catharina out of the mansion and then we’ll confront Ilario at the gathering.” Rook said, mostly to summarize it for herself.

“What are you going to do with Ilario when all of this is over?”

Teia and Viago chuckled, grabbing their daggers and facing the exit.

“I’m sure our first talon will know what to do.”

And with that, they both vanished.

—

It didn’t take long to sneak through the mansion. The team had initially agreed to only send out Rook and Lucanis - the less attention they attract the better.

But where was he?

Rook noticed one of the hallways having more guards than the others. With a dagger in hand and magic in another, she swiftly took care of them within seconds.

Until she felt a presence behind her. 

Instinctively, she elbowed them in the stomach, using the opportunity to turn around and push them against the floor. Her mouth dropped when she was finally hovered above him, her knees digging into his arms, locking him in position.

“Not a bad move, Rook.” Lucanis said, coughing between his words.

“Are you insane? I could have killed you!” Rock angrily whispered, immediately putting her dagger away.

“Please, Rook. I let you tackle me. Why miss out on an opportunity to get overpowered by a beautiful woman? ” he answered, a chuckle between the coughs.

It should have made her happy. The small flirts between them.

But instead, it just reminded her about her own frustrations. The impatient feeling, the guilt.

Without responding, she got up and offered him a hand. Pulling him up.

“Rook?” Lucanis asked, concerned. He had expected a matching response.

“We should focus on the mission.” Rook responded, perhaps a little colder than she intended.

“Where do you think your grandmother is? I already checked the east wing, but no luck so far.”

It felt like he was catching on, but the mission’s urgency kept him from investigating further. Instead he started leading the way, casually sharing childhood memories whenever he saw something familiar. 

He hasn’t been home for so long - and yet she couldn’t bring herself to fully enjoy his stories. Once Catharina had been saved and Ilario confronted, Rook would return to the Lighthouse and spend some time alone in her room. Clear her head.

That sounded like a good plan at least.

“She must be here.” Lucanis said, stopping in front of a door not too far from his childhood room. 

Rook motioned to get ready, just in case.

Once the door opened, a cane started swinging around aggressively - until Lucanis grabbed it.

“My grandson!” Catharina gasped in disbelief.

Rook stepped away for a bit, not wishing to interrupt their reunion.

“You are mad as us. Why?!” Rook suddenly heard in her head.

Spite??

“Answer! It is…. distracting him!” Spite responded telepathically.

Rook wasn’t sure how Spite was talking to her. Based on how Lucanis was acting, he didn’t seem to be aware of it either.

I’m not mad. I’m just trying to focus.

“Hurt. Longing. Is it loneliness? No. It smells like… disappointment!” Spite continued on.

The last thing Rook wanted was a conversation about her feelings. With Spite. She imagined a mental block around her head - it must have worked because the last thing she heard was a disapproving growl from Spite. And then it was quiet again.

“Thank you, Rook! For returning my grandson.” Catharina said gratefully, looking over to Rook.

“He did half of the work. We should really bring you somewhere safe.” Rook quickly responded, rejoining them.

“Nonsense. Now go and stop Ilario, I won’t be far behind.” Catharina responded, waving her cane around again.

The expression Lucanis made, said enough  - there was no way to convince Catharina to change her mind..

—

“You must feel relieved having your grandmother back. Any plans for Ilario?” Rook asked, as they were approaching the gathering.

“I don’t know. But one way or another, he needs to pay.” Lucanis said, approaching the giant door.

One could hear Ilarios' speech from the outside. Monologues about how he was grieving Catharina’s death. How Lucanis was a shame to the family and the crows due to becoming an abomination.

And that he was taking the title of the first talon for himself.

“Whatever happens, I’m with you.” Rook said, preparing herself for battle.

“I know. Let’s finish this.”

And with that, the door was kicked open.

Everything happened so fast.

Ilario didn’t hesitate to attack Lucanis on sight, backed by venatori.

The crows, unsure who to believe, were fumbling around.

But like many other fights, this one was about to end quite fast.

“They will never accept you. You’re an abomination!” Ilarios screamed at Lucanis, almost like a child who wasn’t picked for a group activity. Most of his venatory allies had fallen by now.

“Are you sure you’re not stuck with a demon yourself, Ilario? Even Spite sounds saner than you do right now.” Rook said loudly, currently finishing off remaining venetario on the opposite side of the hall.

Embarrassment was plastered on Ilarios face. The sheer audacity of being compared to a demon. And despite having little backup left, he used whatever remaining blood magic he had to teleport himself past the crows.

“You will pay for this insult!” Illario yelled, appearing in front of Rook with a dagger in hand. Ready to stab her in the chest.

Growing up with the shadow dragons taught her well - especially on how to deal with crazy individuals that were about to stab you. There were different ways to make them stop,  even for a few seconds. They just need to believe they won. 

So Rook didn’t defend herself. Didn’t use any magic spells.

Instead she positioned herself in a way, so that the dagger would end up between her armpits. Her clothes were already torn at a few places, covered in blood. It would be hard to tell whether she was really hit or not. And a delusional blood mage wouldn’t know the difference either.

To dramatize the moment, Rook let out a terrible cry that melted together with Ilario’s victory laugh.

And multiple people shouting in the background?

Rook couldn’t focus too much on it, as she was busy taking a few steps back. Holding the dagger close, while she fell on her knees. And then to her sides, closing her eyes.

“Let this be a lesson for anybody who insults Ilario-”

The sound of something smashing against the wall echoed across the hall. Followed by a demonic snarl.

“They. touched. Rook! They die!” 

That must be Spite.

Oh…

Rook realized that she never discussed her cinematic move with the others. Neve was used to it. She had witnessed it too many times during their missions.

She hated it. But she couldn’t deny how it made enemies feel overconfident. Prone to making mistakes. Better to catch off guard.

But not something to do with unaware participants.

When Rook carefully opened her eyes, another body flew against a wall. Ilario was still standing next to her, looking in another direction. His entire body tensed up in shock. Apparently Lucanis/Spite had been brutally throwing any Venatory standing in their way against the stone walls.

“Cousin, you need to calm down. They are already dead!” Teia yelled at Lucanis, but Viago held her back.

The final stand was Lucanis/Spite finally reaching Ilario, grabbing him by the throat and hurling him across the hall. The impact was strong enough to make Ilario break a few pieces of furniture in the process.

“Not. Enough. He needs to… suffer!” Lucanis and Spite shouted, as if they’d merged.

He quickly kneeled next to Rook and despite his pupils not being visible, his narrowed eyebrows showed enough concern.

“I’m fine.” Rook whispered, already feeling bad for the entire thing.

“No! He hurt you. He hurt us!” Lucanis/Spite responded back, hissing.

He was going to kill them all. If he hadn’t done so already.

“I think you already punished them well enough. Here, look.” Rook said, grabbing the dagger and pulling it out.

“See? No blood. Your cousin just has a terrible aim. He thought he won and that made him arrogant, distancing himself from his allies.” Rook explained, though she wasn’t sure how much lucanis/spite caught in their frenzied state.

“No… blood.” Lucanis/Spite whispered back.

During all this, Viago and Teia used the moment to tie Ilario down. All the other venatori were dead due to… impactful wall slammings. 

“You’re disgraceful, all of you. It’s not enough he’s an abomination, but he also kneels?! How the crows have fallen!” Ilario continued to shout, but his defeat was imminent. 

Rook slowly lifted herself off the ground, kneeling next to him.

“I’m sorry. I should have told you about this little… stunt I use from time to time. Neve hates it too. I won’t do it again and-”

Lucanis pulled Rook against him, wrapped his arms around her as the purple glow in his eyes started fading away.  Burying his face against her neck.

“Never again.” he growled. 

Rook squeezed his arm as a confirmation. The embrace ended with him taking her hand and raising Rook back to her feet with him.

All the yelling subsided when Catharina finally entered the halls. Even Ilario finally closed his mouth.

Rook didn’t dare speak. As the situation calmed down, Teia and Viago complimented her on the dramatic stunt. Thanked her for all the help she’s given.

Rook politely nodded. She could feel Lucanis staring at her. Avoiding any instances of aggravating him further would be wise.

That, until Catharina announced him as the first talon. At this point, he was swarmed by crows. People who wanted to start building connections. Others who just wanted to share a celebratory drink.

Getting through the crowd would be impossible.

“I’m going home. Could you tell Lucanis when you catch him? I think I have worried him enough for one day.” Rook said to Viago.

He nodded and then sheepishly smiled at Rook. 

“What? What is it?” Rook asked, confused.

“Take care of my cousin, Rook. Enjoy your night.” he responded, slapping her shoulder in a friendly manner.

Rook shrugged and started heading towards the Eluvian. She looked back once more and managed to make eye contact with Lucanis. With hand motions, she quickly pointed towards the Eluvian and then waved goodbye. Before he could respond, Lucanis was swarmed by another wave of crows.

—

When Rook made it to her room, she wanted to throw herself onto the bed. What a day it was.

But these clothes had to go. 

She quickly slipped out of the blood soaked fabric that was already torn in a few places. Doesn’t look like it can be repaired.

She left it on the floor and moved to the baths. It was so late at night, she doubted anybody was going to notice.

After a good cleanup, a few bruises became visible. Nothing fatal. But some were going to stick around for a while. Especially the deep purple ones. 

Too lazy to dress up, Rook grabbed a robe and headed back to her bedroom. But she was hungry. There was no time to eat during the ordeal. Maybe the kitchen had something? Even just a snack.

She quietly snuck her way into the kitchen. Perhaps she could gather a few cookies and eat them in bed! Nobody would notice. It would be her little secret. It was also doubtful that Lucanis would already be back from his celebration.

“Rook.”

She froze. Her hand was so close to grabbing a cookie.

“Oh! You’re back already?” she responded, turning around. Caught in the act.

Lucanis was sitting on the couch. A cup in his hand, presumingly coffee.

“Yes.” he responded.

“I was actually going to come visit you in your room. After I had finished my drink.” he added.

“Visit me so late at night? Whatever for?” Rook responded as a joke.

But he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead Lucanis took another sip of his coffee.

“You’re wearing a robe.”

Suddenly Rook started feeling very shy. 

“Ah, yes. I was covered in blood and wanted to check for bruises. Nothing bad, luckily.”

There was tension. And she wasn’t sure in which direction it was going to go.

The sound of her heartbeat made it difficult to focus.

“I… should go. Get out of this bathrobe.” she added and slowly took a step back.

“A good idea.” he said, taking the last sip. And then placing the cup back on the table.

“You can then show me the bruises.” 

It took a moment for her to register what he said.

That, until he stood up and started walking towards her. Rook took another step backwards, only to find herself clashing against the kitchen table behind her.

It was too late now. Any means of escape were blocked. Lucanis stood in front of her, resting his hands on both sides - pinning Rock against the table.

“I thought you were dead.” he finally said.

Lucanis didn’t shy away from eye contact. Rook looked down instead, ashamed. At least until he gently lifted her chin.

“I was going to kill them all.”

His hand slowly moved to her cheek, caressing it.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.” she whispered back.

“You didn’t think I would react?” Help me understand, Rook.”

“No! It’s just… I didn’t think you would react like that. I didn’t expect it. I wasn’t sure where I stood with you, so I decided to focus on the mission and do my thing.” 

“And has today cleared your doubts?” he asked, his thumb brushing against her lips.

She didn’t respond. And somehow she already felt breathless.

“Mierda.”

His lips clashed against hers. It didn’t take long for Rook’s to wrap her arms around his neck. Her hands grabbing onto him. Lucanis lifting Rook and placing her on the kitchen table, keeping her close.

It felt needy. Urgent. Especially when his tongue was starting to dance with hers, moaning into her mouth. 

He grabbed onto her waist, pressing himself against her. From all the movement, Rook’s bathrobe was starting to slip and any exposed shoulders were bitten, licked or kissed. 

What they didn’t realize was all the noise. Every moment caused a plate to fall. Cutlery clashing against other metallic objects. 

They finally froze when somebody yelled “What is going on down there?!”

After that, silence. Followed by quiet chuckles between them.

“I know it’s not honorable, but we could pin it on Manfred.” Rook suggested, fixing her robe.

“Hmm… No, I’ll tell them the truth.” Lucanis smirked, kissing Rook on the forehead and giving her space again. 

“And what is that? Sorry, I was fooling around in the kitchen?” Rook asked.

“Fooling around is a temporary notion. I intend to keep you for a long time.”

Lucanis smirked again, witnessing Rook blushing. 

“Now go rest. I’m still planning on inspecting your bruises sometime soon.”

Before Rook could respond, Lucanis had returned to his room. 

Falling asleep would be difficult after such a promise.

[4theluvofsapphos]

Butterfingers - ch.1

pairing: Melissa Schemmenti x Futch Mechanic!Reader

a/n: HI FIRST MEL FIC AHFUDJ the worms…the voices…. anyways i don’t usually describe reader since i know that can take away from the experience but a tall buff himbo futch reader x a petite angry italian is just too good 😭 enjoy! i plan for there for be some possible smutty smut in the FARRRR future but this is first and foremost melissa learning how to love again!!-

chapter 2 here

“I didn’t know we had a new vending machine guy! Gregory, we have a new vending machine guy!” Janine looked to Gregory, who in turn nodded and looked up from his laptop.

“I noticed…uh- hi, by the way. That’s Janine, I’m Gregory.”

You looked to the two from your kneeling position by the old vending machine, matching names to faces before clearing your throat to introduce yourself in turn.

“Hi Gregory, Janine…my name I-“

“Who the HELL took my mug?!” A loud voice bellowed from across the room, the doorway now occupied by a stout looking redhead, and an angry one at that.

“…Which mug? Oh..” Gregory immediately blurted out, looking from his to the sink’s counter. “I thought- I figured this was a communal mug, was this- not a communal mug? I’m sorry, I- I’ll just go get a new mug for you Melissa-“

The fiery features of the redhead son softened, her brow knitting together in confusion. “Did ya not read the front? It says ‘Schemmenti’s the best teacher ever’ on the front, see?” The woman marched over to where Gregory stood, spinning the mug around with her one hand and pointing with the other.

“Right, okay. To be fair, I am not enough of a cryptologist to decipher 2nd grader writing. But now that you said it- I…I definitely see it, yeah.”

—————————————————

You stayed kneeled on the floor, Janine blocking your view slightly, and Gregory standing in the way of the redhead’s sightline. She hadn’t yet seen you, and you didn’t know whether to feel grateful or petrified…A mixture of both swirled in the pit of your stomach, growing heavier with each passing moment. Janine then turned to look at you, smiling sheepishly and sidestepping to walk towards the pair.

“Hey so Melissa- Uhm…you left the mug here yesterday, so I cleaned it for you and put it on the rack to dry. I’m sorry if that was what caused all this.” The woman, who’s name you now knew was Melissa, seemed dissatisfied with this explanation.

“Look hon, next time you don’t know, just ask?”

“Sure, yes, of course! You’re right. Sorry Melissa.” The young teacher bowed her head, nodding in agreement and proceeding to stand awkwardly next to Melissa for the next minute or so in silence.

—————————————————

After Gregory had settled back into his seat, the previously controversial mug now emptied into a default ‘employee lounge’ mug. You had continued your work quietly, not looking at the room much to avoid the palpable tension. As a couple more teachers filed in, a young twinkish teacher, and a teacher that seemed around Melissa’s age. She gave you a small smile, introducing herself as Barbara. In return, you told her your name, shaking her hand gently, before asking if she had any requests for the machine.

“Me? Oh, no.” She waved the question off with a dismissive hand,”However, if you want to make some friends, I’d ask the others.” She then gestured to the few that sat a few feet away.

“Gushers. Please.” Janine blurted, grinning. “The other guy used to bring in Gushers, but since Meliss-“ Gregory held up his hand, cutting off his coworker.

”Nah ah ah- not important. You want Gushers- she wants Gushers, please.” Janine nodded excitedly, and you smiled back.

“Uhh, Gushers? Sure! I can probably find something at the warehouse.”

“I got a guy that works at a candy store.” A voice piped up from the table to your right. You looked to see it was Melissa, fork in hand, what looked to be some leftover ‘rigatoni Calabrese’ in her Tupperware.

“Oh! It’s no worries. I remember seeing a few packages on the east wing by the back. I can bring them tomorrow, if I have time.” You reply, standing up to talk properly with the others. Melissa watched you carefully, seeming to hold your gaze with a challenge behind her own. For what, you weren’t sure…But you were feeling the heat from her, and it was making your palms sweat. It wasn’t about the fact that she was glaring you down— it was the way she was doing it that made you nervous. You weren’t a small girl by any means. You were nearly 6’2”, with enough workouts in you to put a bouncer to sleep. The problem was that you knew she didn’t like you.

Melissa glared with contempt. Behind her eyes, the gears were churning up something ugly.

You weren’t the guy she knew, why should she trust you? The last one went horribly wrong, why wouldn’t this one?

Regardless of your social standing with her, you took a few steps towards her, offering your best smile. “Well, do you want anything for the vending machine? I have no problem stocking it.”

You had been working there for a few days at this point, but most of your job consisted of doing maintenance on the vending machines in the cafeteria and halls. But after your employer noted an extra vending machine in a non-documented area, you did some digging and found that the previous technician noted an extra vending machine in the employee lounge…thus— here you were.

Melissa replied by shooting you a pointed look. “No. I’m fine.” After a long pause, she tacked on a little ‘thanks, though’ at the end. You nodded, taking your queue to head back to the machine. As you finished loading the already available inventory, the teachers all began to head back to their classrooms.

—————————————————

When you got up, you expected to see the room empty. You were wrong— Melissa stood behind you, her controversial mug in hand, and an unreadable look on her face. You cracked a little smile, clearing the hair from your face and setting down the empty box you were about to leave with.

“You got Butterfingers?” She asked, raising a brow.

“Oh- I don’t- I’m sorry! Did I drop something?” You looked around the floor, trying to think if you recall dropping any inventory while you were stocking.

“No! I meant the candy, hon.” She sighed, pinching her brow and shaking her head slightly. You felt your face go red with embarrassment at the misunderstanding. She seemed to be amused, but you felt stupid.

“That- that makes a lot more sense. I have Butterfingers, yeah! Would you like me to stock some..?” She thought for a moment, and shook her head.

“It’s— kind of a guilty pleasure. You think ya got any more discreet ways to slip me one or two every now and then?”

You looked to the machine, then back to Melissa, before nodding. “I can do that…no problemo!” You gave her a little thumbs up, picking up your empty box, before heading for the door.

She followed after you, giving you a small smile and nodding. “Maybe you ain’t so bad. Thanks, hon…my name’s Melissa, by the way.” She held the door with her foot, looking up at you when she spoke.

You looked over to her, chuckling lightly. “Pleasure to meet you, Melissa. I’m y/n. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?” Before you headed down the hall, you looked to her coat. It was a nice leather jacket that you felt matched her tough exterior. “I like your jacket, by the way. It suits you.”

“Yeah? Thanks.” She offered, but the appreciation seemed rehearsed. Something in her eyes faltered, before she turned on her heel and quickly left in the direction of what you presumed to be her classroom.

Melissa Schemmenti was an enigma to you. But you would figure her out eventually. It couldn’t hurt…could it?

[imagineitdearies]

~ A Flawed Eternity ~

(AKA drabbles set in the Perfect Slaughter universe.) Thanks to my new author discord community for voting on this one! 🩵

In which Tyrus walks in on Astarion's 'alone time.'

~

Even though they’d cleared the tunnel under the river, secured the fishing hut and passage to sneak into the House of Healing, and had a half-reliable map of the Gauntlet of Shar, the war council had delayed an infiltration for almost a tenday merely arguing over who would go.

With the colder weather creeping in and battles stagnating into standoffs, Tyrus supposed they foolishly thought they had time.

Morfred wanted a larger group to ensure they had enough support. Jaheira said no more than three highly-skilled individuals, to give them better chances at stealth. Ganyl simply wanted to go, even though his entire enclave was against risking their leader, and it took two meetings just to talk him down. Halfred didn’t think the quiet assassination plan of Ketheric Thorm was a good idea in the first place. They all worried that Ketheric’s brother, Malus Thorm, could be too tight-lipped or ignorant of the Gauntlet’s secret entrance to be worth the risk of fighting first.

Astarion had given up on attendance for the last two meetings. But as designated ‘Leader of the Vampires,’ however underqualified Tyrus felt he was for such a role, he felt obligated to attend. Just so he’d have updates to give Astarion and the spawn army below, really. He and Astarion had come up with the idea of a quiet assassination to avoid further bloodshed, so they were already guaranteed a spot in the party if and when it was approved. Halsin was a tentative third in Ganyl’s place, though Jaheira wanted it to be herself who struck Ketheric’s killing blow.

Now Tyrus felt close to giving up himself. He left the meeting before its scheduled end when Jaheira and Halfred started a shouting match about the risks of trying Ketheric's son at the Waning Moon Tavern instead, and Messaged Ganyl to send word if a decision had finally been made. Then he crossed the road past the armory, over the short bridge and around the small, cheery fountain in front of their temporary abode of late, the Last Light Inn.

Tyrus let out a plaintive sigh of relief the moment he was through the doors and could shrug off the sapping weight of the Cloak of Dragomir, avoiding the occasional beam of sunlight until he reached the stairs and could head down to the basement floor. Most of the rooms were used for storage—but at the end, built around the low docks the inn now used to receive war supplies from the east, were a couple of suites that looked directly out over the Chionthar.

He hadn’t expected to find Astarion in their suite, really. His partner liked to socialize a lot more than Tyrus ever did. In their short time here, he’d already been chatting with some soldiers at the inn’s bar, meeting more often with Halsin, and playing enough lanceboard he now could beat Tyrus if he focused hard enough. Astarion was used to crowds, to strangers, while Tyrus still found himself seeking the safety of four walls and a single locked door.

As he reached the door, however, Tyrus thought that safety must have been an illusion as his ears picked up Astarion’s voice, loud and seemingly in distress.

“Ah!—ah, gods—Tyrus!”

Tyrus wrenched the door open in a panic, hurrying inside—

—and was confronted with the sight of Astarion in a bath, pale face flushed, eyes squeezed shut, steamy water sloshing around the fast pace of his wrist under the water as he tugged at his pink, erect cock.

Tyrus stared. Even as Astarion’s eyes wrenched open bleary and wide, his hand freezing in the water, Tyrus couldn’t stop looking. He’d seen Astarion’s cock before so many times—but in his defense, it’d been months. Only feeling the shape of it in Astarion’s trousers when their kissing progressed further, only seeing Astarion’s bare body offhandedly as they dressed. Now Tyrus could also admire how much more lively Astarion’s skin looked despite still being pale, how his half-submerged, muscled middle had softened into looking less malnourished and dehydrated thanks to a healthy diet.

After another second, Astarion relaxed a bit. He waved toward Tyrus with the hand that had a moment before held a death-grip on the wooden tub’s edge, smirking as he huffed, “Could you close that, love?”

Tyrus’s momentary shock at the man’s beauty faded, then, in time for his rational brain to kick in. “I can come back later—?” he started to offer.

“No—no, I . . .” Astarion interjected, only to hesitate. His eyes trailed away for a moment, uncertainty lining his face. 

Tyrus retreated back to the door. “I don’t want to interrupt,” he spoke in earnest, and smiled at Astarion when the other vampire tentatively met his gaze again. “Truly—I’d much rather you enjoy yourself, like you’ve been wanting to.”

“Not quite like how I’ve wanted to,” Astarion scoffed, though a moment later the lines on his face faded. “No, stay here, darling. If you’d like to. I’m only imagining you here anyhow.”

“That’s quite different,” Tyrus pointed out, though he went ahead and shut the door, locking it for good measure before turning back to Astarion.

“Is it? I was just thinking of you interrupting me like this,” Astarion smirked, gesturing at himself. The hand in the water wandered back between his legs and began to lightly stroke as he sighed, “Though in my head I skipped the part where a whole conversation would be necessary for you to join. Bring a stool?” he nodded at the floor just next to the tub.

Tyrus didn’t hesitate to obey. He grabbed a small cushioned one in front of the sheet-covered mirror and placed it so he could sit just next to the tub’s head. His stomach swooped at being this close to Astarion—at watching him stroke himself again, bare and exposed save for the flimsy distortion of the sudsy water.

He wanted to touch him. He wanted to help, or at least kiss Astarion. But he wouldn’t dare do a thing without checking, given how impossible it’d been for Astarion to be sexually intimate since Cazador’s death.

And Astarion was such a pretty sight just to watch, with his eyes shutting again and dark lashes on display, pink lips slightly parted. Meanwhile, his small breaths and huffs of pleasure as he built back into a rhythm sounded sweeter to Tyrus’s ears than any melody. Even the smell of him was delightful. That smoky, musky perfume he always had a slight hint of at the palace was now much more refined and strong thanks to their shopping in the city. It was already a feast for the senses, if not all of them.

But when Astarion’s other hand extended just a bit past the tub, palm up, Tyrus was quick to take it and enjoy a sense of touch as well. Astarion hummed and pulled their clasped hands down into the water, flattening Tyrus’s palm to rub against his inner thigh. Tyrus gratefully mimicked the movement, and next let Astarion’s hand overtop his guide him to gently handle Astarion’s ball sack, eventually taking over to stroke his erection in tight, quick motions Tyrus still remembered the rhythm of well. 

Astarion’s hand stayed cupped around his throughout it all, continually guiding and keeping control even as he sighed, “Tyrus . . . uh, I’ve missed these hands . . .”

“Would you like it if I did anything else?” Tyrus murmured, after another minute of nothing but stroking and listening to Astarion’s heavy breathing.

Astarion’s eyes shot open, head lifting to regard Tyrus with a furrowed brow. His hand slowed Tyrus’s to a stop. “Such as?”

Tyrus bit back the assertion of Anything, anything at all. Giving actual ideas would probably be more helpful, if Astarion didn’t have his own. “Kiss you. Your lips, your neck,” Tyrus started with. “Or . . . here,” smiling as his thumb idly swiped over the head of Astarion’s cock and his partner visibly shuddered in response. Letting his voice go a bit lower, as he pointed out, “I don’t need to breathe, after all.”

“Fuck,” Astarion swore, then gave a short, barking laugh. “This is what four months of celibacy has done to my sweet, virtuous partner? I didn’t think you even liked that sort of activity, darling.”

“I haven’t ever tried it, technically. At least not of my own accord, so,” Tyrus shrugged. 

The air went somber ever-so-slightly at his words. 

"Shall I?" Tyrus asked in hopes of dispelling it.

“Not this time, my love,” Astarion sighed, starting to move Tyrus’s hand again around him. “But . . . yes—kiss me, please. I think I just need a little bit more of something—”

Tyrus wasted no further time. They’d kissed goodbye only hours ago when he left for the council meeting, but it’d been more than a tenday since Astarion had kissed him like this. One of their first nights in this inn, in fact, before he’d grabbed one of Tyrus’s wandering hands by the wrist and ended things rather abruptly. But whatever else Tyrus did or did not feel in the mood for otherwise, he never got tired of kisses—Astarion’s free hand cupping his jaw close, lips so passionately pressing and sliding against Tyrus’s, tongue darting out to taste and in return welcoming him in.

His instinct was to bury his free hand in Astarion’s curls, but Tyrus gripped the tub’s edge instead. He didn’t want to risk the wrong touch ending this lovely, easy moment. Not when Astarion was so clearly enjoying his other hand’s touch at the moment, hips bucking up and splashing the water a bit more.

Sometime later, a small moan escaped Tyrus when Astarion slid his hand back to tightly cup the nape of his neck, angling Tyrus’s head for an even deeper, all-consuming kiss. Astarion’s hand tightened a bit further around Tyrus’s in the water, so he sped up his movements even more—and groaned with Astarion as the other elf wrenched free of their kiss and threw his head back, shouting “Tyrus!” shakily, his cock pulsing in Tyrus's grip, his spend streaking in the water as the press of his bent legs made the wooden tub slightly creak in protest.

Tyrus kissed down Astarion’s neck and bobbing adam’s apple, slowing his strokes with the guidance of Astarion’s hand as Astarion breathed harshly through the aftershocks. When at last Astarion released his grip on Tyrus in the water, head resting against the tub again, Tyrus went back to gently stroking his smooth inner thigh. He rested his forehead against the other man’s clavicle, listening to them both breathe for a moment before whispering, “Alright?”

Astarion huffed—and then he began laughing. A soft, lighthearted, warm sound Tyrus couldn’t help but smile at, and hoped never to forget as Astarion’s chest lightly shook underneath him. Then Astarion’s wet arm emerged from the water and wrapped around Tyrus, pulling him in just a bit closer despite the awkwardness of the tub between them.

“Oh, besides a sore wrist of late,” he chortled, laying his cheek against Tyrus’s head when his giggling finally stopped. “I did start to find some enjoyment, even managed an orgasm the last two times, though. And this? Hmm . . . this is nice.”

Tyrus smiled wider against his chest. Of course, after another minute his back twinged and he regretfully had to pull from Astarion’s embrace—but was grateful his partner quickly dried off and joined him on the bed, despite the fact only Tyrus still needed a trance.

Once they'd both changed and his lover was spooning him snugly from behind, Tyrus thought to ask, “Have there been other things you like to imagine? Any specifics that I should take into account?”

The entire line of Astarion’s body froze up behind him. “I . . . I wouldn’t say there’s much I’m sure about acting on, darling,” he said in a slow, careful voice. “It’s been hard enough just to imagine sex without the thought of a customer, or him, intruding. Once that’s less an issue, I—I should be back to normal.”

“Normal,” Tyrus huffed, shaking his head and hugging Astarion’s arm a little closer to his chest. Being around relatively ‘normal’ people of late had taught Tyrus just how far off he and anyone else from the spawn colony were likely ever to be from such an ideal. “But hand jobs with you guiding me, would you say that goes on the safe list?” he stipulated.

Astarion was quiet for a moment. Then he kissed the tip of Tyrus’s ear, repeating, “The safe list, what a sad state of affairs—but yes, I’d call that a success. We’ll have to see about your mouth. And perhaps, if you’re up for it, I think I'd enjoy some unconventional stimulation, just skin-to-skin.” A beat of silence, then Astarion’s voice came out so soft and uncertain, almost afraid, as he admitted, “I . . . I’d still like a break from anything so performative as full intercourse, if that’s alright . . . and, if you can forgive it, I may still just need time, before I can offer attentive service to you, love . . .”

Tyrus twisted under Astarion’s arm so he could face him—but only to wrap his arms tightly around him, tucking his chin into the crook of Astarion’s neck. Declaring, gently but firmly, “There’s nothing to forgive, and no service to worry about. You have always been so giving, love." Even more softly, he coaxed, "Now, let’s take care of you for a while?”

Tyrus felt his partner’s body shudder in his arms. Then, increment by increment, Astarion melted into the embrace.

“Gods, I do love you,” he whispered in answer.

[phthalomushroom]

The Family (4)

last next

pairings: modern!mafia!aemondxreader

summary: You had left Kings Landing and the Targaryen family four years ago. Now back and living with your old roommate you realize that the life you had thought you escaped had seemingly been waiting for you. But will the family really let you go? Will the people you left behind forgive you? Can you forget the past and look to the future?

warnings: language, mentions of trauma, stalking?

word count: 1.4K

note: I thought I had the rest of this planned out but my brain keeps finding new ways to change it on me. Next chapter though, we got some tea coming! Hope you enjoy!

You had felt like you were going to throw up.

Once you had left the party you had headed home and downed at least half a bottle of tequila. To say the hangover this morning was a difficult one was an understatement. You pulled yourself out of bed, grabbed your phone that you had discarded somewhere on the floor in your drunken haze and looked through the messages from Baela and Rhaena who were asking where you went.

It seems your drunk self was responsible enough to text back something that resembled that you had made it home.

You moved across the room, barely missing stepping on your shoes as you headed to the kitchen. You needed something to eat that you wouldn’t regurgitate right away. .

“There’s nothing to eat.”

You turned to see Baela lounging on the couch, a rag shielding her eyes from the light.

“We need to go to the grocery store.”

“No shit.” She sat up taking the rag from her face, she looked like she also got hit by a bus. “Glad you drank my tequila, if it was here when I got back I probably wouldn’t be alive right now.”

You frowned, joining her on the couch. “I take it you didn’t enjoy the party either.”

“I take it the talk with Aemond didn’t go well.”

“He was drunk and an asshole.”

She tilted her head. “Aemond doesn’t drink… he is an asshole though.”

“But he was never an asshole to me.”

She smirked. “Then I guess you’ve officially joined ‘Aemond’s an asshole club,’ I’ll get you one of our t-shirts-”

“Baela I’m being serious.”

“So am I, we meet every Tuesday to talk about the new assholey thing he’s done.”

You rolled your eyes, a headache starting to form. “I really thought that there might’ve been something left, but he’s changed since the last time I saw him.”

She shrugged. “He’s gone through a lot. Aegon’s death, Otto being locked up, and now you coming back. There’s been a lot of change happening.”

You rolled your eyes. “So because of all that he’s marrying Alys? I mean he couldn’t have picked someone with a little bit of, I don’t know, humanity?”

Baela chuckled. “I know this won’t be easy but things will get better, I promise. Besides, you’ve got your first encounter down which means you never have to talk to him again.”

“We live in the same city, I doubt I will never talk to him again.”

“Yeah but this time you don’t have to be so civil.”

You smirked, pride flaring in your chest a bit. “I was civil, wasn't I? 

Baela wrapped her arm around your shoulder. “I thought you were going to burn the place down, but you didn’t.”

You let out a long breath. “I need food and I need something to take my mind off all this shit.”

Baela smiled. “Shopping?”

You nodded in agreement. “Shopping.”

********

You and Baela had managed to stomach a little bit of breakfast at a cafe before making your way to the East side of the city. You decided on going to a well known store that was big for its unique couture.

You scavenged the racks trying to find some good purchases that matched your style. Baela had managed to find a few and had left you to go try them on in the fitting rooms. You had offered to go with her in case she wanted some feedback but had declined on the premise of not wanting to hog the fitting room.

You were currently looking through some sweaters when you heard an all too familiar voice.

“Well, look who's back in town.”

You stiffened, casting a glance over your shoulder to see Daemon Targaryen. He had his hands in his pockets and a sly smirk on his face.

“Daemon.” Was all you said before turning yourself back to the rack. You pushed yourself closer to the clothes, concealing your hand going into your bag to pull out your mace. You made sure to put it in your pocket so that it was easily accessible. 

“A cold greeting is not meant for family, sweetheart.” He moved around the rack so that he was in your line of sight. 

“We aren’t family.”

He sighed. “I have to say I was disappointed when I heard about the failed engagement. Aemy was so excited, nearly killed him to see you go.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “I thought the Targaryens no longer accepted you in the family, after your little coup with Rhaenyra.”

“A misunderstanding, Rhaenyra and I have been welcomed back. My lovely nephew saw to that.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’ve missed a lot since you left.”He leaned against the rack. “You shouldn’t have come back, (Y/N).”

You straightened. “I’m not involved in whatever shit you have going on. So leave me alone.”

He frowned. “I’m just reminding you that despite your disagreements with Aemond you are still seen as part of this family.”

You glared at him. “Aemond never told me anything about the family business. He never wanted me involved.”

“I was talking more in the literal sense.” He held his hands up. “I like you, (Y/N), which is why you should leave town.”

You raised a brow. “Are you threatening me?”

“No, I would never threaten you, I’m just giving you some advice. There are still bad people wandering around and I would hate for something bad to happen like last time.”

You crossed your arms. “That sure seems like a threat, Daemon.”

“If you don’t want to take my word for it, why don’t you ask the man who's been watching you since you and Baela left the cafe.”

You looked to where he gestured with his head to see the man in question. He wore a red baseball cap with a plain t-shirt and jeans and was staring very intently at a pair of tailored pants. 

He looked up briefly, catching your eye. He noted that you and Daemon were staring at him. He set the pants down and wandered towards the front of the store out of sight. 

“Who was that?” 

Daemon shrugged. “Ghosts of Aemond’s it seems, but I guess yours too since you shot their boss.”

You stared at him, unflinching. “That wasn’t me.”

He grinned, pointing a finger at you. “You are a good liar, I’ll give you that.”

Your hand drifted to your pocket with the pepper spray.

“Don’t worry too much,” Daemon said, taking a step back. “Aemonds gave his instructions in regards to you.”

“And what instructions are those?”

“Don’t let you die.”

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “So he’ll assign a protection detail but he’ll treat me like a mistress.”

He took a step back. “I’ll be watching you, (y/n).”

“Creepy.”

He turned away, heading towards the front of the shop no doubt in hunt of the man in the red baseball cap.

“Was that Daemon?”

You jumped at Baela’s voice, nearly knocking down the rack of clothes you had spent too much time at. 

“Yeah,” you answered. “Just coming by to tell me he’s watching me.”

Baela shook her head “The family guard dog is back at it again.”

“Tell me about it.”

Baela had seemed to find some clothes she wanted to buy so you two headed to the registers. 

“Can I ask you something?” you asked before Baela could check out.

“Yeah?”

“Daemon mentioned that he was part of the family again. Is that true?”

“Yeah, I don’t know the specifics but about a year after you left Aemond had announced that he and Rhaenyra were no longer enemies of the family.”

You shook your head. “You’re kidding me, even after they killed Aegon?” 

Baela shrugged. “Jace said Aemond never does anything without a plan and I guess he needed them back in the family.”

You shook your head, watching as Baela put her clothes on the counter. It didn’t make sense, Aemond’s own brother being poisoned at the hands of those two. The Aemond you knew would never have sided with the people who murdered his big brother. Sure, Aegon and him had their differences and Aegon got on Aemond’s every nerve but he would never disrespect his brother like that.

And now you were being followed by some mystery guy and Daemon.

What the hell happened since you were gone?

Tag List: @dixie-elocin @liannafae @toodlesxcuddles @watercolorskyy @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @namelesslosers @tssf-imagines

[snapghoul]

Renegade Rebel(s) with the pedal to the floor

In which the twins meet up again in Oklahoma and Bradley experiences first hand that the twins are more alike than he thought.

Notes: A sprinkle of hangster (or my attempt at it) also I love using songs and titles. The Glen Powell brain rot is real.

Warnings: foul language

“God, I fucking hate commercial flights,” Bradley groaned, stretching his back as they exited the sliding doors of the terminal. The cramped seats had him aching all over, worse than the confined cockpit of his jet.

“Well, you didn’t have to come,” Jake teased, grinning as he adjusted his duffel bag. “But I’d feel bad leaving you behind while Maverick’s off doing his thing.” At first, Rooster’s request to join Jake on this trip had surprised him. It wasn’t as if Rooster had family to visit, and Maverick was off with Penny.

The Dagger squad had been granted an extended leave due to a lull in missions, giving Jake the perfect opportunity to visit his brother and then take a road trip down to Texas.

“So where’s…”

Bradley’s question was abruptly cut off by the blaring horn of a truck that roared into the pickup zone, looking like something straight out of a Mad Max film.

“Never mind,” Bradley finished, shaking his head in disbelief. Jake’s smile, wide and radiant, was almost blinding. Seeing Jake so excited was a new experience for Bradley, and it stirred a strange, pleasant feeling in his chest—one he couldn’t quite place.

Tyler stepped out of the truck, his face lighting up as he saw Jake. “Welcome to Oklahoma!” he shouted, his enthusiasm matching Jake’s. He and Jake exchanged a quick, brotherly hug before Tyler turned his attention to Bradley.

“And you must be Rooster,” Tyler said, extending a hand. “Jake’s told me a lot about you. Thanks for coming along.”

Bradley shook Tyler’s hand, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach. “Nice to meet you, Tyler. I’m sure Jake’s exaggerated everything I’ve done.”

Jake laughed. “Just the stupid shit and how you got your ass shot outta the sky.”

Bradley still felt a flutter in his chest, despite Jake’s attempt to mask it with a sarcastic remark. Out of everyone, he’d never have expected Jake to speak so positively about him. It was disorienting, yet oddly comforting.

“Look, you two showed up at just the right time,” Tyler said, practically bouncing with excitement as they loaded the truck. “We’ve got some impressive cells developing to the east. Kate—remember Kate?—thinks we might see a few EF1s and 2s today, and—”

Bradley’s eyes widened as Tyler’s words sunk in. Storm chasing. The idea was both exhilarating and intimidating. He watched as Jake and Tyler’s energy seemed to feed off each other, their enthusiasm almost palpable. It was a bit frightening, and he could only imagine what he’d gotten himself into.

“Wait—” Bradley leaned forward, trying to process this new information. “We’re storm chasing?”

Jake and Tyler turned to him with wicked grins. “Absolutely,” Jake said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You didn’t think we’d spend our time off just lounging around, did you?”

Bradley stared at them, still trying to wrap his head around the idea. “I thought we’d just be hanging out with your family, catching up.”

Tyler chuckled, shaking his head. “That was part of the plan, we’re hanging out right?And besides, who doesn’t want to experience a storm up close?”

Bradley swallowed hard, grappling with the realization that he was about to dive headfirst into something far outside his comfort zone. He could handle missiles and dogfights—things he could control to some degree—but Mother Nature was an entirely different beast.

“I wish you’d told me this before I bought my ticket,” Bradley said, casting a reproachful look at Jake.

Jake flashed him a confident smile. “You’ll be fine, Roo. Besides, I knew you’d chicken out if you knew in advance… no pun intended.”

Tyler snorted with laughter as they pulled out of the pickup zone, the rumble of the truck filling the silence. Bradley tried to suppress his nerves, focusing instead on the excitement radiating from the twins. Their enthusiasm was infectious, even if it did add to his own apprehension.

“You two are insane.”

“Yes sir!” “Damn straight.”

Bonus:

“Mav, help me, I’ve made a grave mistake. Well, multiple mistakes, but—actually, no, just one big Hangman-shaped one.” Bradley mumbled into his phone, watching from a far field as the red truck charged toward the funnel cloud. He’d bailed after getting swept up in the first tornado.

[luveline]

Hi I’ve never actually sent a request before so I hope I’m doing this right lol. I was so excited when I saw you wanted to more writing for the Steve zombie au before the established relationship. I die for grumpy pining. I was thinking maybe more reluctant comforting like maybe a thunderstorm or something or honestly just whatever you see fit. I love your writing and your Steve is unmatched. Either way request taken or not I’m sending all the love and good vibes.

hi! thank you for your request my love! steve zombie au —you and steve are surviving together when a freak storm begins, and he can’t stop himself from trying to make you feel better. fem!reader

"In," Steve ushers quickly, "in, in!" 

You force yourself through a gap that's too small for you into the warehouse you've found and out of the rain, an instant bruise forming on your shoulder. You understand his hurry, but it really does hurt. He has similar trouble forcing himself inside. 

Thunder cracks behind him. You jump hard at the sound. "It sounds like it's right on top of us," you say. 

"It might be. Come on," he says, taking your arm into his icy hand, "this way." 

Worried that the storm might be winds from a hurricane at the East Coast, you and Steve had immediately abandoned your plan to start walking up highway I-69 and backtracked to the last building you'd seen on the way, a packing house for toiletries. You hadn't bothered coming inside beforehand, neither of you in want of any necessities that aren't canned goods (or, imagine, fresh food).

You wish you had. Not only would the storm have started while you were already sheltered, but you might have been able to navigate the absolute shitshow of a floor plan without nearly breaking your neck. 

You slip on a greasy patch of floor and Steve yanks you up. He doesn't do it to be cruel; if he hadn't pulled hard you would've fell flat on your face. 

"Shit," he hisses.

"Sorry–" 

"No, just– come on, this way," he says. 

His hair is plastered to his face, soaked despite the hood of his coat and the beanie he'd been wearing, The rain is torrential and freezing cold, carrying a chill that permeates down to the bone. You're less wet than he was, as he'd taken the tarp you sleep under from his backpack and made you wear it like a poncho. 

You don't know if he hates you, when he does stuff like that. He certainly doesn't like you. You figure he resents you for saving his life and not having the grace to insist you part ways. How could you? Everybody was running away, fleeing from the geek cul-de-sac Indiana had become, and nobody who wanted anything to do with you had survived the initial wave. You'd been completely alone, terrified, and you'd risked your life to save him anyways. So when he asked if you were alone, you were honest. When he said, You better come with me, then, you didn't think about it for a minute. 

He probably regrets it in moments like this. And it's worse because you like him. Hero worship, maybe, Steve keeps keeping you alive and you want him to like you more and more every day. 

It's why you hate fucking up. You just want him to see you properly, and not as a girl he has to protect. You want him to know you can protect him back. 

You take the initiative and lead him toward the back of the huge room. He doesn't protest. You figure a corner of the structure would be safer than the middle where the ceiling could sag, and away from the centre of the walls where big windows lined with metal shutters sit. 

Together, you knock coffee pots and plastic cups off of a long table and drag it toward the corner to use as a make shift shield. It's the most protection you can get. 

You sit down, relieved. It can't be ten seconds until your body remembers how cold it is, soaked as you are. 

You already know what to do, and despite the shyness that comes with stripping in front of a boy, and especially a boy that you like, you undress anyways. Shoes first, then your coat. Steve starts to do the same, and you try not to look at one another. 

There are lots of things you worry about, but the stupidest one is body hair. You can't help it —when hair removal is engrained in the feminine experience from birth, it becomes a habit. It's not even that you think it's bad, but you worry that Steve thinks it's gross. Then you remember how many times you've heard one another pee and shake your head at yourself. 

"What's wrong?" Steve asks, shirtless as he pulls his second (and last) pair of jeans over tacky legs. 

You're shirtless too. "Nothing." 

"Your bra is wet." 

You look down at your bra and blink. It's cold, and everyone knows what happens when it's cold and you're braless. "It's the only one I have, I don't wanna flash you." 

"You…" He cracks a very rare smile. It's a twitch of the corner of his lips and nothing more, but it helps you to relax. "I'm not trying anything, but you should take it off. You can wear my hoodie if you're uncomfortable." 

"I guess it's dumb to care." 

"I don't think it's dumb," he says, his head craned as another crack of thunder bellows outside. "You deserve to feel comfortable. I won't look, I swear, I just don't want you to be cold." He looks away from you. "You'll get sick. Then we'd be really fucked."  

You nod. You slip out of your bra and put on your second (and last) t-shirt, which is thinner than the first. You shove your arms in his hoodie but don't zip it closed. 

Steve takes the blanket from his pack and, now wearing his shirt and fresh socks, slots himself next to you and pulls the blanket over your laps. It's an odd juxtaposition: he worries about your privacy but not your personal space. 

"I think it's getting worse," you mumble, head tilted to the side as you listen to the wind roar. 

"We'll be okay." 

You put your hand on your thigh. He puts his hand on his. You slouch against the wall and know you won't be getting any sleep tonight, not while the wind rails.

Time passes like a dragging weight. You wince at every loud whoosh of air, and can't help leaning into Steve's side when somewhere in the warehouse a machine begins to creak. The cold bites your nose, and your toes are stiff despite your new socks. 

You and Steve don't talk much, but eventually he speaks up. 

"Do you need another pair of socks?" he asks. 

"No, it's okay." 

"I won't mind," he says. 

"What if you need them?" 

He gets them out of his pack and tosses them into your lap. You take them, but the wind has seized you up, afraid that any minute now you'll get a storm surge. 

"Hurricanes can't get this far in, can they?" you ask quietly. 

"No. I don't think so." 

You nod your head. "It's loud." 

"I know." 

You put his socks on and try to be level-headed. You think it might be the constant heavy stress that surviving in the wild and against the threat of flesh-eating creatures has put you under that's made you so fragile. A storm wouldn't have scared you this severely before. But your brain is under fire basically every second of the day, even in your sleep, and it weakens your resolve. You've never understood how Steve can be strong in the face of all this awful. 

"It'll be okay," he says again. 

"No, I know…" you say. You don't know, but you don't want to bother him. "I'm fine." 

Thunder cracks at exactly the wrong moment, simultaneous with a sound like a window rattling in its frame. You flinch at his side, your hand jumping on his thigh. 

You go to pull it away and he flattens it to his leg. 

"It's okay," he says, his sternness melting into a softer reassurance. His hair lays in damp curls below his ears, and his face is pale from a lack of sun. "It's just wind. We don't get hurricanes, and if we did, the walls are concrete. You think wind and rain can get through three feet of stone?" 

He lets your hand go. You take it as a queue to remove it.

"Sorry, I don't know why I…" 

Steve clears his throat. "You're not–" He couldn't know what you were going to say about yourself, and you have no idea what he might've said himself. "You don't have to be sorry. For this, anyways. You should be super sorry about other stuff, like losing your pen knife, and trying to convince me to eat that frog," —he pauses as you laugh, the hint of a smile playing on his lips— "but don't bother being sorry about this." 

"People eat frogs," you say quietly, leaning your head against the wall and looking at him through one eye. 

He follows your example and sits the same. After a moment, he pulls the slipped blanket up to your stomach again. "I don't care what people eat. I'm not eating frogs." 

"I didn't want to eat one either," you say. You hadn't. "They do eat them, though." 

"I'm sure they do. Cooked, and with spices. Not raw and covered in dirt. And dead." 

You'd only been joking about eating the frog, but you were both hungry enough to stare at it for a half-second too long. 

Rain drums the ceiling like a far away thrumming. You know you must look awful, wet and dirty. You'd managed to brush your teeth this morning at the very least, but you can't imagine you're the kind of girl Steve would ever want, then or now. 

His gaze dips to your neck. It rests there. 

"I'm not just saying it to make you feel better," he says, stilted once again. "Things… things will be okay. They'll get better. We have to make it out of here." 

Steve has people he needs to find. You'll follow him anywhere at this point, not for love, but he's a good guy, even if he glares more than he talks. He knows how to protect you both. He does stuff he doesn't have to do, like this. His vaguely awkward comfort. His extra socks.

"I know," you say. "We'll be fine."

He nods. You tell yourself that you're imagining the tenderness he puts into such a simple gesture. “Exactly. You worry too much.”

[rangerbarbz]

Professor Pines pt. 2

Author’s note: YALL RAHHHH I MADE THE HIGHEST GRADE IN THE CLASS ON ONE OF MY ZOOLOGY FINALS LETS GOOOOOO anyways things are slowing down for me other than i am moving into my own place!! Im so excited <3 I hope yall enjoy this!! (I just want to apologize for me nerding out over birds in this chapter) 

Summary: This is just a random day in the first week that Ford and the reader are spending in east Tennessee. They are going bird watching ayyyy 

May 21st 

You leaned over your field notebook, trying to recreate the beautiful foliage you had seen on a hike with Ford the day before. Before trying to find any mysterious creatures that lurked in the Appalachian, Ford had suggested that you both get acquainted with the area you would be studying in. This way you would be able to fully understand the habitat this cryptid called home and any adaptations it developed to flourish there. You didn’t mind it whatsoever. Wildlife had always been something you were interested in, and Ford made it so damn fun. It was a shame you never had him before as a professor. He would be one hell of a lecturer. Despite having the reputation of being an introvert, he came to life when he got to speak about his passion: science. 

You certainly weren’t as gifted in the art department as Ford was, but you were determined to finish this drawing of a flower if it was the last thing you did. You bit the end of your indigo coloring pencil as you examined your illustration. 

“Needs more purple,” you mumbled, grabbing your violet pencil and drawing streaks over the petals. You hummed contentedly. “There we go.”

“Very nice, Y/N,” Ford complimented. You didn’t know he was bent down looking over your shoulder, observing your artistic process. 

“Jesus!” you yelped, knee hitting the underside of your desk. Your colored pencils began to roll onto the floor beside you. “You scared me,” you said through laughing. 

“I seem to be good at doing that,” Ford replied jokingly. He kneeled beside you, his face now eye level with your lap. Out of your view, his eyes flickered at your plush thighs as he stood back up. He placed your pencils beside your notebook and placed a hand on the back of your swivel chair. 

He pointed to your drawing. “Is that the Bachelor’s Button we saw yesterday?” 

You smiled. “Yes, it is! How did I do?” You turned to him as he read the notes and labels that were littered around the page. 

“Looks just like it,” he answered, grinning at you. 

“Why, thank you, Ford.” You closed your notebook and turned towards him, still seated. He was now leaning against the oak drawers of the desk, his hands flat on the surface behind him. “What do you have planned today?” 

“I’m glad you asked!” He removed his journal tucked into a pocket inside his jacket and flipped through the pages. He landed on a page that had nothing on it besides the word “Birds” written in his loopy scrawl. “I thought we’d go bird watching today! I’m a little rusty on class Aves, so I thought we’d go together and see what we find.”

Yes! I would love to! Let me just-” You leaned over to the bottom drawer where Ford was standing. The drawer was shielded by his broad legs. 

“Oh, excuse me!” Ford apologized. He stepped out of the way. You pulled out a pair of binoculars and a guide for bird identifying. 

“Alright, I’m ready.” You stood up quickly from your chair. “Lead the way, Pines,” you said faux authoritatively.

He laughed. “Yes ma’am.” 

You found yourself walking down a trail where the grass had been patted down by others who had walked on it before. Trees grew on either side of you and bushes were scattered throughout the forest. It was quite peaceful. You and Ford had settled on a comfortable silence as you looked to the branches for birds. You were both trying to walk softly to avoid any twigs or leaves crunching. This came surprisingly easy to Ford despite being the tall, broad man that he is. You eventually stopped at a spot behind a shrub that had been covered in vines to gaze across an open area. 

“This should be good enough,” Ford said, placing his bag on the ground. He brought his binoculars to his eyes just as you did. “Keep an eye out for anything…unusual. You never know what you’ll find.” 

You chuckled. “Got that right.” You then turned to your left to search for any bright patches of colors that could be songbirds. After about a minute of not seeing anything, Ford brought your attention his way. 

“Look! Do you know what that is, Y/N?” he asked quietly, pointing upwards. You quickly pivoted on your feet and moved closer to him, scanning the trees with your binoculars. 

“I don’t quite see it,” you murmured, still looking for the bird in the wrong direction. 

“Here.” Ford then shifted behind you gently touching your elbows and lifting your arms into the line of sight of the bird. Your breath hitched in your throat at the contact. His fingertips were rough compared to the soft flesh of your arms. He leaned next to your ear and pointed once again, facing the sky. 

“Do you see it?” he whispered. You felt your face grow warm at the current proximity. His voice was so low and gravelly in your ear. You suddenly saw the bird he had been talking about. It was black, white, and had a bright red splotch across its chest. 

“Oh, I see it!” you exclaimed. “That’s a, uh,” you snapped your fingers, “a Rose-Breasted Grosbeak.” 

Ford smiled warmly at you. “That it is.” 

You spent an extra hour and a half taking in the scenery around you, continuing to find even more birds. It was a truly beautiful day for it. The sun was even shining just right on Ford to accentuate the silver in his hair. That’s when you remembered something. 

You then pulled a disposable camera out of your back pocket. “Ford, look at me,” you instructed, positioning the camera in front of your eye. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at you. 

“Taking a picture of you. Don’t think you can escape entering my scrapbook. Now smile.” He laughed in response to that, giving you a perfectly authentic grin. 

“That reminds me of my great niece. She loves scrapbooking. You’ll have to meet her one day.” He began to pick up his bag and slung it over his shoulder. “You would get along swimmingly.” 

You giggled. “I would love that,” you responded, also picking up your own bag and putting your binoculars in it. 

You began to walk back down the trail together, recapping all of what you saw today when you spotted a raspberry bush. “Hell yes,” you said, striding over to the bush. “You want a snack, Ford?” You started to pick the berries off the plant. 

“I’m alright, but thank you,” he responded, waiting for you to get done harvesting. You walked back over to him and began to bite a berry in half. Unfortunately, this was an especially juicy one. It busted and left a red streak dribbling down your chin. 

“Dammit,” you grumbled, about to wipe your mouth with your sleeve. 

Ford frowned at you. “No, don’t ruin your shirt like that. Here let me.” His hand gently cradled the back of your head as he took the bottom of his shirt and brought it to your chin. Your eyes widened at the action and the fact you could now see Ford’s midsection. He had a muscular belly with just a little bit of pudge and a graying happy trail. Oh my God. 

His cotton covered thumb swiped below your lip, removing the juice that was there. He wasn’t looking in your eyes but instead focusing on the task at hand. His hand left the back of your head as he dropped his shirt.

“There we go,” he grinned, eyes crinkling at you. “Now, I’m the dirty one.” You knew your face had to be as red as the berry you just ate, but he didn’t mention it. It was such an innocent act of kindness, but the way you were feeling was far from innocent.

[milliesfishes]

౨ৎ꣑ৎSerendipitous౨ৎ꣑ৎ

[fem reader] contains: arranged marriage, nonconsensual touch, reader has a southern accent, implied sexual content. pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: stuck in an arranged betrothal, you think you'll forever be trapped until you meet billy and your world is flipped upside down author’s note: welcome to part one of Serendipitous! there will be three chapters if I'm planning correctly. I will be adding to the playlist and Pinterest boards as I release chapters! Please enjoy! Series Pinterest Board Series Spotify Playlist

'Old habits die hard' is what you always said when it came to tradition. It was easier said when it wasn't being forced on you.

Being the oldest daughter of a very well-to-do family, you had always known in the back of your mind that you would have to marry, but you hadn't let that thought go any further than just that-a thought.

Your childhood was free and long and lovely, spent running wild in the countryside with all the wonderful things in the world. There were expectations of course; mandatory lessons were attended by you for the benefit of your future. But you never let it sway you, so childishly single minded, focused on the present.

Truthfully you dreamt of romance, of a love so powerful it would sweep you off your feet. In your storybooks love always seemed to be the goal, woman's purpose. You were privy to it, welcoming even, when you entered Atlanta society at the age of sixteen. Maybe here you would start living. Here you could find what you had daydreamed about for most of your life.

Unfortunately, the only thing you were met with was ambiguity. The men at the parties you attended were hardly what you'd imagined. Most were several years older than you, and all of them were disappointing, talking with cigars half in their mouths and presuming you didn't know anything about anything.

Thinking maybe your expectations had been too high, you gathered yourself together for the next season, hoping this crop would be more promising than the last. Entering the first event of the month with an open mind, you tried again.

Nothing.

Soon you had realized the banality of it all. Every party was the last one's twin, with the same greetings, the same conversation, the same dances and the same men, just with different names and faces.

By your third season you were exhausted. Through the mirror you watched the sparkle in your eyes dim, noticed how every soulless event sucked the life out of that sweet girl from the country. You hardly recognized her anymore.

No longer did you expect anything out of the things you were now practically dragged to by your mother. You were still approached by so called gentlemen, yes, but while they prattled on about whatever it is they felt you needed to hear from their mouths you slipped into daydreams. Except this time, they were not about romance. They were about running away.

You'd resigned yourself to the fact that nothing was going to happen. Even though you quite literally had no interest in any of the men you'd come across, you couldn't help but feel guilty. Was there something wrong with you? Every other girl seemed to find their match just fine. Indeed, even your younger sister was practically engaged to a gentleman from the East.

Of course, your parents had grown rather frustrated with your lack of action, and you shared their emotions. Why couldn't you just settle? Every time you tried, indulged someone with a dance and tried to imagine marrying them, you could feel a headache pounding at your skull. No, it was impossible.

Remaining in this mindset, you'd been rather surprised to find yourself pulled out for half a second when one Mr. Henry Merritt approached you at one of the last parties of the season, asking for a dance.

Out of politeness (and your mother poking her fan into your back) you obliged, letting him lead you to the floor. You were expecting, well, what you'd been forced to endure throughout the last three years when it came to conversation.

It surprised you when it wasn't.

Mr. Merritt was the first man you'd ever met who didn't talk to you like a child, who actually allowed you to share your thoughts as well instead of merely agreeing with his own. He even laughed when you made a shy comment about one of the other partygoers who was far too drunk not to notice anymore.

"You're far more vivacious than anyone gives you credit for," Mr. Merritt said as he spun you one more time, signaling the end of the dance. He held your hand to his lips once before asking, "May I call on you tomorrow?"

Feeling a little twinge of excitement at the prospect, you nodded eagerly, almost rooted to your spot after he departed.

Hope lit your mind again. All the way home and all through preparing for the next day, you rekindled your fire of romance. Maybe all you'd needed was the right person, and it was all possible.

Mr. Merritt had entered your home and greeted you politely. He sat in the drawing room next to you, and you just talked for a while, about anything. The longer you spent with him, the more you could see yourself making a life with him. There wasn't that mind-numbing, heart fluttering, weak at the knees feeling when you looked at him, but you were long past that, forced to admit that was a fantasy. Butterflies were a made-up thing.

As you were talking about a book you'd just finished, you noticed him looking at your lips. You felt a jolt of anxiety. This was what you'd heard girls your age talk about in the ladies' room, something that happened on maybe the second or third meeting. You almost felt proud of yourself that you'd charmed it into occurring on your first.

Mr. Merritt moved closer, and you did too, and before you knew it your lips were touching, moving hesitantly.

Was this what kissing was? It almost felt like an obligation. There wasn't anything exciting about it, just skin on skin. You decided maybe the other girls had overexaggerated.

He put his hand on your waist, and you hardly noticed, just waiting for him to stop. There wasn't anything to it, and you didn't feel the need to continue, but you didn't know how to break away. You moved your hands to his shoulders stiffly, but he didn't seem to mind. Would this have to happen every time you saw him now? Maybe it's not so bad-

Then you felt his hand on your breast.

Alarm bells rang in your head, and you pulled back, pushing him away. Mr. Merritt frowned, reaching for you again, his hand brushing the underside of it. "Come now, dearest, won't you-"

"No," you whispered, moving away from him. You didn't want him touching you ever again. It didn't feel good at all.

When you stood up, he snatched your arm, pulling you back down. His eyes were no longer kind, and you recoiled as if he'd hit you. "Do you know what people are saying about you?" he hissed, his fingers digging into your skin. "A girl who's been out for three years and never married? It's unthinkable. I'm your only option if you don't want to be ruined, so you'd best let me-"

You yanked your arm away from him and fled, running up the stairs to your room and shutting the door firmly behind you. Your breathing was fast, your heart pounding. Was that supposed to happen? Was that some awful secret you should have been warned about before? It was horrible. If that was what marriage was you certainly didn't want any part of it.

Keeping to your room for the rest of the day, you hugged your knees to your chest and tried to imagine your future. Everyone made being an old maid out to be an awful fate but now in comparison to marriage it sounded delightful.

That was what you'd do, you decided. You'd live the rest of your days out as a single lady or marry someone too old to last very long. Then you'd be free. No longer was love your driving force, but liberty. Liberty from the suffocating wiles of high society.

Mercifully, nobody disturbed your peace until the next day, when your father summoned you to his study. Assuming it was so you could tell him about your caller, you went with plans to tell him that Mr. Henry Merritt was not the one for you, and you'd try again next season (even though you wouldn't).

"...just don't think he's who I'd like to marry," you concluded, your hands clasped behind your back.

Your father looked at you coldly, which surprised you. You didn't think you'd said anything wrong. He stood, stacking a pile of papers in front of him neatly. "I called you in today to tell you you're to marry Mr. Merritt."

Instantly your mouth went dry and your eyes widened. "What?"

"As soon as possible," your father said, one of his hands resting on the ornate desk as he looked at you.

"But...but..." you scrambled to think of something, nearly tearing up at the idea.

"Mr. Merritt has informed me that he and you took certain..." your father shifted on his feet. "Liberties."

The word that had once been your dream was now your cage. How ironic. You shook your head, trying to protest. "Daddy...please, I-"

"If he hadn't asked for your hand, I would have been forced to find someone anyways," your father interrupted sternly, his eyes harsh. "Foolishly I let you have a part in the decision of marriage but clearly that was not the best course of action. I should have known someone as flighty as you wouldn't be able to act logically."

His words stung, and you felt tears welling up, too upset to care if one slipped out. You thought of Mr. Merritt's hand on your breast in the drawing room, how his touch had made your skin crawl and your body tense, how you'd wanted to tear off the clothes you'd been wearing and burn them. "Please don't make me do this."

"You will," your father sat down as if he hadn't just shattered everything you'd ever wanted. "And we'll be relocating in three days."

"Relocating?" you asked quietly, your brow furrowing delicately.

"Mr. Merritt has invested in several properties in New Mexico," your father began writing something, the dark of the ink flourishing across his page. "He would like to leave for there as soon as possible."

"You're sending me there with him? Alone?" you couldn't hold back the desperation in your voice.

He looked up at you, and you thought you saw a slight tinge of sympathy. "No. I've been speaking with him about his investments, and they sound very lucrative. With your sister married and your brother off in New York, your mother and I decided we'd like to go out west too. A nice change from Atlanta." He gave you a pointed look. "A nice change for you."

The way it sounded, they were making sure you weren't going to run away from Mr. Merritt, supervising you right down the aisle. But at least you wouldn't be alone with him. Not yet. "Yes, Daddy."

Your father nodded. "Good. You'd best start packing."

That was your signal to leave and you did, feeling nearly lightheaded. A betrothal and change of house. It was maddening.

Packing messily in a feverish daze, you tried to give yourself hope. Maybe it would be okay. Maybe in this change of scenery things would look better. You'd grown up in the country after all and going back to your roots sounded perfect. Perfect for a fresh start.

Still, the image of you in a white dress standing next to Mr. Henry Merritt haunted your dreams that night and burnt into your eyes for all of the next day.

You liked New Mexico, you decided.

The open air space of it was a stark contrast to the crowded city of Atlanta, and you reveled in it. This was where you truly belonged.

Here, you were free to explore and enjoy nature as it was. Off came your large petticoats and hats. You were more than content to wear your simpler (prettier in your opinion) dresses and wander with your hair loose and your eyes bright.

Your fiancé objected to your activities, but he wasn't married to you yet, so you ignored him for the most part. It was easy to do so since he was busy with his new properties.

One thing you rediscovered was horseback riding, and it quickly became a passion. You'd been fond of it as a child and now you were so happy to have it back in your life. Hours now were spent exploring the open plains of your new home. You found little spots that became more than special to you, refuges from home.

Your mother was pressuring you about the wedding, even though it wasn't for another year. She had a boatload of advice for you that had you practicing endurance.

Mr. Merritt, or Henry as he insisted you call him, called on you rather often much to your discomfort. It was especially hard when he kissed you, which hadn't gotten any better since the first time. The memory of his hand where you didn't want it haunted you, though he didn't try it again. You were always scared he would.

As long as you had your rides, you were content. Because you weren't with him more than you weren't.

He requested your presence for a party one of his colleagues was throwing. You'd balked a little at that, but you knew you didn't have a choice. So, to prepare, you took a day for yourself, spending it on your horse. It was scary- the thought of going to another high society event that was sure to be just like the ones back in Atlanta.

But you did your best to doll yourself up, putting on a pretty blue corseted dress. It wasn't too fancy, but it'd definitely pass. Henry told you how pretty you looked, and you gave him a tight smile.

The second you got to the party you wanted to leave. You clung to Henry's arm as he talked to his acquaintances. Even though you were afraid of him, he was your safest option.

As he drank more alcohol, Henry became looser, touchier. You hated it, how now that you were attached to him, he felt like he had free will to touch you where he wanted.

When you tried to grab a drink to take the edge off, he took it from you, lifting it to his own lips. "She's trying something new," he laughed to his friends, and you felt your cheeks flush.

Henry pinched your cheek, kissing it once, leaving the stench of a drink behind. "She's pretty. Real pretty, huh?"

You felt your breaths grow quicker as his friends agreed. "Lookit that body," one of the other men slurred. "'S tight ain't it?"

Your mouth nearly fell open at how vulgar they were being in public. The awful feeling in you grew when your fiancé didn't defend you, merely laughing and moving his hand down to your bottom.

That was the last straw. You stepped away gracefully, chest heaving as you pushed through the crowd, your vision blurring. This new town was supposed to be something new, different from Atlanta. But no, here you were back in the same old habits, the monotonous, mundane place you'd dreamt of leaving. Only it was worse this time because of the man you were forced to stand beside.

Figuring some fresh air would do you good, you stepped outside, shutting the door behind you and leaning against it, letting the cool breeze of the night wash over you. You closed your eyes, tilting your head back against the wooden surface.

Why did this have to happen? When did your life turn into someone else's, a different person's dream? You had tried to be positive, tried to be accommodating to what everyone else wanted, but now you couldn't stand it. It was exhausting, terrifying to know that you were going to be bound to an awful man for the rest of your life just because you hadn't wanted to settle.

Bringing a hand to your face, you took in a deep breath, trying to calm down. It's okay. It's okay. You can be okay-

"You alright?"

Your eyes flew open, and you looked around for the source of the voice. A tall man with dark hair stood in front of you, a few feet away. He looked concerned. "Noticed ya come out here in a rush."

For a moment you were speechless. You'd seen men before, but one look at him suggested you'd never seen men.

He towered over you, and the hat on his head shaded his eyes but you could still see the bright blue of them, and it made you weak at the knees. His shirt was blue, and he wore suspenders over them. There was a gun belt slung around his waist, and something about the look of it had your heart fluttering.

Butterflies.

You cleared your throat, smoothing your hair and managing to meet his eyes. "Yes. Yes, I'm okay."

"Ya sure? Ya look a little..." his eyes slowly wandered over you, and it made you shiver. "...a little spooked."

You felt yourself soften. Even him simply seeing you had you melting. "It's nothing. I just needed a moment."

"Ah, I get that," the man said, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. "These..." he gestured toward inside. "...can be kinda suffocating."

"Yeah," you breathed, grateful someone else could see it. "It's...I've never been entirely comfortable with them."

He gave you a jaunty half smile that warmed you from the inside out. "You'n me got that in common." He tilted his hat up, presumably so he could see you better in the dark. "Ain't never seen ya before, pretty. Ya new 'round here?"

Your heart stuttered again when he called you pretty, and you nodded, feeling like you were in a daze. "I am. I've been here for about a month."

"Where from?" he folded his arms, tilting his head interestedly.

"Atlanta," you smiled a little bit.

"Ah, I can hear the accent now," he smiled, which in turn made your own grow larger. "Why'd ya move all the way to this little corner?"

"I'm..." you didn't want to tell him that you were engaged for some reason. "My fi- father moved his business out here."

"And how're ya findin' it so far?" he questioned, lowering his chin to better look you in the eye.

That was the first time since you'd come out here that anyone had asked you how you felt. It surprised you so much that you paused before you answered. "I like it. A lot."

You hesitated before you continued, unsure if he cared, but something about the look in his eyes made you sure he'd listen to anything you had to say. So, you did something you wouldn't have done with anyone else. You said more. "I grew up in the country in Georgia, and it's been lovely to go back to my roots, so to speak."

This seemed to please him for some reason. He moved a little closer, and you found you didn't mind at all. "The country, huh?"

"Barefoot on horseback," your accent poked through there and it caused his grin to stretch.

"Well ain't you just a southern sweetheart?" he shifted on his feet. "Sweeter 'n sugar."

"How do you know I'm sweet? You just met me," you couldn't help but tease. "I don't even know your name."

The man held out his hand for a shake. "I'm Billy. Nice to meetcha." He gave you a nod, accompanied by a smile that did more for you than another man's touches ever had.

You told him your name, giving him a mock curtsy that made him chuckle, taking his hand to shake. It was big and warm, and it nearly enveloped yours.

He repeated your name as you shook his hand, and the way it sounded in his mouth...you'd never loved your name so much before. "Welcome to Lincoln County."

"Thank you kindly," you giggled, feeling so lighthearted, more so than you remembered recently. "It's been a pleasure."

Billy lifted your hand to his lips and kissed it gallantly, like a knight. "The pleasure's entirely ours to have a beautiful gal settle 'round these parts."

When he called you beautiful, you felt the butterflies again. How you felt around him...it was like a thunderbolt. But you liked it. You realized right then that you hadn't thought of Henry once the entire time you'd been talking to Billy. Now that your fiancé was on the brain, though, you looked back at the house, brow furrowing as you became paranoid he'd come after you.

Billy noticed this and squeezed your hand. "Hey. Whatever's in there that bothered ya...it ain't worth it."

He was very close now. So close that you could see the details of him. His dark eyelashes. The way his hair curled around his ears. Billy lifted a hand, searching your eyes for permission. You gave a slight nod, and he settled it on your cheek, sliding back slightly in your hair. Oh, it was so warm. His thumb stroked your face slightly.

"Don't let 'em getcha down, sunshine," he whispered.

Your heart leapt into your throat. His lips were so close to yours. He was so handsome and caring and-

In a moment of impulse, you bridged the gap and pressed your lips to his, kissing him softly. Billy returned the gesture immediately, his lips rough and hungry. His hand found your waist, and you gasped, a little sound, into his mouth.

Billy dragged his hand through your hair, his movements becoming slower in a way that drove you crazy. His hand gripped your waist, kneading slightly. His lips covered your briefly before puckering slightly again, and he nudged his nose against your skin, biting your lower lip gently.

This was kissing? Your mind hardly had time to wander with what he was doing to you, but you had a brief thought. This is what you'd imagined.

He pressed you against the wall, the brim of his hat slipping up your forehead, the gesture lifting it slightly off his head. Both his hands were at your waist now, thumbs sliding up and down as his lips slotted against yours. One of his knees bent forward, wedging between yours. The action emitted a breathy sigh from you and he grinned against you.

"Like that?" he muttered, his lips still smushed against yours. You nodded, your hands sliding up to grasp his suspenders, pulling him forward so your chests were touching. It felt so good, he felt so good. Oh, you'd never wanted someone like this. And the way he was touching you...you were so starved for affection.

Billy parted his lips from yours and you chased them, not wanting to stop. He squeezed your waist with both hands, his forehead pressed to yours. You reached up and knocked his hat up so it wasn't poking you anymore. He grinned, his nose touching yours again. "Ya doin' okay?"

Nodding, you touched your lips to his briefly, looking up at him through your lashes. "Billy...I..." There was an ocean of feeling crashing inside you, and now you were purely acting on desire. "I need you."

He nodded, pressing his firm thigh up in between your legs and you whimpered, just enough to let him know. "I can feel it, sweetheart."

"Do you live far from here?" you asked softly.

Billy shook his head, holding your waist just by the fingertips and rubbing up and down. "No. Not far."

You reached up and tugged on his shirt collar, lips slightly parted as you looked into his eyes. "Would you...?

A little grin turned the corners of his lips upwards. "You gotta use your words, sweet. Tell me whatcha want."

Leaning your head back, you breathed in once, eyes falling to his lips. "Billy..." you kissed him once, then pressed your lips to his cheek for a long moment. "Make me feel good. Please."

Now he was really grinning. Billy's hand dropped to yours and he clasped your fingers, lifting it to his lips again, not breaking eye contact. Only this time, you saw something different. That pure, primal desire reflected in his irises.

You had one thought of Henry, but it was fleeting. How could you think of him when you had Billy holding your hand and looking at you the way he was?

As Billy led you through the streets, you felt giddy. He wanted this just as much as you did, you could tell. All the way there he talked to you, asking you about what you liked, and your family and your life in Atlanta. He was thrilled to discover you liked riding too, and he said he'd love it if you showed him the spots you'd discovered.

Once you got to where he was staying and through the door, you felt the tendrils of want gripping your chest again. He unlocked the door and held it open for you, letting you enter first.

You entered, looking around at the little space. It was neat, well kept, but it was clear he lived there. There was a belt on the bed, and what looked like letters on the bedside table. Once the door was shut you turned around to face Billy again. He pocketed the key and took his hat off. "It's-"

He was cut off by you pushing him against the door, standing on tiptoes to move your lips against his. He let out a surprised "Mmph," but responded in kind, lifting his hand to your chin and tilting it up. Billy trailed his fingers down your jaw and then his other hand found your cheekbone.

The feeling of his nose squishing against your cheek was somehow erotic to you. His lips didn't stop at your mouth this time; they found your jaw, your chin, your neck. His lips trailed down your neck, and your fingers tangled in his hair, something you hadn't been able to do earlier since his hat had been on.

Billy's hands found your thighs, then your bottom, squeezing it gently with both hands. It was odd how Henry had done nearly the same thing earlier and it'd nearly broken you. But now Billy was doing it and it spurred you on, making you tug at his hair, in turn making him let out a strangled groan.

He grabbed your waist, lifting you like you weighed nothing and setting you on the dresser. Billy pushed your skirt up so it was bunched around your thighs and then gripped your hips, tugging you forward so you were pressed right against him, your legs wrapped around you. You kicked your shoes off and hooked your knees over his hips, ankles crossing over his backside. His lips claimed yours again, but he was slightly off, a messy top lip kiss the result of it.

You squeezed your legs around him. It was evident how badly he wanted you; you could feel it through his pants. His gun belt was pressing against you, and it made you whimper, your hand coming to the handkerchief around his neck and pulling.

"Billy..." you mumbled through his kisses. "I need you...need you bad..."

He pulled back, finding your neck and nipping at it, sucking a bold kiss into your skin. Then he looked up, his hands coming to your hair and smoothing it, tucking it behind your ears. "As fun as it'd be to do it right here-" he paused, looking down at the state of you and smiling. "-I think my bed might be more comfortable, sunshine."

That name. You would've done anything he wanted if he called you that after asking. So, you nodded and he kissed you again before sweeping you off the dresser and laying you on his bed.

You sat up, tugging on his handkerchief and undoing it, tossing it to the side. Sliding his suspenders off, you leaned in and kissed him again, fingers nimbly pulling at his buttons and effectively opening his shirt. He removed it immediately and threw it to the side.

Realizing it was your turn, you reached behind you and tried to undo the laces of your corset. Seeing you wouldn't get very far, Billy chuckled and turned you around, his long fingers starting to make work of unknotting it. Not to keep you waiting, he kissed the back of your neck as he did, then your shoulder when you managed to work your sleeve down.

Together, you were able to slide it off your body, leaving you bare chested, with only a pair of bloomers and stockings covering you now. Billy turned you so he could see, and you thought you heard his breath catch.

"Beautiful," he mumbled, getting to his knees in front of you. "Look atcha. Ya'd think an angel fell into my arms."

As he spoke, his fingers hooked on the edge of your left stocking, peeling it down your leg and doing the same with the other. The sight of him, shirtless and undressing you may have been the most erotic thing you'd ever seen.

Billy reached up and kissed your collarbone, the motion feather light. His lips messily made their way down your chest, nosing against the spot between your breasts. He kissed your tummy gently, then your belly button, resting his chin there and looking up at you. His fingers dipped under the edge of your bloomers, and you saw the question in his eyes.

You nodded, and he kissed your tummy again, sliding your last garment down your legs and off your body.

Once you were completely bare, you scooted back on the bed, your knees bending to cover yourself. He smiled, but didn't question it, instead crawling over you to kiss you soothingly. "Ain't never seen a gal so pretty," he said against your lips. "Look atcha...all stretched out 'n bare for me..."

You reached for the button of his pants, tugging on it. He chuckled lightly, thumbing at your cheek. "Words, honey, 'member?"

"Won't you take them off?" you pleaded, looking up at him needily.

He smiled, standing up and uncovering your body. You reached for the blanket covering the bed, pulling half of it over your torso. Billy undid his belt and tossed it on the floor. You heard his gun clatter, but he didn't stop to do anything about it. In practically no time, he was as bare as you were, and you couldn't stop staring at him.

Billy smirked sweetly when he realized your eyes had caught between his legs. You'd never seen a man fully nude before, not a real one anyways. The statues in the pictures you'd seen in books about Europe hadn't been exactly educating.

You knew what sex was. Young ladies of society weren't supposed to know exactly, but awhile back, when you were in the ladies' room with a group of friends, you'd been passed a book that had been going around secretly. When you opened it, there'd been pictures. And detailed explanations.

But nothing could have prepared you for the real thing. For really seeing a man's body, and one that clearly wanted you, nonetheless. You looked away shyly, clutching the blanket around your chest.

Billy climbed on top of you, nudging your legs apart and settling between them. You were determinedly not looking there, and he noticed, kissing your nose.

"You can look," he smiled, nudging your nose. "Look all ya want. 'S all yours tonight."

Shyly, you did, your cheeks turning rosy as you did. He pressed his cheek against yours, kissing you there. "Ya ever done this before?"

Your cheeks flushed even more as you shook your head. Billy nodded, pulling back and kissing you softly, a gentle soothing motion. "'S okay. 'nd ya want to?"

When he got another nod, he kissed your brow, then your nose again. "Mkay. We can take it slow. Wanna make it good for ya."

He was being sweet, and you appreciated it. But that didn't mean you weren't still nervous. You looked back down between you again, taking in a deep breath.

Billy saw how flustered you were, and he ran his hand up and down the curve of your hip. "You want to touch?"

You looked up at him with wide eyes, looking at your hand, then back at it.

He smiled. "You can touch. It's okay." Billy took your hand in his and guided it south, your heart fluttering when you reached it.

The next little bit was euphoria. It was unlike anything you'd done before; unlike any feeling you'd had before. The way he kissed and caressed, reached and reassured...after it was done the only thing you knew was that you wanted it again. And again.

Billy sat up and moved you to sit on his lap once it was over, skin against skin. You buried your face in his neck, closing your eyes. He rubbed your back, his fingers smoothing over your spine.

"How was it?" he mumbled, kissing your shoulder.

"Felt good," you whispered, sleepily lifting your head to look at him. You were telling the truth. It'd been wonderful. Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined you could feel that way. And as of late, you'd never imagined someone like him being the cause of it.

But he was here, and you were in his lap, exhausted and blissful from it.

Billy gently rolled you over to lie flat on the bed, and he settled in a similar position, holding his arm out so you could rest against his chest. He was so warm, his body acting as a pillow for you. And he didn't seem to mind at all.

Stroking your hair, he whispered how well you'd done for him, how pretty you'd looked. The praise made you smile, and you drifted off to sleep like that; with your bare breasts pressed against his equally naked side, cozy as could be.

It wasn't until the next morning that you remembered your fiance.

Waking up next to Billy had you smiling sleepily, leaning over to kiss his cheek. He leaned on his side, rubbing your arm absentmindedly. "Mornin' sunshine."

You lazily pressed a kiss to his mouth, letting his stubble scratch your chin. Oh well, you figured you had all sorts of marks from that and his kisses all over your body after last night. Hopefully you'd be able to cover them up before Henry saw.

Henry.

For the first time in hours, you remembered him and the thought made you bolt up, eyes wide as you struggled to collect your clothes. Billy sat up, looking both amused and confused at your hurry. "What's the rush, sweetheart? Got somewhere to be?"

"I shoulda gone home last night," you managed, yanking your stockings and bloomers on, then stepping into your dress and trying to retie the back.

Billy chuckled and stood, nudging your hands away and lacing your dress himself. The action made your heart flutter. That was all it seemed to do around him. Butterflies.

He reached around and kissed your cheek when he was done, smoothing your hair. "I'm glad ya did though. Ain't often I get a pretty girl in my bed all night."

You turned around to look at him. He was still completely nude. "It's not?"

Billy looked down at you with a sort of intensity in his eyes that parted your lips slightly. He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. "It's not."

You let yourself look at him for a few more seconds before tearing your eyes away, looking down and smoothing your dress, feeling flustered. Reaching down, you grabbed your shoes and slipped them on hurriedly. "I'd better get back...but..." you stumbled as you tried to get your second heel on. "Thank you for...for the night and-" you weren't sure what to say next.

Luckily, Billy paid that no mind and he sat back down on the bed, pulling the blanket over his lap and leaning back on his hands. "Gonna give me a kiss before ya go?"

Smiling exasperatedly, you gave in and went to him, pressing your lips to his once before rushing out the door. "Goodbye Billy!"

"I'll be in touch sunshine," he called as you left.

You shut the door and leaned against it, sighing as the memories of last night played in your head. You'd slept with him.

A good girl from Atlanta wouldn't do that. Hell, you from a year ago wouldn't do that.

This wasn't Atlanta though. And you were a different person than you were a year ago. One look at a handsome cowboy from Lincoln County and you'd fallen between his sheets. But it'd felt good. And even though you'd technically cheated on your fiancé...you felt no remorse.

And besides, this was different than a one-night stand. Billy had asked you questions, seemed genuinely interested in you and your life. He'd cared about you. That was a rarity in your life: being truly cared for.

Billy made you feel something you'd never felt for a man before. In the merry-go-round of suitors you'd entertained, not one had caused those...those...those butterflies.

As you made the journey back home, it was all you could think about. The cowboy with the blue eyes who'd lit the sparkle back in yours.

Next part

[auroravictorium]

bigger than the whole sky (k.b.)

every single thing to come has turned into ashes.

Summary: pekka rollins' plan is revealed when reader is kidnapped on a job and taken to an unknown location; inej and jesper have to break the news.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship) Word Count: ~2.4k Warnings: violence [reader is knocked out and kidnapped], use of weapons [jesper's gun, inej's knives], poor proofreading oops Genre: angst

Author's Note: hello hello!! here is the next part of midnights - to my new readers (and there's a lot of you, hi!!!), i highly recommend at least reading from midnight rain onward to understand the backstory behind what happens in this chapter! happy reading loves <3 next part coming sooooooooon (w lots of kaz anger/violence/being dirtyhands)

You scaled the side of the bank, hissing through your teeth as the wind whistled past you and threatened to disrupt your balance. The tips of your fingers were rubbed raw and bloody from scrabbling for handholds, and your toes ached in your boots. Still, you scrambled to get to the dark window on the third floor of the building; when your fingers made contact with the windowsill, you sighed in relief.

Inej was watching the perimeter from the rooftop, as she could move the fastest to alert you or Jesper to trouble. Meanwhile, Jesper was on the first floor babbling with a Stadwatch officer to delay his patrol throughout the bank. 

You slowly eased the window upward, hoping to prevent it from screeching and attracting attention. To your relief, the window moved seamlessly, allowing you to slip inside and pull it shut behind you. You took a moment to adjust to being on solid ground again and let your heart stop pounding in your ears; crouching, you pressed your palm to the plush carpeted floor and let a breath slowly pass your lips. You hated heights, but you fought hard to be on this job. Still, you couldn't help but think, I'm making Jesper scale a building next time. It was far past his turn to have to cheat gravity.

Once the wind was no longer rushing in your ears and your pulse had calmed, you straightened up and moved to the oak cabinet in the corner. You needed three files on wealthy merchants with connections to Pekka Rollins. With no indication of what Rollins was planning to do next, Kaz had tentatively focused on crippling Dime Lion businesses by cutting off the supply of the goods needed to keep them successfully operating. 

It was risky for you to get the files on people connected to Pekka Rollins, but you were tired of being on the bench; you could only do so many pickpocketing jobs or shifts in the Crow Club before you started getting frustrated and feeling like you weren't contributing to the Dregs. Though Kaz understood, it had taken a minor before he relented on the condition that you were in and out as soon as possible. No detours, no meandering along the East Stave. And if a Dime Lion showed their face, you had to drop the files and run.

You knew you had until about sunrise before Kaz thought you'd been captured and burned the city down. You'd be surprised if he wasn't already searching for the matches.

You dug through the messy files in the cabinet before finding the first of the three names. One down. You slipped the papers from the file and rolled them up to stuff in the inside pocket of your coat. They were bulky and dug into your ribs, but you needed your hands to climb down.

The hairs on your neck prickled, lifting despite the warmth in the room, and your fingers slowed their sifting. You turned your head, your gaze scanning the dark room for a figure, movement, or any sign of what had made you uneasy. 

Everything was quiet and still; the only light came from a street lamp outside. It occasionally flickered from the breeze, casting dancing shadows across the pale office walls. That did nothing to ease your sudden nerves, and you only started to work through the files faster. I need to get out of here.

Something hissed near the door, like one of Wylan's bombs being lit. Except Wylan wasn't here, and only a fool would bring a bomb into one of the wealthiest banks in Ketterdam.

You spun toward the sound, losing interest in the files and drawing your pistol. It wasn't the most subtle or quiet weapon, but it felt secure in your hand. You felt slightly safer with a gun outstretched; all you had to do was pull the trigger.

There was nothing by or on the door except for the waltzing shadows of a candlestick and a pen sticking out of a jar of ink. Your eyes narrowed, and you took a careful step forward. The floorboard creaked beneath your boot, and you halted, peering through the darkness.

White smoke seeped under the door and curled upward. It swirled in a draft that shouldn't be in the room, twisting and writhing toward you. An abnormally sweet scent hit your nose, and your head started to spin. The room wobbled and twirled, or maybe that was you when you stumbled back against the desk in your haste to get to the window. 

Someone knew you were here.

"Jesper! Inej!" you shouted, feeling the desk's surface beneath your palms as you scrambled over it. The jar of ink shattered against the floor, dark liquid soaking into the plush carpet. If your shout didn't get their attention, maybe the clattering of your attempted escape would.

Your knee slammed against the desk chair as your coordination failed. Your movement turned sluggish, and your muscles ached as you tried to push them to move faster. Somehow, you felt your way to the window but couldn't force your arms to open it. They hung limply at your sides, unresponsive to your pleading to move.

"Jes! Inej!" you tried again, but your voice was too quiet. It wouldn't carry up or down; maybe you hadn't even spoken louder than a whisper. "Help."

Your vision blurred, and the world flipped on its axis. 

The ink-stained carpet caught you as your knees gave out. Your pistol slipped from your hands, your traitorous fingers loosening their grip. It thumped uselessly beside you. You tried to reach for it, but you couldn't move, couldn't do anything as three muscled figures creaked open the door and stepped inside.

Their faces were covered by masks, painted like grotesque creatures that sent fear crawling down your spine. These were not Dime Lions. They had too much pride to cover their faces when attacking.

Mercenaries.

"Grab her," one said, the man with the brightest, most absurd mask. His voice was abnormally warbled and deep. You blinked hazily at him, and your lips wouldn't cooperate with your mind as you tried to tell them not to touch you. Your arms remained bound at your sides, though you longed to swing them up at their throats. But they wouldn't listen, and one threw you over his shoulder.

Kaz, you thought, as if he could hear you despite the stillness of your lips. Your eyes drooped despite your battle against the violent unconsciousness trying to take you. Kaz.

The last thing you felt was the world swinging beneath you as the men carried you off through a servants' passage, down a narrow stairwell, and into a howling, blurred night.

-

Inej peered down from the bank's roof, watching for a sign of any Stadwatch or alarm amongst passersby. The Financial District was completely and utterly still, illuminated by moonlight and half-dead lampposts.

A door slammed on the furthest side of the bank, and Inej heard boots hitting the cobbled ground. She turned, rushing to the rooftop's edge and expecting to see Jesper with a Stadwatch officer or three behind him. Instead, she saw three men sprinting down the alleyway, a limp form swinging over one's shoulder. They sprinted down the street toward a carriage waiting at the corner beneath an extinguished lamppost.

Horror washed over her, and she swung over the roof's edge, starting to climb down. Her usual composure disappeared, replaced by the scrambling and fumbling of panic, sending mortar and splinters falling to the alleyway below in her haste to follow her friend.

"Y/N!" someone shouted, sprinting out of the building through the front doors. It was Jesper, but there was no Stadwatch. He'd left him behind to take his patrol when he saw the men escaping with his best friend.

Jesper nearly careened into a lamppost as he skidded to a stop and drew his pistols, aiming at the man lagging behind the other two. But the man took a spot behind the man carrying Y/N, seemingly aware of Jesper's plan, and Jes knew he couldn't take a lethal shot without risking hitting Y/N. 

He fired at the man's leg, piercing his thigh and sending him crumpling to the ground. But the man leading the escape lagged behind and pulled the injured one to his feet, hauling him along. They'd planned this. They knew everything, including how each would respond.

Inej appeared beside Jesper, panting from her frantic descent from the roof, but she didn't wait to catch her breath; she ran after the mercenaries, her boots pounding against the sidewalk and her daggers appearing in her hands. She launched one through the air as the men jumped into the waiting carriage. It clattered against the carriage door, and she gritted her teeth in fury.

"Damn it!" Jesper bellowed, catching up to Inej and repeatedly firing at the carriage as it started to pull away. Bullets pierced the back and hit the wheels, but nothing could be done; the carriage pulled away, taking the mercenaries and Y/N with it. "Sons of-"

Inej pressed a hand to Jesper's forearm. "We need to get back to the Slat and talk to Kaz," she said firmly. "Now."

"But they have Y/N! Shouldn't we follow them?" Jesper waved his hand wildly in the direction the carriage had gone. 

"With what carriage, Jesper? What horse? We certainly can't follow them on foot." Inej turned and pulled Jesper along with her. Her steps were quick, and she led him out of the financial district and across the bridge into the Barrel as fast as she could. "Kaz will make a plan."

"By the time we get to the Slat, they could be long gone. Who knows where they're taking her?" Jesper protested, but he hurried alongside Inej. Soon, his long strides overtook hers, and Inej had to rush to keep up with him. "Kaz's plan will be razing the damn city, which won't help unless she's still in the city."

"Stop talking, Jesper," Inej hissed as they entered the crowded boulevard along the East Stave. She nimbly worked her way through the crowd and burst into a sprint the second the Slat came into view. 

The two of them darted up the steps into the building, and Jesper only cursed a few Saints as one of the rotted wooden steps collapsed on itself on their way to the attic. He shook off the splinters and followed Inej straight into Kaz's office, where he was sitting at his desk and looking over financial documents.

He looked up as they burst through the door, chests heaving and eyes alight with panic. "What?" He looked between the two of them. Two. 

Kaz lowered the parchment he was looking over, and a nagging, painful feeling settled on the nape of his neck. His pulse started to hammer in his ears, but he continued, hoping he was wrong as he took in the panicked expressions on Inej and Jesper's faces. "Where's Y/N?"

"Dime Lions," Jesper breathed. "Grabbed her while she was searching for the files." He ran a hand over his mouth, feeling like he might vomit as a sinking feeling settled on his stomach. This was what Kaz had feared. Kaz had trusted him to help keep Y/N safe, and Jesper knew he had failed him. Jesper placed his hands on his hips and started to pace, unable to stay still. "Took off to the south in a carriage." 

He plopped in the seat across from Kaz and hid his face in his hands. 

"Mercenaries," Inej corrected and glanced at Jesper, a knowing look in her eyes. She felt the same, having been on the rooftop and looking over the city while Y/N climbed up the building and looked through the office. "They wore decorated masks. Dime Lions don't do that."

Kaz went terrifyingly still. When Inej looked at him, her fingers curling around one of the blades at her side for comfort, she could have mistaken him as one of the statue performers along the East Stave during the summertime. It was as if marble crept over his skin and locked him in place.

He didn't so much as breathe.

Jesper peeked over his fingertips at Kaz, holding his breath as he waited for hell to break loose. "Boss?" he said nervously. He waved a hand in front of Kaz's face.

Kaz finally spoke, his voice so dangerously quiet that Inej knew the city could quite possibly be on fire come morning. Dawn would arrive to find the city already awash in red and orange, buildings licked by flames, and the sky darkened by smoke. 

"Go downstairs," was all Kaz said, and he didn't have to repeat himself. Jesper stood and went for the door, taking his hat in his hands and twirling it around his fingers. 

Jes didn't think Kaz would appreciate an apology, nor did he think he could formulate one as a lump formed in his throat. He kept his gaze on the ground as he slipped out of Kaz's office, and he didn't even curse as another rotten stair gave out on his way down.

Inej dared to linger, looking over Kaz's face as it flickered between a facade of calm and a look of pure murder. His expression didn't scare her, but she knew Y/N's kidnappers and the Dime Lions should be. If Pekka Rollins wasn't the key to discovering where Y/N would be taken, Inej knew Kaz would finally kill him. That much was clear.

"Should I gather the others?" Inej said quietly. She moved toward the door, ready to go the second she received an answer. Y/N did not have time for Inej to process the guilt resting heavily on her lungs. The mercenaries would not wait to do something to her if they hadn't already. She needed to move now and find out where her friend had been taken. 

Kaz's chin dipped almost imperceptibly in a nod, and Inej spun on her heel and left. She gently shut the door behind her.

Despite her forced calm, she couldn't help but flinch as the door rattled in its frame behind her, and a loud thump echoed down the hall. She picked up her pace to catch up with Jesper, hurrying downstairs after him to summon the Crows.

TAGLIST: @tonberry-yoda, @b3kk3r-by-br3kk3r, @futurecorps3, @statsvitenskap, @sapphiccloud, @casualladyinternet, @d34drapunzel, @noctemys, @whitejxsmine, @so6, @franzelt, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @marlene-the-witch, @thestudiouswanderer

[alienpossession]

Annual Leave

I spent 16 days touring across East Asia and Southeast Asia. I made a lot of friends throughout the solo trip and that's all thanks to Pelle. You see, I did say to people that I have a solo trip and just luckily made tons of friends, but it's always been a game of two from the get go.

I was so stressed out in my first day when I landed in Japan. They don't like or feel too comfortable to converse in English and boy it was a great sight yet so draining due to all the confusion. So I resorted to my back-up plan that I stored in my suitcase once I checked in to my hotel to relieve me from the stress of this whole solo trip. Pelle is a friend of mine that came from millions of light years away. He's been very important for me as he helped me to solve my bullies problem ever since my senior year of high school until now in my 3rd year with my roommate and those frat boys. Pelle slid off the jar quickly as soon after I opened the lid and just like that, he was gone for the moment as he already knew what it meant for him when he's released.

Around an hour later, someone knocked my hotel room and when I opened the door, this Japanese guy starts speaking in an accented English telling me to skip shower and let him guide me around the bustling megacity. A quick glance to his eyes confirmed my suspicion, Pelle override whoever this guy is already and used his body as as vessel

Aki shown me around his hometown, Tokyo, and then packed his bag to the countryside for 3 days where his built and of-course-fluent Japanese helped us to survive and have fun without getting lost.

I think the time where he practically slut me out to the whole onsen where my head was pistoned in several succesive cocks truly left a memorable impact in me. Pelle's decision to take over Aki's body back in Tokyo despite me insisting on making this trip an actual solo trip was eye-opening (and hole-opening of course). Not only did that solve a lot of potential problem, having a local guide that you can have fun together with and not going to be fussy about your itinerary is a total blessing because it's still feels like the one that drive the trip is you and you only have someone to fully help you around.

But Japan was just the first out of many country I planned to visit. Pelle slid out of Aki in one of the toilet in Narita, and minutes later he messaged me that he already joined the flight directed to my next destination, Beijing. During the flight, I got informed by the flight attendant that my seat was upgraded to Business Class. I was quite suspicious to the studly flight attendant but as soon as I got escorted to the Business Class section, the flight attendant quickly shoved me to the carpeted floor much to my surprise. He then said

"Sniff and bark like the dog you are!"

I glared at him wildly, but then I realized that he's merely puppeteered by Pelle. So, Pelle is not inside the flight attendant any longer and he's instead hidden in one of this private cabin. After forced to be on all fours sniffing my way to find in which section the mysterious guy hid himself, I finally caught whiff of this leathery perfume and oaky stench. That's when I opened the private cabin to eventually stumbled with the sole passenger in the Business Class section.

"You found me,"

"Not like you can hide such strong smell,"

I once again got shoved by the flight attendant that just came outta nowhere, and then I literally fell on top of this buff young guy with his chiseled face and equally appetizing body. I can smell him even clearer now, he even smelled expensive yet super sexy too and he just giggled at me for being so awestruck with him

"Never been so up close and personal witb a hunk like me, huh?"

Which is clearly wrong because all those frat boys already left me cop a feel anyway, but I did have to admit that this guy is great on his own way.

He's a Beijing native and he own a pad overlooking the city where I stayed for 3 days having the best time getting pampered by him.

He also introduced me to his 2 best friends who willingly tag-teamed to destroy my hole from both ends while he's busy working in the next room.

Pelle's control on the young, cocky businessman is a true masterwork on its own, but the way Pelle managed to also affect the businessman's two best friends without even needed to slid into them clearly shown how amazing his computational capability to manage 3 different human being doing activities of their own.

Then, after some digging, Pelle realized that the young businessman also have private jet he rarely used because he knew it was totally monitored by his parents. After influencing the pilot (that's also in his parents paycheck) to ensure that no tracking devices left behind the private jet, he let me use his private jet for the remainder of my trip. I asked the pilot to drop me in Hanoi.

I went to Hanoi a lot during my childhood since my dad is a Vietnamese immigrant but I've never been in Hanoi ever since I graduated elementary school. My companion in Hanoi was Van, a gym cutie I stumbled in this rooftop bar I went to during my 2nd night in the city.

Pelle slid into Van when he eventually left his table that he shared with his 5 other friends for some quick fix in the restroom. Pelle did give Van a quick fix as the loud-mouthed asshole that slapped on girl's butt that went pass his table all night long turned into a horny gay motherfucker as he rode me to town in the cramped bathroom stall. We consummated our relationship all over town as he literally fucked me in his parked G-Wagon before heading for some 2 AM pho fix. Van lived in a high-rise apartment paid by this lady that frequent his gym and paid him as her boytoy. Pelle observed that Van's misogyny and rudeness came from the fact that he's self-aware that he's practically just a slut and that hurted his ego and I just nodded in silence when he explained all that. I don't know, I wanted to pity him but at the same time, isn't it his life choices? Who am I to judge anyway, he's just a guide too for me to shown me around so I decided to not be too sentimental about some life story of random meat puppet my alien friends worn

Van continued on to become my Vietnamese trip companion as I went to Sa Pa, Da Nang and closed the Vietnamese leg in Ho Chi Min.

We left his body in the hotel room in the old quarters of Ho Chi Minh as I travel to Bangkok, still with the trusted private jet Pelle made the businessman let me use. In retrospect, I think Pelle enjoyed our Thailand leg the most. The country was in the middle of a heat wave when we came so everyone was wearing the thinnest shirt possible and the club is filled with people ditching their shirts and just danced the night away. That's when I also stumbled with Pat, who didn't even need to be taken over by Pelle to be nice to me.

I just instantly have a good vibe from seeing him and talk to him briefly, but alas, I'm not here for niceties and it was actually thrilling to see how Pelle made that beautiful face of his smirked when he managed to take over Pat's body and directed me to meet him in the club's bathroom.

Pat, obviously, is a model and social media personality. An engagement for a brand in Pattaya the following day caused us to tag along for that event where Pat influenced one of his local friends to show me around while he's shooting all day. That's when I realized that Pat might be too busy of an individual to show me around so I contacted Pelle to just left his body. You know what he did instead? He wrapped up the shoot in lightning speed as he influenced the producer to not ask him for another take and then solely guided me around the places while occasionally grumbling on how I would be punished later for making him do all this work and almost jeopardizing his career.

We spent 4 days in total in Thailand and Pelle, as Pat, showered me with attention, affection and his seemingly unrelenting amount of cum. He was the light of the party so it was easy for him to lure in some friends that quickly turned into a temporary additional muscle puppet as he put his own friends under his control. We literally spent our final night in Bangkok fucking like there's no tomorrow, the crowd of Pat and his friends all trying to get a piece of action with me and with each other as if they weren't bunch of straight guys or married man themselves before Pelle's takeover of Pat and the subsequent mind control he unleashed to these oblivious men. As we finished with him and his friends, we just silently left him in the aftermath of the orgy in his apartment to close off my Thailand's leg and headed to the real closing leg of my holiday trip

The final part of the trip put me in Bali where the jet eventually returned back to China too after we landed in the airport. Pelle of course remained by my side as we went into this well-known beach side gym with outdoor setting where one of my bully, Kyle, already waited for me and Pelle. He's been taken over by Pelle before so there will be no issue for Pelle to slid back into Kyle and after that, we departed back to the States

*** 18 hrs later, Hamad International Airport, United Arab Emirates ***

"What do you think of Europe?" asked Pelle through Kyle as he already in control of the jock's brain ever since our meet-up in the beach yesterday

"Huh? What are you talking about? My leave----"

He shushed me and then he winked at me as he motioned me to look into the opposing chair where a stud comfortably manspread in the chair with his headphone on while his left hand rested on that visibly hard groin. I licked my lips, thinking about Pelle making that dude's mine for the time being until we get called to board. But then, Kyle whispered to my ear

"What if I told you that you could be him?"

[darling-heffron]

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Chapter Three: Peace in Solitude

Sam POV:

Rotters, stinkers, prowlers, biters, the dead, the hordes, whatever you wanted to call them, they were everywhere. They infested the land like cockroaches, in the millions, in large groups, in small, by themselves, they had covered the entire east coast in a matter of days and they were slowly moving west. 

It had started a couple of days prior to Sam’s encounter, being secluded from the outside world in the base had stopped the reports from coming in. Everyone in that compound was clueless to the chaos that was happening around them, not knowing it was coming straight for them. 

After the attack Sam had run all the way into town, well what was left of it. The town was in disarray, buildings on fire as well as cars in the street, pile ups in the middle of the roads. The rabid people walking the streets gurgling and groaning just like the driver who had attacked her. 

The blonde had watched in horror as a woman sprinted from her hiding spot and into the road, screaming at the top of her lungs as she did so, not far behind a biter on her tail. 

Sam witnessed the mass of rabid people turn to the noise, they were quick to action. The woman had been swarmed and sucked under by the crowd of biters, she could hear the tearing of flesh and wails of pain from where she hid. The crowd slowly dissipated as the woman’s cries grew quiet, they left her, wandering back to the street aimlessly. 

The young girl covered her mouth as the lady began to writhe on the floor, her limbs twitching and jerking until she sprung up, eyes bloodshot as red tears dripped down her face. The now familiar noises sounded from her mouth, gurgles and groans.  

Sam didn’t want to believe it, surely it was some bad fucked up dream. But from everything she had seen, she couldn’t deny the truth any longer, the world had been overrun with zombies.

It sounded so fucking stupid to say out loud, but there was no other explanation, it was the only way to describe what was happening. 

Sam looted and stole. She raided any store she could find. The blonde stocked up on everything, going into supermarkets, clothing stores, and even the museum. She had packed her bag when she left the base knowing she was going to spend at least a good week living out of it. 

In the bag she had: ammo, fresh clothes, food, a water bladder that was still full, a tent, her sleeping bag, a map, a compass, flashlight, and a first aid kit. 

She was able to gather more food and bottled water, socks, thermals, underwear, and she had stolen weapons from the museum. 

Two axes, sheathed knives and a machete, listen, she wanted to be prepared. She still had her army rifle, tactical knife and her trusty boot knife that she had bought herself for her 21st birthday.

Sam was prepared, yes, but for once in her life she didn’t have a plan. She was aimlessly wandering, her only mission to be away from the hoards. 

The girl found that the cities and towns were where they gathered the most like a swarm; they ambled together waiting for some poor thing to stumble into their path. She watched them intently for the first few days trying to wrap her head around what exactly they were.

They were human, but not. 

The rabids held the body of her fellow peers but they didn’t act the same, never in her life had she ever seen anyone so unnatural. Their bodies moved in awkward ways as they staggered around, their animalistic noises sent shivers up her spine. 

In the first few nights she didn’t sleep. The adrenaline never seemed to wear off, and as soon as she was coming down, something else would trigger it, sending her panicking again. 

With no plan, Sam was unsure of where she needed to head. Did she leave? But where? Was there anywhere safe at all? 

Many of these questions were left unanswered, no power, no cell reception, nothing, Sam had never felt more out of control. 

The rabid’s moved slowly during the night, Sam tried to use this to her advantage. But it was more dangerous than she had thought. 

With the city being in ruins it was hard to make her way through in the pitch black. Sam found that though the hoards were slower, it didn’t stop them from hearing every little movement she made. 

Rule number one; Never move in the dark. 

Sam noted her first rule, though the cover of night was alluring it wasn’t worth the risk.

She laid out her map, scanning the area, Belchertown was where she was currently, the next closest city was Amherst. 

Sam noticed she hadn’t seen another living person since she had been in the small town. 

Guessing that most of the population was now roaming the streets ready to tear the throats out of any survivors they found. 

Maybe in the bigger city she would be able to find people, someone who knew something, who had answers to her questions. 

Sam was set on Amherst. The walk didn’t seem too long or treacherous. She was sure she had walked further during her tours overseas in full tactical gear, this would be easy. As long as she avoided all rabid’s she would be able to make it in one piece.    

The blonde made it to the small city alive. 

Away from civilization in the woods and rural roads she saw little to no rabid’s. 

Sam was able to make it to Amherst by day four. Low in stock, she was ready to gather what she needed again. 

The young woman stepped through the already smashed window of the supermarket, the shelves were nearly bare. Cans and food had been strewn around the place, from the looks of things people were grabbing items as quickly as they could before fleeing. 

She walked through the aisle picking up anything that seemed of use, tampons, bottled water, cans of food, matches, lighter, medicine and everything else that she could shove in her bag. 

“Hey!” A voice called from behind her, she froze. After not hearing another person’s voice for four days it felt odd to hear one again.

“Hands up, turn around!” The voice instructed her. Sam could tell by their tone they were trying to be stern, but the small waver in their voice was noticeable. 

Sam did as instructed, lifting her hands above her head and slowly turning to face the person.

She spun to see a man taller than her, his eyes weary and sunken, his hair peppered with grey. He pointed a gun at her chest, but Sam saw the tremble in his hands. The man had clearly never used the weapon, and he didn’t seem all too keen on doing so. 

“We don’t want any trouble!” The man spoke again, Sam couldn’t help but scoff at his statement. He straightened, readjusting his grip on the gun.

“You don’t want any trouble? You’re pointing a gun at my chest, and I’m clearly not armed, so who’s causing trouble?” Sam asked the man. Her no bullshit attitude often got her in trouble at school, but she couldn’t help it. 

The man looked at his weapon and then back at Sam, a displeased look across her face, as if she was bored of being held up. She had places to be and more important things to do. 

“If you could hurry it up.” Sam said again, rushing the man.

“Oh, uh, sorry.” He lowered his gun, flicking on the safety and tucking it into the waistband of his pants. 

“We haven’t seen anyone normal in a while.” The man excused his behaviour, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Yeah, well, we are in a fucking zombie apocalypse.” Sam stated nonchalantly. 

“No, normal people too. They are just crazy, seems like everyone's morals have flown out the window.” The dark haired man explained. 

“What do you mean?” Sam inquired, she needed to leave and wanted this man to get to the point, if he held her up for no reason she was going to be mad. 

“Well, there was this group of men who stopped us and threatened to kill us if we didn’t give them all of our supplies. So we did, they stripped us of everything.” The man described the events that had taken place. 

“So why are you holding me up?” Sam was getting tired of this, he needed to get to the point quickly. 

“Well I saw you pick up some medication.” Sam raised her eyebrows, as if to say, ok and?

“My daughter’s sick.” The man’s eye flicked over his shoulder. From behind the shelf a woman and young child stepped into view. 

“What type of sick?” Sam asked, her hand twitching wanting to be placed on the gun at her hip. 

“Not that sickness! She has a medical condition, she’s in a lot of pain due to it. We can trade you-” The dark haired man tried to barter. But Sam reached into her bag pulling out the bottle of analgesic medication and tossing it to the man. He looked at her shocked, not quite believing that she had so easily given it up.

“Next time just get to the point.” Sam said, turning on her heel and tossing her now full bag onto her back. 

“Where are you headed?” The man asked, Sam looked over her shoulder sighing. The girl moved to face the man again since he started talking again.  

“Not sure. You know of anywhere safe?” Sam asked, the woman and the small girl came closer to the man’s side. The young girl hid behind the leg of her father, peeking around to look up at Sam. Her big brown eyes were wide, a faint smile crossed her lips before she hid again. 

“There has been talks of a safe haven going up in Idaho, around Boise they say. That’s where we’re heading.” The dark haired man told her.

“The army base?” Sam knew of the other reserves based around the country and there was one close to the small town of Boise. 

“Yes, there.” The man confirmed. 

Sam cursed, would they even allow her in if she deserted? 

A lightbulb went off in her head, no one saw her leave and when she was back in the base everyone had been attacked. 

There would be no confirmation of her leaving, she hadn’t been caught. She could go there and seek safety with no questions asked and being the daughter of a high ranking General they were sure to let her in. 

“Sounds like a good plan.” Sam said out loud. 

“Would you like to come with us? Since we are all going to the same place?” The tired looking man asked a little too eagerly. The wife nodded her head as well. 

They wanted more protection. They looked like a normal family, one that wouldn’t know much about surviving in the wilderness or using weapons. 

Sam never saw herself as privileged in her experience, she never thought she would use them in her everyday life. Now that the world had come to this, she was more experienced than most people. 

“I don’t move in groups.” Sam stated, watching their faces drop.

“Are you sure?” The wife now spoke, stepping forward. Her eyes wide, as her hands found the small shoulders of her daughter clinging on tightly. Sam flicked her eyes back to their faces, she felt bad for them, but that didn’t mean she was going to join them.

“I’m sure.” Sam finally said, they sighed at her response, giving tight smiles to pretend they were stronger.    

“Well, I wish you the best then. Goodluck.” The husband said, turning on his heel to usher the rest of the group out of the dilapidated store. The wife followed behind but the young girl stayed put, gazing up at Sam. 

“Goodbye.” The young child whispered. Sam gave a small smile, watching the young girl run after her parents that waited for her by the door. The girl turned one last time, using the small teddy bear she clutched to wave goodbye. Sam sent her a small wave before making her way out onto the street. 

She finally had a plan.

A/N:

Ok so our girl Sam has a plan, hehe that rhymes. She's a bitch but she's not heartless. I think if I was in this AU I would be a rabid, I feel like I would be killed almost immediately, but maybe it would be fun to be a zombie. I would really perfect my groans, be super scary, or maybe like a comedic relief zombie, like I look funny, or I walk funny. Idk, I surely wouldn't be on Sam's level that's for sure.