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ar3um · 2 months ago

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The Bank Robbery (Sparrow Edition)

A quartet of people, two guys, and two gals, walk down a sidewalk towards a bank. One of the guys holds open the door for his friends as they all enter--

--and the lead guy promptly gets his nose bashed in by the butt of a shotgun!

The girls scream as several armed bank robbers grab them and pull them inside.

"Get on the goddamn ground!" one of the robbers yells.

〃く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡₊ ˚ ⊹〃く⁠コ⁠:⁠彡₊ ˚ ⊹

The bank is under siege. Various bank employees and customers are huddled on the floor of the bank as armed men walk around, patrolling the floor with AK-47s in hand. One particular robber is in the process of losing his shit as he talks with a hostage negotiator on the phone.

"I don't give a shit! You are out of time! I told you what would happen didn't I? Didn't I tell you?"

He gestures angrily and another robber approaches, pulling a frightened bank teller with him.

"Get him over here. C'mere." he grabs hold of the bank teller and holds him close, turning back to the phone. "I want you to listen real careful." He then holds out the phone to the bank teller, "Tell them your name."

"Craig, Craig Davis."

Taking back the phone, the robber continues.

"You go home tonight, your wife, she asks "how was work", and you tell her, Oh, not bad, got a guy named Craig Davis killed."

Protests sound from the phone,

"No, we're done talking now you're gonna listen."

The bank teller trembles in fear as the robber drops the phone and pulls out his pistol--

"Excuse me, sir?"

All three men turn to find a young girl in a school uniform standing there.

"The hell-"

The lead robber starts before suddenly, the girl raises both her hands, and he and the other robber are raised in the air, dropping their guns in surprise.

That's when all hell breaks loose. One robber finds himself jerked off his feet by a young boy in a similar uniform as the girl and thrown straight up, ricocheting off the ceiling.

A horrible scream rings out as the hostages whip their heads around to see a different robber being dragged head-first into a room by a pair of monstrous green tentacles.

One robber slowly walks backward as his eyes flicker around the room, scared out of his mind he hears a noise from behind him and whips around to see a boy and a girl sitting on the counter. In a panic he raises his gun and shoots at the boy, only to scream out as he feels a piercing pain in his own chest before falling to the floor. From her spot next to the boy, the girl seems to spot another robber trying to run off, opening her mouth she shoots a stream of venom towards him landing on his face and causing the man to go stock still.

In the vault, a group of men run around screaming as they are chased and pecked at by crows. A girl stands at the entrance of the vault next to a floating cube chuckling at the chaos.

The entire room seems to have erupted into chaos in only a few seconds but in the corner, squashed into a group of hostages, there sits a small girl watching the scene not in fear, but in fascination.

Just ahead of her stands one of the last robbers, he looks around frantically trying to find a way out of the bank without being killed by the freaky kids in uniforms. Just a second later he turns around and starts to look at the hostages, trying to find one that may give him at least a chance of getting out of the bank alive. The girl knows she's in trouble the moment the man's panic-stricken eyes lock with hers. At 4'11", she knows she's smaller than the average thirteen-year-old. Her nickname from her dad is Minnie because he says she's as quiet as a mouse and small like one too.

Frantically, the man pushes away the other hostages, reaching out and grabbing her arm tightly before pulling her towards him. She goes easily despite her attempts at protest, and soon enough she is standing near the doors with an arm over her neck, a gun pressed to her head, and the kids in uniforms standing around the two of them, ready to pounce at any moment.

A strange sort of calm washes over her at that moment and she closes her eyes breathing in and out steadying her racing heart as she continues to be dragged backward towards the door. Slowly, out of nowhere, the feeling of the man's arms around her disappears and gasps are heard both from behind her and in front of her.

When the girl opens her eyes again, all she can see is the surprised faces of the other children. Confused, she turns around to look at the robber who seems just as surprised if not even more panicked than before. Raising his gun he aims at her and before anyone can move, he pulls the trigger.

It almost seems like slow motion, the movement of the bullet as it speeds toward her, but what's even weirder is the fact that even though she sees the bullet go straight through her heart, she's still standing here just fine.

Falling onto her knees in relief, she stares at the spot where the bullet went through her, her mind running wild trying to figure out why she isn't dead.

Seeming to break out of his reverie, the tallest boy walks up to the cowering man and picks him up without breaking a sweat, the boy then throws him across the room, screams breaking out throughout the bank once again as the man's body ricochets off the wall.

Staring down at her chest with wide eyes, the girl almost doesn't realize when a pair of sneakers appear in her line of sight. Looking up at the person, she recognizes him as the one who summoned tentacles out of his stomach, she looks at him blankly when he extends a hand out towards her.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice not seeming very concerned at all, honestly he seemed kind of excited.

Breathing in, she slowly brings her hand up, letting out a breath of relief as she registers the feeling of his hand under hers. Grabbing onto his hand and letting him pull her up, she looks at him with a shaky smile, "I think so." Smiling back at her he lightly squeezes her hand in his.

"I'm Ben, Ben Hargreeves."

"Y/N L/N, nice to meet you."

The other Sparrows, after letting the hostages go, approach the two and introduce themselves to the new girl. Unbeknownst to everyone there the girl would become much more important to them than they could ever imagine.

In the future Y/N L/N is the Sparrow's closest friend, and their one and only future sister-in-law. For now, though, the children are just excited with the knowledge that they are making a new friend.

#ben hargreeves #the umbrella academy #ben hargreeves x reader #sparrow academy

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moodymisty · 1 year ago

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Heyo hun! Just wanted to drop in and say that I am in love with your Darksiders Strife writing! Gah I just love him so much and it makes me so sad there is so little about him, please m’lord may I have more grool.

I would love to see how Strife met reader to begin with or even how they built up such a connection. Maybe even have it where they share a sense of humor and his siblings just groan saying that “It’s frightening how similar you two are” or even have strife save reader from a demon who attempted to use them as a way to draw out the horseman.

Anyways enough rambling! Love your work hun and I hope to see more about our boy Strife ❤️❤️❤️

Author's note: Ok I decided to combine your ideas with another I had tossing around in my washing machine of a mind. Your prompt was the perfect opportunity because I felt like they worked together. I hope you enjoy!

Relationships: Strife/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Pre-relationship crushes/pining, Some verrrrryy light implications of overprotective Death or Death maybe even having a crush on reader but you'd have to get a microscope to see that, Firing Strife's gun, Fluff

Strife remembers the first day you met; Like it's one of the pioneering moments in his long, long life.

He knew of your importance to Death. The two of you get along, which is saying a lot considering the attitude of the eldest Horsemen. He couldn't even count on one hand the amount of beings that he could say that about. Strife would hesitate to even count himself among them.

When you'd gotten captured by demons, it was Death who tore his tongue from between his teeth and asked Fury, War, and Strife for assistance in the matter.

Strife had seen you sitting on the ground; A wounded leg that isn't deadly but enough to cause you trouble is visible, and he holstered one pistol to make helping you up easier. Your smaller hand wrapped around the sharp edges of his gauntlet, and you looked up at him and smiled.

"Thank you Strife."

The horsemen of eternal unrest remembers that sentence vividly. As the moment you'd said his name, he was falling. But for a long while, he never did a thing about it.

You didn't seem to realize, but Death lingered around you at the back like a ghost. Constantly vigilant. He would never let him near you.

He wouldn’t; If he was Death. No one knows better than him what type of person Strife used to be. Cutthroats like him don't get to play around with fragile things like you. Even taking you on rides with Mayhem earns him an earful from the Reaper, who insists that he was too lax. That you’d end up getting hurt.

Death eventually acquiesced on it ever so slightly largely because you and him were quickly becoming attached at the hip, but Strife can still very much tell that the Reaper isn't fond of him being around you.

Well, fuck that. He's never been that good of a listener anyways.

"Hold on tight, I ain't gonna be the one telling Death you broke your nose."

Strife's much larger hand wraps around your own, which both hold onto Mercy's grip like a vice. His hand only forces them tighter, making extra sure that there's no chance the pistol can whip back into your face. Even with all this preparation however, you still have a hint of trepidation that the pistol is going to be too strong for you. It's overly large and looks almost hilarious in hands not meant for it, but you look down the iron sight with a fierce determination anyways.

It makes your nose wrinkle in this specific way Strife thinks is absolutely adorable, but he keeps the thought to himself. He thinks plenty of things about you are cute, this was just one of many.

"And just, pull the trigger?"

You know how a gun works, but given this is some magical Nephilim weapon, you just want to make sure that there isn't some sort of crazy, obscure thing you need to do so it doesn't blow up in your face. Better safe than sorry; And missing a finger.

"Yep." Strife pops the p and watches your index finger slowly pull back on the trigger, more and more before the forest that was peacefully quiet suddenly erupts with a frighteningly loud-

BANG!

He's fired these guns in your vicinity before, but it seems like when you're the one actually doing it, it's so much louder; As the sheer power of it has you doing a back step. The loud crack makes you nearly jump, before you begin to smile and laugh. The tree you were mildly aiming for is clipped on the side, splitting the bark and sending woodchips flying. Now smoke billows from the end of the gun's barrel, which you point downwards as you look up towards Strife.

"Holy shit, this thing's strong."

When you go to shoot it again you feel a cold gauntlet on your shoulder blades keeping you straight, as you fire shot after shot until your arms hurt from being so tense and shaken about. Strife stands right at your side the entire time, enjoying the way you laugh at the sheer shock and awe, and fun of it.

"And what exactly are the two of you up to this time?"

Death's voice cuts through the air like a knife, and Strife straightens up to look him in the eye. The Reaper's arms are crossed tight across his chest, and Harvester slung on his back in it's singular scythe form. He takes one glance towards the tree you've been shooting at and raises his eyebrows, before also noticing the way you're gripping a Nephilim weapon with all your strength. To think Strife had given it to you so casually.

"Just playing around. No need to get all pissy about it."

You can feel the way the air quickly fills with static between the two of them, glancing towards Death before you look back to Strife and hold Mercy out to him. You quietly request he do something with it so you won't shoot yourself in the foot.

"I want to try something." Strife takes the pistol from you and does what you ask, though there's a curious look to his eyes as he hands it right back to you.

It's sated quickly, as what you do is you do is attempt to spin it by the trigger guard, trying to replicate all the flourish you remember seeing in old western movies. When you manage to get a few successful rotations out of it, it's impossible not to smile and do a little congratulatory hop.

Death rolls his eyes.

"It's frightening how similar the two of you are."

Strife glances towards Death for a moment, and silently wishes for nothing more than for the Reaper to leave. Even if just for a minute more. Death's sentence gives you the exact opposite reaction however, as you step closer to Strife and look up at him.

"Partners in crime, right?" Your face and smile are expectant, happy, as your eyes dart over his mask. Strife claps a hand on the crook between your shoulder and neck and tugs you closer to him in a half-hug.

"Yeah! Partners." He doesn't miss the way Death visibly bristles the moment the word 'partners' leaves his lips. When he shifts from leaning on a hip to standing fully upright in preparation to walk away, Death nods towards you but speaks at Strife.

"Don't get her into anymore trouble than you already have." The gunslinger scoffs and rolls his eyes, shooing Death off with one gauntlet. Once the reaper is out of view you turn to Strife, raising your eyebrows. Mercy is in your hands pointed at the ground.

"The two of you really need to learn how to get along better."

If they were still mixing like oil and water after how many hundreds of years, Strife doubts they'll ever really get along. You being in the middle and a large point of contention doesn't help matters, even if you're totally unaware of that fact.

"I don't think that's gonna happen, princess."

He changes the conversation before you have the chance to entrench yourself more into it.

"Wanna give it another shot?" Pointing towards the tree you'd shot at previously he returns his hand to your shoulders, and breathes a sigh of relief when you become distracted again by attempting to play with weapons you really shouldn't be playing with in the first place.

He's got you all to himself for another moment, and he just wants to enjoy it.

#darksiders x reader #strife x reader #Strife/Reader #strife x you #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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the-berf · 1 year ago

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The Beef wasn't exactly in the best location in the city. Sure, there was decent footfall but there was also a turf war and they were on the clash line. In a way it was inevitable that someone would take one look and decide it was the kind of place that could be robbed.

"Hand over your money and nobody gets hurt."

Richie almost laughed until he looked up and saw a gun pointed at him. Palms up to placate, he raised his eyebrows.

"Well fuck me, you're serious. You sure you want to do this?" The safety clicked off and Richie cleared his throat. "Sure. I hope you like disappointment. Let me just-" a hand slowly lowered to the till. "-get you all...uh...fifty three dollars and, heh, sixty-nine cents."

The robber stared at him, incredulous. "That seriously all you got?"

"Post-covid, most people pay card, you know?"

"Don't shit me. Where's your safe?"

Of course Carmy had to stick his stupid nose into things in that very moment. He took in the scene with almost amusement until the gun was levelled at him. Then his face shuttered off, blank and tight.

"Yo. Why you threatening my cousin?" The robber's hand wavered as Carmy approached and stood firmly in front of the counter, shielding Richie with his own body. "Are you seriously trying to rob us?"

"Get me to your safe. Now!"

Leaning in, arms crossed over his chest and cocky, Carmy was almost gleeful to reply, "No."

Richie half expected the gun to go off. Instead, the robber spun it and pistol whipped Carmy who staggered under the blow, trying to catch himself on the counter. Rather than rally, he sank down into a boneless heap as he lost consciousness.

"Shit." Richie peerer over the counter. "Cuz?" No response. "Carmen? Cousin? You good?" In the silence he looked up at the robber. "The fuck you do that for? Did you kill him?!"

The robber turned and ran, leaving Richie to vault over the counter as he rushed to Carmy's side. Thank fuck he was breathing.

"Can I get some hands here!" He yelled, trusting someone, anyone, to come help. Sure enough, Tina appeared a moment later and was sent running for ice. She returned with that and Syd in tow.

"Who's the first aider here?"

To Syd's question Tina pointed at Carmy. Of course it had to be him.

"Some jagoff pistol whipped him. Don't think that's covered in any course." Richie pressed the ice to where Carmy had been struck and he could have cried in relief that it seemed to help bring him round. That relief didn't last long though because the groan turned into a squirm then it was a matter of trying to help flip Carmy so he didn't choke on his own puke. Once he seemed done, eyes blinking against the lights, Richie leaned over him to get a good look.

"Cousin?"

"Fuck." Maybe Carmy was better than expected, if he responded in such a Carmy-like way. Except his eyes were looking around, squinting but his breath hitched. "Wha-? Why? Mikey's gonna kill me."

Heart squeezing, Richie was saved from having to try and reply by Syd butting in.

"Hey Carmy. How you doing?"

Blinking hard, Carmy obviously had trouble focusing. But that was probably the least of their worries when the next question out of his mouth was, "Who the fuck are you?"

"Oookay." Syd leaned back. "Is that weird? Because that's weird to me."

Only expletives crossed Richie's mind. They needed Carmy comfortable and out of the public eye in order to figure out what was going on. Nodding to himself, he came up with a plan on the fly.

"Syd, close up. Carmen, I'm going to take you to the office. Tina, call Nat then help Syd."

"No!" The protest was near panicked from Carmy and he groaned, hand going to his head which was probably pounding. "He can't see me. He'll kill me. Said I was banned."

There were only so many times Richie's heart could be ripped from his chest. He couldn't handle telling Carmy the truth about Mikey. Couldn't bear the idea of seeing him learn the truth again. So he lied. Lied to protect them both.

"It's his day off. He'll never know. Don't you worry."

Scooping Carmy up, he groaned. For all appearances, his cousin sure was compact. Thankfully the route to the office had been cleared and Richie deposited him on the couch. At the telling groan, he put the trashcan next to Carmy for good measure.

"Thanks. How's Tiff?"

Just when Richie thought things couldn't get worse, they did. He needed to stop being such an optimist about how much lower the bar could get. Bending the truth by omission, he cleared his throat.

"Good. She's good. You?"

The hollow laugh from Carmy was answer enough but he deigned to add words. "Banned from the family restaurant no matter what I achieve. Mikey won't pick up the phone anymore. Sugar keeps telling me to call Mom. I live for the moment service finishes so I can go for a smoke. So yeah, great."

Talking was good, right? Richie had a vague recollection of not letting people sleep if they hit their head. Or was it when they took certain drugs? He'd be fucked if he could remember.

Thankfully the office door clicked open and Nat stepped in. Richie wished he hadn't been watching Carmy. Emotions flashed over his face as Nat's appearance triggered memories. Disbelief, horror, grief, misery all followed in quick succession. At least he had the presence of mind to grab the trashcan to hurl into. Not that there was much to come up other than a bit more pepto.

"Oh Carm." Nat perched gingerly on the couch and rubbed his back.

All of a sudden, Richie felt like he was intruding. This was a moment between siblings and he was nothing more than an interloper.

Looking up, Carmy's eyes were large and watery. Whether from throwing up or the onslaught of emotions at remembering Mikey's death was neither here nor there. However, it gave Richie the perfect view of mismatched pupils and he cursed under his breath. They needed to get Carmy to hospital.

#carmen berzatto #carmy berzatto #richie jerimovich #natalie berzatto #carmy & richie #carmy & nat #carmy whump #the bear #the bear fx #the bear hulu #cw concussion #cw robbery

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mamamittens · 9 months ago

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Nikia has a hobby of learning new things. She doesn't always remember what she's learned, she's a little forgetful and absentminded behind the RBF, but it's pretty obvious when she's trying to memorize things.

Spending so long with little to no socialization means it's very easy for her to forget herself and get very... Weird bout learning something new. It's inquisitive and cute but also jarring to have her suddenly up close and personal to see what you're doing. Exactly how you're holding a blade to carve meat or roll dough. She's just FIXATED on what's in front of her.

This is how she learns sword play with Thatch and pistols from Izou. Sure, she knows how to hold a knife and carve. Do great damage while hunting. Or shoot a small handheld gun. But the finer details escape her. She's not confident holding the weapons. Instinctively more defensive.

It's an interesting process where they all learn a bit more about each other. Like how steady and firm Thatch is with his blades but quick as a whip. Izou a deft hand at a quick draw and steady grip. And they learn that Nikia still dances with her feet, instinct from years of dance as a child and playfulness translating to a very different style than Thatch's bold stance or Izou's unflinching aim.

Thatch ends up teaching her forms he's not that great at. A flowing rhythmic sort of style that favors reverse grips and grip changes with a twirl. She doesn't have his body strength to use his own style, so its better this way. It's a strange sort of dance and she often plays dirty by suddenly flaring her wings or obscuring her blades between feathers.

Her shooting style is more geared towards distance and hair trigger shots, so pistols are hard to get used to under Izou's tutelage. They struggle to find an intuitive style for her with much weaker guns and she ends up missing a lot. Her shots taking too long to line up so she over thinks. She just can't be patient with a gun, can't duel like Izou can against blades, lining his shots meticulously to win. She just wants to shoot their head and be done with it. He ends up finding the sweet spot with speed, helping train her wrists to handle the recoil she's used to taking with her whole body. It ends up a lot like gun-slinging in old westerns. Faster and faster until it's like you blink and miss it.

It's good exercise for them, forcing themselves to recontextualize how they fight.

Thatch still isn't okay after discovering how bad of an idea it is to encourage her to talk while she fights. He wanted banter, fun light stuff. But with all her focus on a fight, Nikia's filter dies quickly.

Sure, it's cute and flirty at first, but the... Violent intrusive thoughts really throw everyone for a loop.

"You look so cute with swords. So proud and accomplished."

"I should kiss your nose after this. You deserve to be flustered after tapping my ass with the flat of your blade."

"You have such a beautiful smile, Thatch. It makes me nervous to hold a blade to it--theres not point messing with perfection, even if I think you'd wear a Glasgow well."

"I keep getting distracted by your ankles, why do you wear slippers? One little knick and you'll never walk again--I worry about you so much, you know?"

"I hate it when our blades cross. I can feel the grinding metal in my bones and it makes me want to rip your face off with my teeth."

"I don't want to get too comfortable holding a blade to your throat. It's so easy to bleed out from the arteries there. Same for your thighs but if I manage to put a blade there, one of us has made a massive mistake."

Izou laughs at him, thinking it's about time he was on the other end of shit talk...

He definitely doesn't make the same mistake at least. Easy not to since she she's how loud guns are.

#one piece #mittens rambles #one piece oc #nikia op oc #back on my bullshit #tw: intrusive thoughts

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writtenjewels · 2 months ago

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[I'm going to add one!]

Salim twisted his wrists together testing the strength of the knot. A part of him hoped that Nick only tied him up for show. Make it look like he was following orders when in reality he was giving Salim an easy way out. To Salim's disappointment, he found the ropes around his wrists to be as tight and unyielding as one would expect from capture. He glared at the back of Nick's head. So much for their moment of teamwork.

“Quit squirmin',” the other marine ordered, giving Salim a little push. Nick had called the man Jason, though why Salim's brain decided to retain that information, he didn't know.

“Relax,” Salim huffed. “I'm only making sure I still have circulation.”

“You're fine.”

The Americans led him into a large room. At one point, he imagined it must have been an audience chamber for those petitioning the king. The pillars lining the walls were strapped with dynamite and there was an old machine gun mounted for use. A generator sputtered, bathing the space in dim light. It was obvious someone was here before to set all this up, but who and why? The mystery distracted him enough that he didn't notice where the Americans were guiding him until he was pushed down into a chair.

“Get cozy,” Jason said. “You're gonna be here a while.”

“I could do with a cushion,” Salim responded.

“Yeah, sure. I'll get right on that.” Jason actually looked amused, which Salim hadn't expected. “Go set up the cameras,” Jason told Nick. “Might as well make use of all that shit Eric brought along.” Nick hovered uncertainly; Salim gave him another disapproving look. It's a little too late to worry about me now. “Nick, did you hear me?” Jason prompted.

“Yeah, I got it.” Nick shifted his rifle into his hands and headed out.

“Well,” Jason spoke up once Nick had disappeared, “looks like it's just you and me.”

“Just you and me, huh?” Salim sighed. “That's just fucking great.” He twisted his wrists again. As tight as they were, he could work himself free in time. He just needed Jason distracted for long enough. “At least I know you won't shoot me,” he remarked.

“That right?” Jason tilted his head to one side. “What makes you so sure?”

“I saw you when we were up there.” Salim jerked his chin up. “You let that shepherd go.” Jason stared at him, and the silence that followed had Salim's heart beating faster. Was he wrong to bring that up?

“It was you.” Jason's voice dropped to something softer. “Holy shit. What are the fuckin' odds?”

“Good question.” Salim tried to move his wrists in a way that Jason wouldn't notice. An idea came to him. It would either work as a distraction, or make things much worse for him. It felt worth the risk. “You realize this is pointless. I could walk out any time I want.”

“Nah, I don't think so.”

“And how would you stop me?”

Jason drew closer. Salim braced himself for a physical blow, but none came. Instead, Jason sat down on Salim's legs. Salim froze, breath catching in his lungs. He thought he was going to trick Jason into looking for more rope. At worst, he would get pistol-whipped. It did have the desired effect of a distraction. The problem was it distracted Salim.

With their faces so close, Salim could more easily make out Jason's features: the cut of his jawline, the slope of his nose, the depth of brown in his eyes. Though he was clean-shaven, he was pale enough that Salim could see the ghost of stubble. There was some dirt flaked on the man's cheeks, but there were other black flecks just along his cheekbones. Freckles, Salim realized, and bit back a smile. The hat made more sense now.

“See?” Jason smirked. “You ain't goin' nowhere.”

“So...” Salim wet his lips. His heart pounded harder in his chest. His next words could put him in danger, but when had that ever stopped him? He hadn't even hesitated in decking his own superior officer. “This is what you wanted all this time,” Salim continued, keeping his voice low. “It's sad.”

“Sad?” Jason repeated, eyes narrowed.

“Sad,” Salim confirmed, “that you were too scared to just admit you want me.”

Jason's ears turned bright red. He jerked off of Salim's lap so fast he nearly knocked Salim and the chair to the ground.

“Fuck you!”

“Yes, I know. You want to fuck me.” Salim let a bit of a challenging edge drip into his voice. “That was why you wanted to shoot me, and that's why you have me tied up.” This rush of adrenaline was just like earlier, with the creature crushed by the truck. Some part of his brain screamed at him to stop moving the debris aside, but he was too stubborn. “You want to fuck me so badly,” Salim went on, twisting his wrists to work loose the rope, “that you couldn't wait for a chance to send Nick away so you could be alone with me.”

“Shut up!” Jason shouted back. “Fuck, give your mouth some rest already!” He didn't draw his gun, didn't raise a hand to strike.

“You want to fuck me so badly,” Salim persisted, “that your idea to keep me in place is to sit on my lap!” Jason opened his mouth, read to snap back. He stopped himself and let out a breath. Then his lips curled into a smirk.

“I think you're the one who wants to fuck me.” Salim froze at that, staring at Jason. “You fuckin' remembered me lettin' the shepherd go,” Jason pointed out. “You been thinkin' about me this whole damn time, and now we're alone, the first thing to pop in your head is sex.”

“You aren't my type,” Salim dismissed. The words sounded strangely hollow. Jason lifted one eyebrow and promptly sat back down on Salim's lap. All this talk of fucking made Salim more aware of the weight of the marine on him, the heat of his body.

“Wanna try that one again?” Jason rumbled, almost purring the words. Salim swallowed, eyes dropping to Jason's mouth. He couldn't remember why he started this conversation.

“You...” Salim wet his lips and tried to breathe normally. “You, ah... you're not..." But he couldn't say it, not with Jason this close.

“Seriously?” Jason snorted. He didn't pull away this time. He lifted a hand to lightly caress Salim's cheek, the other resting on Salim's chest. “I thought you were just messing with me. Are you actually into this?”

“Not really.” Except for his pounding heart, his flushed skin, and how aware he was of Jason's closeness and touch. “You're the one who can't keep yourself away from me.” He leaned forward just a little and whispered, “You want to fuck me so badly, Jason.”

“I never told you my name.” Jason shifted on Salim's lap, his fingers brushing Salim's jaw. “And I never got yours.”

Salim's eyes dropped closed. He could feel Jason's breath teasing his mouth. Maybe I am actually into this, he thought. It would explain the eager beat of his heart, the energy coursing through his veins, the laser focus he had on every move Jason made. He could excuse it as a purely physical response—it had been far too many years since he got that sort of attention—except Salim knew it wasn't just that. He opened his eyes again and locked eyes with Jason.

“Salim,” he breathed out.

“Salim,” Jason echoed, his accent giving a charming twang to the name. Salim leaned forward and felt his hands pull against the back of the chair. He didn't fight against the ropes. Jason's nose brushed his, the marine tantalizingly close to his lips. “We're both so fucked up.”

“I don't disagree,” Salim responded, “but what makes you say that?”

“You know what. You been tryin' to make me admit it for the past ten fuckin' minutes.”

“Why is it fucked up?” Salim brushed his nose against Jason's. He heard the marine's breath hitch. “Is it because we are men? Because we're enemies?”

Jason didn't answer. Salim leaned forward a bit more and bumped their mouths together. It made something inside Jason crack and he surged forward, all but crushing his mouth to Salim's. Salim relaxed his lips to accept it, kissing back, parting his lips a moment after Jason. No corner of the marine's mouth was left untasted. The sensation burned through Salim's body. They only stopped to breathe, but even then Jason's lips weren't far.

Jason let out a soft noise the next time they parted for air. He slid himself forward, and Salim felt his crotch throb. Jason lifted up just a little and let his body drop in a gentle roll of his hips. Salim groaned, the noise turning into more of a frustrated growl as he remembered his hands were still bound.

“Untie me,” he hissed out.

Jason's hands immediately went around to work the knots loose. The ropes dropped away with Jason's fingers still wrapped around Salim's wrists. There was no need: he was already reaching for the marine's hips, lifting his own to grind up against Jason. He couldn't think of any other reason why he wanted his hands freed.

“Fuck,” Jason groaned. His hand at Salim's chest was making a slow journey down. It wedged between them to tease Salim's crotch. “Oh, fuck.”

“Told you.” Salim slid his own hands up Jason's sides. “I knew you... wanted to fuck me.”

“Fucking smart-ass.” Jason pulled back far enough for them to see each other. The marine's face was flushed, his eyes glassy and lips swollen from the kisses. His expression was guarded as he looked back at Salim. “Don't you?”

Some of the fog was clearing out of his mind. He started this to get untied, and now he was. But now he had the taste of Jason on his tongue and his skin tingled with the memory of touches. He did want this man—whether it was a desire sparked the moment they met or when Jason sat on him, it didn't matter.

“Not here,” he answered. “The chair's uncomfortable.”

“Right.” Jason cracked a smile, visibly relaxing. “Well, my chair's pretty comfy.” He wiggled on Salim's lap. Salim laughed, resting a hand on Jason's hip. He could feel an energy still crackling between them. If he thought back, the energy had always been there. It had simply taken a different form.

Nick's voice came over the radio to break up the moment. Jason left Salim's lap to answer. They went back and forth talking about cameras. Jason threw a glance at Salim before wandering over to one of the tents. Salim followed behind him. Inside he could see several monitors set up showing areas of the temple. He didn't realize the Americans brought so much equipment.

“I see ya, Nicky,” Jason reported. “Head down to camera three, see if you can block the exit there.”

“Copy that,” Nick confirmed.

“Camera three looks like it's a long way from this position,” Salim observed, trying to keep his voice neutral. Jason met his gaze. “I won't say it this time,” Salim assured him.

“You don't gotta. You're right.”

Salim took a step closer. His eyes traveled over the layers of combat gear Jason was wearing before taking in their surroundings. He centered on the table that looked long and sturdy enough to hold a person's weight.

“So are you.”

I think I've seen fanfic that started like this…👁👄👁

#house of ashes #jalim #salim othman #jason kolchek #jason/salim #jason kolchek x salim othman #jason x salim #picture inspiration

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suchahautemess · 4 years ago

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Rewatching the Chicago PD episode where Adam pulls his gun on an unarmed black man for no reason and being all nonchalant about it hits different in this climate. BIG YIKES

#i still love him tho #but sir #i wanted to pistol whip him the nose with his own gun #chicago pd #adam ruzek

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adezahnae · 4 years ago

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While We’re on a Little Trip (Part 5)

A/N: WOO THIS CHAPTER TOOK 20 DAMN DECADES😭😭 OKAY HERE IS PART 5!! ENJOY IT!!💕👑

Warnings: Secrets, plot twist, brutality, pistol whipping, fighting, burning, STRONG ANGST, cursing, smoking, soft smut, slight pregnancy kink, slapping, etc...

Tagged People: @ahgasearmyfan @whoreforshuaaa @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @janedukiesworld @staynctzen127 @keeach @nanascupid @winwiniee

Jaehyun’s POV

I walked into the hotel, putting my gun in the back of my pants. This bitch has gone far. I tolerate and tolerate but I’m not standing for this shit, I have to say, she has the right daughter today. Good thing I own this hotel too. The woman from the front desk remembered me. She bowed. “Mr. Jung.” She said. “Where is the room Alexa Kang stays in?” I asked. She quickly typed in the computer. “Room 754, sir.” She replied.

“Shut this place down. Now.” I ordered. She nodded. “Yes sir.” The lights shut off slightly and the doors locked. She closed the windows and blocked them in. “But sir, what about other people here sir?” She asked. “Leave them. If there’s any damage I cause, I’ll pay for it.” I said walking away. I went to the elevator and pushed the floor number. I made it there and I rushed down the halls pulling out the gun. I seen these two police men.

“Sir! Put the gun down-“ “Do you recognize me, assholes?” I asked looking it their direction. “We’re so sorry sir, our apologies.” They said bowing and taking their hats off. “Now tell everyone in here to stay in their rooms until further notice.” I growled. “Yes sir.” “Now have a nice damn day.” I said. They moved out the way and I walked down the hall. I made it to her door and I banged on it. I covered up the peephole. “Who is it?” They asked. I didn’t respond.

I heard them get up to walk to the door and unlock it. Right when he opened the door, I took the bottom of the gun and hit him in the nose with it. He fell on the floor and groaned in pain. I walked into the room more and I heard the other get up. “What the hell is wrong with-“ I cut him off with a punch to the face with the gun as well. “Man what the hell is your FUCKING PROBLEM-“ I cocked my gun back and pointed to him. “Take the base out of your fucking voice when you’re talking to me. Do you know who I am?” I growled. The man’s eyes struck with fear as he realized who I was.

“Oh shit..dude it’s Jae. L-Look man, I’m sorry we couldn’t recognize you.” One of them nervously laughed. “Who the fuck is Jae?” The other asked. The other nudged him in his side. “Shut the fuck up and watch your tone Larry, it’s Jae. The one who runs all of the mafia gangs! He’s over all bosses of all Mafia gangs. This man is serious business and will kill our asses!” I’m guessing Mike said. “I’m gonna ask you one simple question. Did you two touch my daughter?” I asked.

Larry laughed. “Which one?” He asked. I punched him in the face and slapped him with the gun. “I will and I mean will kill your ass and fucking leave you here for the dogs!” I yelled. “Okay! Okay! I’m sorry!!” Larry cried as he bled out his mouth. “You’re daughter? Who is that sir?” Mike asked. I grew frustrated. “MILIA! FUCKING MILIA JAECEE JUNG! DID YOU TOUCH MY DAUGHTER!?” I yelled.

“That’s your Babygirl? I didn’t know man..congratulations-“ I cut Mike off with a slap to the face with the gun twice. “ANSWER MY QUESTION!” I yelled. “Yeah! We did! Please just let us go!” Larry cried out. “What did you do to her?” I growled. “We...We.” “SPIT IT THE FUCK OUT!” I yelled. “We beat her and put burn marks on her from our cigarettes! We pushed her around and yelled at her! We’re sorry!” Mike said. I took my gun and began to beat them with it.

They bled all over my clothes and their faces were busted. I threw the gun and stood up. I turned my hat around and breathed out. “We didn’t know she was yours! we didn’t even know that you and Alexa were a thing! She just told us to do it man..” Cried Mike. I chuckled and stomped him in his face. “So you listen to a bitch who gives you nothing but pussy left and right?” I asked. “She said that she wanted her daughter dead. We were gonna kill her but that’s when Alexa told us that you were here.” Larry explained.

I clinched my jaw and sat on the bed. “So you were gonna kill my daughter?” I asked. “Boss we-“ “BEAT AROUND THE DAMN BUSH AGAIN OR I SWEAR FOR GOD I WILL THOUGH YOU FROM THIS DAMN ROOF!” I yelled punching him. “Y-Yes..s-sir..” Larry coughed. I looked over to see a lighter and a belt. I grabbed them both and stood up. “So..since you both decided that beating my baby was an amazing choice. You will feel what she felt..” I growled. They shook their heads. I tucked in my necklace. “Who beat my daughter first?” I asked. “Larry did..” Mike said.

I snatched Larry and wrapped the belt around his neck. He began to choke. I took the lighter. “Open your mouth, bitch..” I growled. I forced his mouth open and placed the fire on his tongue. He began to scream and shout. I gripped the belt tighter around his neck and burned his tongue more. Afterwards, I buckled the belt around his neck, pulling at it. He began to choke more and I began to punch him in the face and stomach, harshly. I pushed him down on the ground and stomped him and kicked him in his stomach. I let him go and turned to Mike.

He began to shake his head. “Jae..you know me! I used to work for you man! We were partners! I was your best run man! I was!!” Mike said. I chucked and shook my head. I grabbed my gun again and hit him across the face with it. “That’s the reason why you’re getting it worse than this bitch over here.” I said nodding towards Larry. I began to punch him in the face harshly, letting out all of my anger. I grabbed his head and banged it against the wall. I picked him up and threw into another one, beating him to the ground again. I kicked his face plenty of times and then I stopped.

I took the lighter and grabbed his hand. I began to burn his fingers and he cried. I kicked him in the stomach. “Shut the fuck up.” I growled. I then burned the roof of his mouth and he cried out. I beat him again with the gun and stood up. He was now laid on the ground with Larry, both of them coughing and groaning. I threw the lit lighter at their bodies and watched them panic as they try to put it out. “Where is Alexa?” I asked. They didn’t respond.

I began to mush Mike’s head in the floor more with my shoe. “I said where is the bitch?” I growled. “AHHH SHES AT ANOTHER HOTEL! ITS ONE PINE STREET AND ITS THE ONLY ONE THERE! SHE’S THERE!” He cried. I kicked him in the head making him unconscious and did the same to Larry. I opened the door and walked out, going to find Alexa.

“Ooh! Look at that one! It’s big!!” Lia said pointing to the giraffe. “I know! That’s the Daddy giraffe.” I smiled. “He’s tall like my Daddy! He’s reall tall!” She said. I smiled. “That he is..” I said pinching her cheeks. We were now at a zoo looking at animals as the guards followed behind us. My mind was off of Jaehyun for a little bit. I’m still worried sick about chin though.

What if he’s gone? No! Y/n you can’t think that, he’s alright...I hope. “Where is Daddy?” Lia asked. “Uhh he went to go and talk to some people! Yeah..” I said. Maybe he’s just talking to some people. I then removed the bad thoughts from my head and continued to walk with Lia looking at animals. Jaehyun’s not that crazy....right?

As we were looking at the elephants, a woman tapped my shoulder. “Is that your daughter?” She asked. “O-Oh! No, it’s my boyfriend’s daughter. I’m just babysitting her while he goes and talk with others.” I smiled. “Wow..she’s is beautiful.” She smiled. “Say thank you, Lia.” I said. She hid her face in my shoulder. “Hi...” she mumbled. “I’m sorry, she’s just a little bit shy.” I smiled. “That’s fine! She’s so cute though, enjoy!” She waved.

I patted her back. “What if you were my daughter hm?” I asked. “Can you be my new mommy?” She asked. I then thought about it. I’ve always wanted to have children with Jaehyun. Lia wasn’t mines but she was close to it. She was just too cute. Hmm, maybe that won’t be bad. “Okay. But we will have to ask Daddy about this later just to be on the safe side.” I said. She perked up her head and nodded. “Okay!” I smiled. “Okay..let’s go and get a juice hm?” I said skipping to the bar at the zoo. “Yaayy!!” She cheered. The rest of the day, me and Lia enjoyed Hawaii and it was time for us to go to the house we were staying at.

It was later on that night and I was pissed. Jaehyun hasn’t even called me or texted me back! I was wondering if he was okay but he wouldn’t answer! I opened the car door and picked up Lia. She had a sucker in her mouth as she was watching cartoons. The drivers and guards helped me with my bags.

I unlocked the door and they sat the bags down. “Thank you.” I smiled. They nodded and closed the door. The house was beautiful. It was on the private beach just as said. I looked over to see that Jaehyun’s bags were here and his shoes were as well. I narrowed my eyes. “You ready to go and bathe sweetie?” I asked. “Yes mommy..” Lia mumbled. My heart fluttered at the name. I smiled and led her to the bathroom.

I ran the bath water for us and I undressed us. I pulled my hair up into a bun and I pulled hers up into one as well. She had such curly hair. We began to play with the bubbles and giggle. After a while, I began to wash her off since she was getting a little bit sleepy. I washed my off and took us from the tub.

I dried her body and put healing medicine on her bruises and bumps. I dressed her in one of Jaehyun’s shirts since she didn’t have any sleeping pajamas. I was drying her hair now and she fell asleep in my lap. I smiled softly and picked her up carefully. There was two rooms and hers was right across from me and Jaehyun’s.

I haven’t heard a peep from him this entire time. Only because the door was closed. As I was approaching it, I heard coughing and sighs of relaxation. I opened the door and scrunched my nose up at the smell. “It stinks in here..” I mumbled. I seen him on the edge of the bed, smoking something. “Yeah I know..” He replied calmly. I looked closely. “Jaehyun...is that...weed?!” I exclaimed. “Maybe..” He said taking another smoke from it.

I rushed out the room and closed Lia’s room door so the smell won’t travel in there. I came back in our room. “Jaehyun what the hell? Put that out!” I exclaimed. He rolled his eyes. “Don’t ruin this for me, I need it..” He said. “You’re the one who needs it?! I’ve been trying to call you and reach you for the longest! Yet here you are, in our bedroom, getting high! Since when did you smoke anyways?!” I ranted like angry housewife.

“Wayyy before you and your mother.” He chuckled, smoking again. “Well you’re with me! Put it out! It’s stinks!” I said. “Like I said, I need this okay? Now leave me alone and do something. Don’t ruin this..” He warned. I groaned out. “Damn you’re a piece of shit! I’m out there looking after YOUR daughter, worried sick about you and you’re sitting here getting high! Did you get high when you left to the hotel too?! I bet you fucked her too you fucking man whore!” I spat in anger. He stopped smoking and looked over at me. “What did you call me?” He asked.

“Damn you can’t hear now?! I called you a man whore! You know a man who just fucks left and right?!” I yelled. He blew out the smoke and put the blunt down. He got up and approached me. “You better watch your tone, I’m not playing.” He growled. “Like I’m scared of your ass! You’re not gonna do anything to me!” I yelled.

He pushed me against a wall and placed his hand around my neck. “You got one more fucking time before you blow my high. I said. Leave. Me. Alone...” He growled in my ear. I pushed him off of me. “GET FUCK OFF ME YOU ASSHOLE! I FUCKING HATE YOU! YOU’RE A FUCKING HOE AND A DEADBEAT ASS FATHER!” I yelled. Suddenly, I felt something I’d never thought I’d feel in my life....

“BITCH!” Was all I heard him say before I fell to the ground with burn to my cheek. I gasped and began to sob. He slapped me...he just slapped me...I shook my head. His entire body changed. He began to approach me. “Y/n? Baby..Princess its a-alright..I’m sorry..” he whispered trying to hold me. I smacked his hand away and cried more. “Don’t touch me Jaehyun!!” I cried.

Tears began to flow down his eyes. “Princess, please..I’m sorry.” He whispered. I moved away from him to the corner of the room and cried. He came up to me and began to hold me. I started to kick and scream for him to let me go. “I’m sorry..I’m so so sorry..” He whispered as he picked me up.

I kicked and screamed, hitting his chest. “Let me go Jaehyun! You said you would never hit me!” I cried. He laid me on the bed and began to kiss my lips. I kept trying to push him off of me. “Get off! Get off!!” I cried. He planted kisses on my face and to my jaw. He moved my hair out of the way and went down to my neck. “I’m sorry, I’m so so so sorry..” He mumbled.

I began to hit him again. “HATE YOU! I FUCKING HATE YOU!! YOU MAKE ME SICK! GET OFF OF ME!!” I yelled through tears. I kicked and punched him all over but he didn’t move. He slipped my slippers off and hurriedly undid the tie on my robe, revealing my body. He placed kisses on my collarbone down the middle of my chest. “No!! Stop it!! I hate you!!” I cried trying to push him away.

I whimpered as he placed sweet kisses on my stomach now. He made it to my heat and placed gentle kisses on it. I began to whine and cry more. “Stop this Jae! You can’t fix this! Leave me alone! I hate you!!” I cried, trying not to focus on the pleasure. “I’m sorry..” He whispered. He began to place soft licks on my heat and slipped his tongue through my folds.

I hummed and still cried silently. He hooked his arms around my thighs and held them open wider. I began to give in and whimpered his name. “Jaehyun..” I bit on my finger and closed my eyes. His tongue movements began to speed up as he swirled it. I began to let out sighs and whines. “I’m close, I’m so close..” I whispered. He sped up, bringing me to my release. He pulled away and crawled on top of me.

He placed a kiss on my lips while he took my robe off of my body. He pulled down his sweatpants and wrapped my legs around his waist. He placed a kiss on the cheek he hit, mumbling ‘I’m sorry’ over and over. He slowly pushed himself in, causing me to arch my back. He kissed away my tears as he rocked his hips back and forth at a slow and steady pace. I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to look at him.

“Look at me, please...Princess please..” He begged. I turned my head to see tears in his eyes. “I love you..” he whispered. I shed a tear. “I love you too..” I whispered back. He leaned down and buried his face in my neck, giving it bites and kisses. I gasped and grabbed onto him when he hit the right spot on my neck and in my heat. “R-Right there..please don’t stop..” I whispered through moans.

He began to speed up his thrusts and growl. My moans got louder and louder as I closed my eyes and arched my back more. He groaned and gripped my hips. “I want you to have my baby, Princess..” He whispered. He groaned as I clenched around him. “Wait- Jae-“ I was cut off by him groaning and pounding me. He reached his high and let out a loud growl. “FUCK!” He yelled. I scratched my hands down his back and screamed out his name. “JAEHYUN! IM C-CUMMM..AHHH!!!” I came over his member and hugged his body as I came down from my high. My eyes became drowsy and I closed them. He laid me down gently and wrapped his arms around my body as he hugged me close.

#jaehyun smut #jaehyun x reader #nct smut #nct x reader #nct 127 smut #nct 127 x reader #jaehyun ff #nct ff #nct 127 ff #nct #nct 127 #jaehyun

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fairyoftbz · 3 years ago

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a rewritten faith | l. juyeon

🪕 pairing: bartender! reader x cow-boy! juyeon 🪕 word count: 4k 🪕 genre: western! au, 1920s!au kinda?, angst to fluff 🪕 tw: mentions of violence, guns, fights, close death experience, deceased father, false accusations, swear words, the reader has some trauma 🪕 synopsis: you are the owner of the local saloon and something usual will happen, but it will take an unexpected turn. 🪕 a/n: i had this idea while watching a western film with my dad and i hope it's not gonna be too bad... 🪕 requested: no

╰☆☆☆☆╮

Your head turned to look at the entrance as the swing doors of the saloon burst open, two sergeants dragging another man inside, his face and body littered in bruises and cuts. He winced in pain as they shoved him against the counter not far from you, both giving him a hard slap at the back of the skull. With an attentive eye, you kept on polishing your whiskey glass with your used piece of cloth, watching everybody’s attention drawn towards the three men.

“You bloody bastard! Did you really think that you would get away with that? Raising your voice at Sir Landfield and seducing his daughter to use her for your own needs? Who did you think you were, the sheriff?” the entire pub erupted into a coarse laugh, some men hitting their pistol against the wooden tables to express their mockery. You, along with the waitresses, were the only ones to remain silent, your eyes darkening as you kept on drying your glasses. “I never touched Sir Landfield’s dau-” “Enough, bastard!” one of them yelled and punched him in the face, blood now oozing from the young man’s nose as his head swung to the side at the violence of the blow. He stumbled on the right, his wounded hand quickly grabbing the counter to prevent him from falling.

The church bells rang as it announced another hour of the day, the wind shifting some dirt and sand off the ground. Quickly glancing outside, you noticed a convoy drawn by horses walking down the main street, their whinnying getting louder as the man guiding them whipped their back and sides sharply.

“Gentlemen. What did your good-for-nothing do to our town? And what brings y’all in my father’s saloon?” you asked, the attention shifting from the culprit to you. You arched a brow as you slid the whisky glass you’ve just finished cleaning and another one across the counter, walking over the liquors to fill it for the men with their habitual orders.

“Ah,” one of them grunted. “This bastard thought he was the best in town and started arguing with Lord Landfield over some laws. He threatened him and even tried to get into his daughter’s panties!” one of them shouted as you poured alcohol into their glasses, noticing an arrogant smile plastered on his face. You didn’t like where this was going.

The culprit raised his eyes at you from his stool and observed you working, your orbs boring into his for a quick second before looking away to grab another bottle of liquor.

“Well, I’m pretty sure he had some good reasons to speak his mind to the mayor. Does he have a name?” you smirked as you placed a glass of herbal liquor in front of the soon-to-be-dead gentleman. He thanked you by a brief nod, and his face contorted into a grimace as he rose his glass to his lips, downing the drink in one go.

“He deserves to be hung by the balls, he’s from the Lees! Lee Juyeon! No one touches the mayor’s daughter like that except her husband!” the man on the left banged his fist onto the wooden counter, making everyone applaud and raise their glass at the idea.

Of course, you disagreed with their horrendous methods, but who were you to counter. Since you didn’t want to be the next in line, hung and burnt alive, you preferred to keep your mouth shut and observe.

“I never touched her!” exclaimed the-said Lee Juyeon but was quick to get shut up. “You don’t get to speak up, you piece of shit! If I said that you touched her, you did, end of the story!” Another man threw his fist right into the apparent lawbreaker’s nose, who immediately wiped his blood-spattered face on the side of his dirty shirt and spat on the floor.

You could tell that Juyeon was surprised by everyone’s agreement, trying his best to hide the fear in his eyes by clutching his jaw. One of the stablemen left the pub for a quick second before coming back, holding a long, white rope with a dirty smile on his face. Faces lit up in delight when he skilfully threw it in the air and swirled it around one of the massive wooden joists before tying a slipknot on the other end. The young man’s hand clutched around his glass, and he stared at you, noticing a hint of despair behind his two dark brown orbits.

You’ve seen many men and women in his state, but for once, you spotted something different. Sincerity, pain, and hopelessness could be observed in this man’s behaviour. He looked like he couldn’t hurt a fly, but you also knew that men were good at lying and being pitied when it was needed. However this time, for some reasons, you felt your heart pinch at the visible fear daunting the cowboy.

The men of law sat down at a table near the swinging doors and lit up their cigars thanks to the waitress’ matches, only to slap her butt as a thank-you. She giggled like a teen girl, which made you even more sickened by the situation than you already were, many people emptying the saloon in fear of witnessing death.

“Oi bastard, are you thinking of a way to shag the bartender before your sentence? She’s pretty cute, right?” one of the officers yelled as the delinquent’s eyes lingered on your working figure. You sent them a death glare, and they elbowed each other with a dirty grin, the idea of shooting them between the eyes titillated your mind for a quick second. “Try not to get us thrown out, she can be pretty rough, just like her father,” you heard them snicker, and you turned around to sigh and roll your eyes, trying not to get arrested either by ‘disrespecting’ them, even if it looked really tempting.

Abruptly, the oldest officer pushed a chair with his foot towards the young man, puffing some smoke out of his mouth, the action leaving a greyish trail lingering above their bald, dirty-minded heads. The stableman grabbed the man from the counter and forced him to get on the chair before shoving his head inside the slipknot and tightened it.

Exhaling sharply as it already happened too many times since your father passed away and bequeathed the saloon to you, you closed your eyes and looked away, mentally cursing the sheriff for choosing your tavern for doing such horrible acts of what they called ‘justice’.

“So, Lee, any last words before we shoot you in the head?” one of the officers insolently said as he expertly swirled his pistol in his hand, his other holding the cigar close to his mouth. From where you were, you could see the culprit gritting his teeth, trying to remain neutral.

“No, I don’t. Because I have done anything wrong, except expressing my honest opinion to the sheriff. And, as much as you want me to, I never laid a finger on his daughter,” the man spat confidently, only to have the two officers and some other men around the saloon unpleasantly shaking their heads.

“I can’t believe it. Even at the edge of death, he’s still willing to lie,” locking the cylinder before lowering the hammer of his revolver, the officer pointed his weapon towards the young man, who stayed as still as possible.

Everyone stared at the scene with intensity, some drinking their liquors or taking puffs of cigars like they were watching and enjoying some entertainment. The culprit was staring intensely at the officers, making them understand that he wasn’t scared of the gun nor facing death. You, on the other hand, were exhausted of those illegal actions and atrocious scenes that already happened when your father was still from this world. Luckily, he always made sure to give you to the tailor next door when such things happened, but it wasn’t really helpful since you became responsible for the aftermath at a very age.

They weren’t the ones that got rid of the dead bodies they shot inside your establishment, they weren’t the ones crazily rubbing the dirt and dried blood off the wooden counter or ventilating the building to get rid of the gory, metallic smell lingering around, nor were they the ones getting scared and sick of working in such sordid conditions. Some graphic execution scenes were still lingering in your mind even years later and shocking you to the point of getting sick and wobbly for a few days, getting flashbacks of the gun firing off. No matter how many people you saw dying in the saloon or while walking around town after witnessing some settling of scores, you would never get used to this sleazy, corrupted method of getting rid of people.

And this case was the last straw. You could not handle another bloody situation, where people would be cheering and happily exiting the saloon as if nothing happened, leaving you mortified and scarred for the nth time behind.

As the sergeant was about to pull the trigger, you were swift to get out your dad’s revolver from the small compartment under the counter and shoot the wooden beam in two precise bullets. The waitresses shrieked and the rest of the souls populating the saloon flinched, hands going to protect their head and ears. You shot the wood three other times to make some dust and pieces fall to confuse everyone, hiding some bullets in your corset before going around the counter and grab the man by the sleeve. Among all the panicked people trying to rush out of the saloon, you dragged the man out through the back door, letting one of the waitresses take the control of the saloon.

“Come on, we don’t have a lot of time!” you said out of breath, the muddy ground staining the pans of your dress with a dark brown colour. The man looked still shocked to have narrowly dodged death, catching his breath as your hands were fumbling with the knot keeping your horse close to the wall. Seizing the reins with a soft yet skilled hold, you were quick to slide your foot in the stirrup and swing your leg over the beast, extending your hand for the man to take it.

He messily placed his foot on the wooden fence and jumped behind you, his hand still in yours as the fence collapsed under his weight. You felt his jerky breaths fanning your neck as you commanded the horse to race off.

“Ya! Ya!” you angrily yelled, repeatedly squeezing your legs around the horse for it to go faster as you heard some gravelly voices lingering around the saloon. Your horse neighed and picked up the pace, its hooves hammering the dried ground of the main street as you bolted out of the town. “Lower your head, we need to go faster!” you yelled and the man obeyed, your heart pulsating in your temples as you heard some screams and people opening fire towards you, bullets going through a few wooden wains from the neighbouring houses.

“Sorry about the fence,” the man whispered and you shook your head, eyes still focused on the dusty road. “That’s the least of my worries right now. Hold onto me instead so we can lose them faster,” you spat and whipped the reins on the horse’s neck, the man’s large hands landing onto your waist. “What’s your name, by the way?” he yelled so his voice wouldn’t be covered by the horse’s noises, and you slightly turned your head to the side. “Y/N,” You simply answered, trying to ignore his hands on you as he was accused of inappropriately touching the mayor’s daughter and pushed your feet down the stirrups as you went up a hill.

The town was quick to disappear behind you as you hurried into the taiga, following the winding trail as fast as possible. The lawbreaker was still holding onto your waist, his hold strengthening as you didn’t seem to be ready to slow down anytime soon. The concentrated look on your face didn’t subside at all, sometimes looking back to make sure that you weren’t being followed.

Your heart skipped a beat as your horse jumped over the railway line, his hooves toughly landing on the floor as the way started going downhill again, the man behind you hitting his chin against your shoulder due to the force of the impact. He mumbled a quick apology, but you didn’t even hear it, the wind blowing in your ears preventing any sound to reach you.

You finally ordered the horse to slow down as you reached another dense forest, the air feeling chiller as the sun was struggling to get through the infinite branches of sharpened pine needles. You and Juyeon kept your head low, the latter pushing his hat further onto his head to protect his already severely injured face from the spiky needles. He let out a small hum of surprise when you reached a small cottage with a wide range of greenery surrounding it, not expecting someone to live here. The air was so pure and fresh that it almost hurt your lungs, with no sign of tobacco smoke or dust from the road to poison your inner organs.

Getting off the horse, you drew the gun out of your corset and removed the bullets, tossing the revolver on a lonely stump. The man recoiled at the sight of the weapon, but instantly relaxed as you went behind the cottage. He grunted in pain as he got off the horse, giving it a gentle tap and rub its muzzle. It snorted quickly and turned around, walking further into the greenery to relax from the intensive workout you went through.

When you came back, the cottage key in hand, your gaze fell on the man leaning against a trunk, dried blood and cuts still covering his face. His bottom lip was split open, and his cheekbones were bruised, eyes bloodied by the dust and the several hits he received from the men of law. You sighed as you stared at him, hand sliding in the key and unlock the door.

“Come in,” you said as you pushed the door open, walking across the room to draw the curtains out.

Juyeon slowly limped inside, eyes travelling around the small living room, falling straight on a chair after placing your dad’s revolver on the table, the wood creaking under the collision. He groaned in pain and closed his eyes tightly, his jaw twitching as he suffered in silence.

You gave him some privacy and walked to the kitchen, getting some wood planks and a bunch of herbs and weeds from one of the cabinets. Just like your dad had taught you, you lit up a fire in the chimney and hung a small cauldron to the chain. You stood back up, the room getting filled with a heavy silence, not really sure of how to act with a possible criminal in your secret home. He sighed and groaned in pain many times as you prepared a brew and some lukewarm water to freshen up.

His worried eyes met yours as you heavily placed a wooden basin with steaming water on the table next to him, your hands sinking a piece of cloth in the warm water and twisting it.

“Take off your shirt, I need to clean and check your wounds,” you monotonously said, and the man’s hands hovered above his top, hesitantly undoing the first few buttons while looking outside.

He gulped as he exposed his torso to you, your eyes widening in shock for a quick second at the state of it. He got beaten up severely, red, and purple areas already littering his entire thorax. The bruises looked excruciating and probably caused some inner injuries, hence his unnatural movements.

You quickly pulled his shirt away from his body and ditched it on the table, eyes now wandering around his arms. He was pretty muscular – you couldn't neglect the steel-craved abs embellishing his torso – but the cuts and wounds were critical enough to damage the view.

Starting by cleaning his wounds and body with the piece of cloth, Juyeon tried his best to remain still, but it got intolerable at some point. He started hissing and cursing – not at you, he was grateful that you were willing to put yourself in danger to save and take care of him – but more in pain, his eyes flooding with anger as he recalled the sergeants’ faces and their accusations.

“You know,” the man started through gritted teeth before groaning as the piece of cloth grazed against a sensitive laceration on his collarbone, “I didn’t touch the sheriff’s daughter. I'd never touch a woman like that despite what they want everyone to believe,” you quickly looked at him in the eyes and chuckled, your hand delicately grasping his wrist to lift his arm to clean the residues of the cut on the side of the torso.

“I think it’s impossible for you to do so,” your voice trailed as you focused on your task, the man questioningly looking at you. “How so?” “She’s on the other side of the world, probably a thousand miles away from us. Serena is a successful woman, she’s sacred to her father. You probably saw her mother strutting around town like she’s the next queen, which is something quite ridiculous but funny at the same time. Serena is the pride of the family because she got married to an Australian businessman and is now living like a good middle-class person, you know?” his eyes widened as you explained everything to him, his tongue clicking in frustration.

“Lies? I became the scapegoat of those assholes for lies?” you defeatedly sighed and shrugged as the man was furrowing his brows, getting upset. “Welcome to our town, I guess. It is how we, no they, make the peace reign there. We all know that nobody shouldn’t mess with the mayor, but I guess that you are not from here, so you miserably fell into his trap,” you offered him a compassionate smile and carried on with cleaning him, wiping your damp hands on your dress as you got back to the fireplace.

You came back with the cauldron, hands enveloped in the wet piece of cloth as you gently plunged it in the water, Juyeon flinching at the steam surfacing from the warm-cold impact. Your eyes focused on the plant-based mixture you had prepared to heal and sanitise his injuries, following your grandma’s textbook to the letter.

Juyeon groaned again at the warm solution being applied on his body, feeling his skin itch and burn as you kept rubbing the product in. He looked up as you focused on your task, now rubbing his arm while holding his limb with a certain grace. On your face, he could discern some sadness and exhaustion hidden in your features, his mind wandering to what possibly happened to you to be in this situation.

“And you?” he started with a more hesitant voice as if he was scared to frighten a deer, “what made you the bartender of this saloon?” your hand quickly stopped working but resumed almost instantly, but Juyeon noticed.

“Owner,” you corrected, and his eyes widened, an impressed look painted on his face, “I am the only survivor in my family, they all died from sickness or old age. I became the owner of the saloon as soon as my father passed away. He was in this horrible business, letting the authorities do their dirty work inside the bar, away from prying, curious eyes. Of course, since I am a woman and is only good at taking care of children and clean, they keep coming here no matter how many times I refused. I, fortunately, didn’t have to witness every single execution when I was young, but it still sends me into anxiety fits when it happens. I’ve seen a lot of people going through what you’ve just escaped from and it’s almost impossible to get rid of the flashbacks,” you briefly explained, feeling the tears well up in your throat at the mention of your deceased father and harrowing trauma, but you swallowed thickly and repressed your emotions, keeping a neutral face.

“S-Sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he mumbled, and you shook your head, wetting your hands in the basin to quickly get rid of any remaining substance. “It’s fine,” you emotionlessly said, hurrying back in the kitchen to get some time alone.

Juyeon didn’t mean to hurt you by stirring some hurtful memories, but of course, curiosity killed the cat. Thanks to you, he had escaped his humiliating death sentence, and all he did was unintentionally pressing the wrong buttons. Agonisingly, he gritted his teeth and closed his eyes as he got up, the room slightly spinning as he limped towards the kitchen to come to you. Your shoulders were heaving up and down as you attempted to muffle your cries and silence your emotions, not wanting to break down in a room with a man other than your father. It was one rule that you forced yourself to follow, not wanting to appear weak to anyone's eyes.

“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention to hurt you like that,” his cavernous voice resonated against the walls of the empty kitchen, making you wince and quickly wipe your face with trembling hands before turning around. “How could you know?” you said with puffy eyes, the sight squeezing Juyeon’s heart as you tried to give him what was supposed to be a reassuring smile. He slowly walked to you and took a gentle hold of your trembling wrists, his chocolate orbs boring into your own. The gaze that you had found quite intimidating a few minutes ago when he was angry against his attackers currently held something completely different. It wasn’t pity as you were used to when you brought up your past, but something more like compassion and tenderness.

“Y/N. I know I'm a complete stranger and a criminal in your eyes, but I wanna help you the way you did for me,” he started, and you stared at the ground, trying to get off his grip. “I don’t need help,” you mumbled, but he didn’t let you go, the grasp around your forearms tightening but still felt consoling.

“Yes, yes you do. Withdrawing yourself into silence won't solve anything, it will only give prominence to your sadness and scars and prevent you from moving on. You don't have anyone to talk to about it anymore, you keep everything to yourself and stay stuck in this state of distress. You helped me avoid death and run away, so let me assist you in breaking away from your past. At least allow me to try,” he whispered those words to you as if he was afraid someone else would hear.

Tears blurred your vision, something that didn't ordinarily happen when the discussion topic was your father. You always managed to hold back your tears, but for reasons that were still unknown to you, with Juyeon, it was like your brain allowed him to see your raw, true side for some reason, despite knowing him for less than an hour. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn’t from your town and wouldn’t be telling your secrets to anyone else to cause you harm or humiliation.

“One trauma at a time. You need to get some rest first,” you countered his argument by guiding him out of the kitchen, and Juyeon let out a chuckle, frustrated that you cared more about his well-being than yours. “Very well then, but promise me you'll let me help,” he asked as you walked him into the rocking seat where your grandfather used to take his nap when he was still in your life.

"We'll see," you whispered, helping him to sit down before giving him a small smile. He let go of one of your wrists and lifted your hand to his face, placing a kiss on the back of your hand while never breaking eye contact, the action of chivalry making your heart skip a beat.

"Thank you for everything you have done for me," He mumbled before kissing your hand again, his damaged lips curving into a smile as you let your hand linger in his, against his mouth.

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babbushka · 4 years ago

Note

Because we’ve been talking about it and because it’s a favorite mood, how about some agressive, possessive, scary Flip busting the heads of some deserving creeps for sinday? If you feel like it of course! Angry/winding down smut is always fun if you’re in the mood too! 💗

Anonymous said: Omg from the kink list can you please write something with Flip and the following kinks? Or any of them? Possessive. Marking. Size kink. Public sex. I’m excited for sinday! Thank you for hosting it! 🖤

(2.3k, Young!Flip & his girl and just dating in this ficlet! cw: mentioned harassment, graphic descriptions of violence. NSFW: possessive behavior, marking, PIV)

Rain pours down hard and heavy on the roof of the CSPD, as Flip and Jimmy hang around the station late at night. They’re rookies, so they get the worst fuckin’ shifts, but at the very least things aren’t too busy at an hour like this. Their shift is just about over as a matter of fact, they even changed out of their uniforms and are about to walk out of the station when the phone rings.

Officially off duty, Flip and Jimmy play around for a couple seconds debating between the two of them who is going to pick up, and on the fourth ring, Flip answers it with a tired, “Officer Zimmerman speaking.”

He isn’t too sure what he’s expecting, but hearing the cold shiver of your voice shuddering through the phone sure as shit isn’t it.

“Flip? Honey it’s me – can you come get me?” You sound terrified, and cold, and scared – and Flip’s blood freezes in his veins.

Jimmy can sense something is wrong too, just from the way Flip goes deathly still, listening to the surroundings and trying to make out where you’re calling him from. The rain sounds so loud, he knows you’re not at home.

“What’s the matter? Where are you?” He demands, suddenly frantic, rushing around to grab everything he needs to get the fuck out of there and get over to you.

“At the payphone on the corner of Johnson and 8th. Please can you just come get me?” You sniffle, and Flip sees spots, rage blinding him.

“Stay right there, you hear me? Don’t leave, Jimmy is going to stay on the line with you.” He doesn’t say anything to his friend, just shoves the phone into his hand and races to his car.

It takes less than five minutes for him to speed through the nearly empty streets, holding his breath along the way. His thumbs rap against the steering wheel anxiously, conjuring up all sorts of horrifying things that could’ve happened to you. When he pulls to the curb on the corner of Johnson and 8th, and sees you cold and alone in that little payphone, he tries his best not to scream.

You race to the side of his car and get settled in the passenger seat, letting out a breath that you had been holding too as you cry a little into your hands.

“What happened?” Flip asks, voice moving too quick, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m okay I – ”

“Who did what to you?” He demands, making sure you’re buckled in sweetly and kissing you on the cheek, cranking the heat so the cold doesn’t settle into your wet clothes.

Flip peals out onto the pavement again, practically flooring it, not even really knowing where he’s taking you, just wanting to take you somewhere safe.

“You know the fella that lives across the street? Tommy? The nice fella who always helped cut the lawn?” You hiccup.

“Yeah?” Flip’s jaw is clenched so tight he’s sure it’s going to snap, white-knuckle grip on the wheel.

“I was walking home from the store and he pulled up and asked if I wanted a ride, because it’s late and was about to rain.” Your voice wobbles around the story, and somewhere in the back of his head, Flip is relieved that you’re yourself enough to tell a whole story. You never did get straight to the point, it’s one of the things he loved about you.

“Yeah?” He encourages anyway, letting the sound of your voice, wobbly though it may be, soothe his frazzled nerves.

“So I said yes but then he started to touch me and I said to stop, he didn’t stop, he grabbed me so I hit him and he hit me back and then he pushed me out of the car.” Your voice cracks on that, and there go Flip’s nerves.

Like he’s gunning for the coca-cola 500, Flip tears through the streets and blows through every red light, keeping one hand in yours the whole time. It isn’t long before he pulls up to your neighborhood, your house just a few blocks away from his own. The porchlight is off, meaning your parents aren’t home yet.

Across the street, Tommy’s porchlight is on.

“Ketsl why don’t you go inside, wash those tears off your face.” Flip says, his voice dangerously calm.

“’Kay. Love you.” You kiss his cheek, the tears mostly stopped.

“Love you too, I’ll be right in.” He taps the underside of your chin with his finger, and waits for you to get all the way inside your house, door closed behind you, before he gets out of his car.

Hidden in the glove-compartment is a small pistol, not one that’s issued by the CSPD or anything, just a small something that he bought a couple years ago just in case of an emergency. He doesn’t think twice about taking it and sticking it in the waistband of his trousers, and walks across the street in the pouring rain, to Tommy’s house.

Flip had been dating you for a couple months now, and he’s picked you up and dropped you off more times than he could count. He recognizes Tommy’s car in the driveway, and is glad that it’s the only one there, as he cracks the joints in his neck and rings the doorbell.

A moment or two goes by before the shitbag himself answers, his perfectly parted blonde hair backlit by the overhead light behind him. Flip also happens to notice the black-eye he’s sporting, and knows that must have been from you.

Tommy eyes Flip up and down, recognizing him too.

“What the fuck do you want – ow! Hey! Fuck!” Tommy doesn’t get very far before Flip has pulled out the gun from his waist, and cracks him across the face with it.

On the first hit, Tommy crumples to the ground, hands up, defensive, trying to shield his face, but Flip doesn’t let up. He pistol whips this sonofabitch again and again and again, until his blood is spraying all across Flip’s knuckles, until his nose crunches under the force of Flip’s beating.

The sound of metal hitting skull and rain hitting pavement fills Flip’s ears, and he gives Tommy a harsh kick to the gut for good measure. The man’s perfectly parted hair is now soaked with water from the front step, water that washes away his blood.

Flip grabs him by the shirt collar and holds him level with his own face, looking him straight in the eye and threatening – no, promising, “I swear on my fucking mother if you ever touch her again you’re dead.”

With that, he drops Tommy, and the man scrambles back inside, shutting the door to nurse his wounds in private. Flip licks across his teeth, and lets out a deep breath, feeling good. Flip walks across the street once again, back to your house.

You’re waiting there, at the door, just on the other side of the screen, moonlight reflecting in your eyes.

“Can I come in?” Flip asks softly, “Or do you want to be alone?”

“Please stay with me.” Your answer is immediate, and it fills Flip with relief. He doesn’t ever want to do anything that would scare you or make you uncomfortable, and he’s just now realizing that this is the first time he’s ever gotten into a fight in front of you. He doesn’t know how you’ll react, and he’s worried, worried that you might think he’s no good for you now.

You open the door wider for him, and he slips inside where it’s nice and warm, the familiar surroundings of your living room calming him down.

“Did you see…?” He gestures with his thumb behind him.

“I saw.” You nod, standing in the living room with your arms wrapped around yourself.

“Are you angry?” Flip tries not to sound too afraid of the idea, but still, the fear is there.

“Are you kidding?” You frown, shaking your head at once, and then letting out a bit of an unexpected laugh, “To tell you the truth…seeing you so strong and protective like that? It turned me on.”

Oh…oh! Flip hadn’t thought of that as a possibility until you say it, and suddenly all his fears have vanished. He looks at you, and you look at him, and then you’re smiling real wide, despite it all.

“Yeah?” Flip takes a step towards you, and then another step, until you meet him and close the distance between your bodies with your arms thrown around his neck, your mouth crashing onto his.

Immediately, Flip shucks off his jacket and begins trying to peel you out of your clothing, which is real fucking difficult because everything is so wet. You kiss him, tongues sliding against one another, lips sucking and biting at one another as you pant pant pant, lust and love and possessive desire curling around in Flip’s bones.

“Take me to your room?” Flip asks, and you nod, half dressed and leading him up the stairs.

By the time you get up there, you’re naked and Flip’s not too far behind. You bring him to the bed eagerly, desperately, falling backwards onto the mattress with a big smile, the kind of smile that makes Flip just have to kiss you – so he does.

“Fuck me,” You moan, shuffling underneath him and spreading your legs for him, Flip fitting perfectly in the space between them, “Please?”

He’d never say no to you, not to his girl, so he pushes a few fingers into your pussy to see if you’re stretched enough to take him, and though it’ll be a tight fit, he doesn’t want to waste any more time. So, slowly, he pushes the head of his cock through your folds and feels your body swallow him down, cunt clenching and fluttering as he rocks himself deeper deeper deeper into you.

“Shit,” Flip groans, the hot tight wet clutch of your cunt making him almost drool, as he begins to build up a thrusting rhythm, “Shit you’re so good.”

You laugh at that, one of your legs winding around his hips, the ball of your foot digging into his lower back and keeping him there. You kiss him as he fucks you, something sturdy and steady – just like him.

Flip sucks marks into your flesh, all across your shoulders, your chest, even one onto your neck. He marks you up, a possessive clingy sort of desperate energy. The world is going to know you’re cared for, taken care of, and that he’s the man that’s doing the best fucking job at it. It makes Flip’s blood fucking boil thinking about creeps like Tommy, creeps who think they can push you around or ignore your wishes, disrespecting you. Flip stakes his claim on you, but only because you’ve told him he can. You told him, and he wants the world to know it.

“A little faster? Just a – yes! Yes just like that!” You encourage him, “God that’s good Flip, you fuck me so well.”

The praise goes straight to his cock, throbbing and aching inside of you. Flip continues to carry his markings down onto your chest, licking and sucking at your nipples, burying his face in the cleavage there to bite and kiss at your skin. He breathes you in and fucks you deep, his hips pushing you up up up the mattress with the effort, the strength of it.

“Can I come in you?” Flip asks, panting and groaning and grunting against your lips, watching as bruises begin to bloom under your flesh.

“Yes!” You shout, eager and so in love, and that’s what does it for him.

“Shit – ” He groans low in his throat as he crosses over the edge, orgasm washing over him as he comes and comes inside the heat of your cunt.

You’re not far behind, because Flip doesn’t let up even though he’s come, he wants to take you there too.

A moment or two later you’re following after him, yoru body tensing up before melting beneath him, your leg sliding off from around his hip, a big moaning sigh pouring out of your mouth.

“I’m proud of you, you know.” Flip says afterwards, clutching you to his chest. He’s got a cigarette lit and is smoking it to calm himself down, but he takes it out from between his lips for a little while to press kisses to the top of your head.

“What for?” You’re tired, orgasm lulling you into a post-glow sleep, which is probably for the best considering the clock is about to chime two.

“For hitting him. I saw the shiner you gave him.” He rubs a soothing hand up and down your arm, and you snuggle further against him with a little sigh.

“Are you going to get in trouble with work?” You whisper nervously, something that Flip hadn’t even thought about until just that moment.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. All that matters now is that you’re safe.” He dismisses that fear, and you just nod.

He thinks you’ve gone to sleep, and shuts his eyes against the dark too. He lets out a sigh of his own, pinches out the cigarette and tugs the covers up over your shoulder so you don’t get cold.

“Flip?” You mumble, voice small from being so tired.

“Yeah honey-bunny?” Flip whispers, hugging you to his chest.

“Thank you.” You whisper back, pressing a kiss to the strong pec you’re not using as a pillow, and he smiles, reassuring you now and always that he’d do:

“Anything for my girl.”

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

Taggin some friends! @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @safarigirlsp @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @materialisthicc @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl @miabelay11

#flip zimmerman #flip zimmerman x reader #flip zimmerman/reader #flip zimmerman x you #flip zimmerman/you #flip zimmerman smut #flip zimmerman imagine #flip zimmerman fanfic #adam driver fanfic #adcu #my writing

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whump-captain · 2 years ago

Text

No. 8 - Everything hurts and I'm dying

Stomach pain | Head trauma | Back from the dead

2800 words | OC: Kintsugi

*leans into mic* three thousand words of body horror

no clue if this is coherent but the gist of it is fucked up sentient metal possessing people let's goooooo

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CN: escape, gun use, gunshot, (temporary) character death, gore, body horror, general news horror, broken bones, harmful healing, magical healing, vomiting

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"Come on," Lucy panted. "We'll lose them by the quarry."

The cold air made it difficult to take a full breath, even though she wasn't running anymore. Ethan was two steps behind her, stumbling in the ankle-deep snow but managing to keep up. It seemed the painkillers had whipped him into shape. His face was flushed and he stood a bit straighter now that the makeshift splint did the job of stabilising his arm. He didn't look at Lucy, eyes roaming the frigid landscape with a feverish intensity.

"Quarry?" he asked. His voice was rough for the heavy breaths he was struggling to control - but he pressed on. Lucy appreciated that, even though she had no time to think about voicing it.

"There's a gold mine just behind that hill," she explained with a wave of her hand. The tangled thicket of thin trees made the hill look imposingly tall but Lucy knew the way. They could circle it in no more than fifteen minutes and be in the clear. Assuming the quarry itself wasn't staffed and ready to mow them down the second they emerged from the forest. "There should be cars there, we can use them to get to the coast," she said.

"Why is there a gold mine here?"

"I don't fucking know," she snapped. "Shut up and keep walking."

Fuck's sake, she couldn't believe him. Her own mind was entirely occupied trying to deal with the dozens of armed mercenaries hot on her heels and here he was asking question after question about every stupid thing she said. And that after he'd spent almost a month getting the shit kicked out of him for sticking his nose into Memory's business. It was insufferable. He acted like he had some personal stake in figuring out every pointless detail about this island; like he stood a chance to understand anything the Response Group did.

Lucy asked herself again why she was risking her bloody life for this stranger. Once again, her strung up mind refused to answer logically.

All she could do was to keep walking.

They reached the edge of the wood and Lucy weaved in between the thin, slender trees. The snow was thinner here, too, revealing more of the ground uneven with rocks and ridges. Out of the wind, deceptive heat flooded Lucy's skin and she tightened her grip on her gun. She wished she'd had time to grab her rifle instead of this useless pistol; or to grab anything at all. As far as escape plans went, this one had been shite.

"I can't hear them anymore," Ethan whispered. By the shake in his voice Lucy guessed that they were on the same page: that this wasn't necessarily good.

"No." She scanned the spindly shadows around them, then looked up the slope of the hill. "They might be surrounding us."

She wanted to run. But it would do her no good if Ethan couldn't keep up. So she only picked up the pace slightly and glanced behind her. His face glistened with sweat and his teeth were chattering, but he stayed close. Good.

At the foot of the hill, Lucy took a turn through the denser trees. There was no point climbing; they would only tire out and they'd be exposed on the bare hilltop. If she'd remembered correctly, heading east would bring them out onto a small plain and then straight to the quarry. From there - she would figure it out.

The trees cleared out soon and new strength spread through Lucy's body. The bitter wind whipped her again but there was the quarry, in the distance, reaching up to the sky with black arms of machinery. Only a few hundred meters of snow and bare bushes laid between her and the goal.

They barely took five steps into the clearing when she heard it. A whistle and a tap.

Her mind added the gunshot, muffled and distant.

A sniper.

"Get down!" she yelled.

Whistle, tap. Snow burst out in a cloud where the bullet hit. Lucy sprinted, slid to drop by a bush. No protection.

Another whistle, just as she whipped her head up to look.

Ethan only managed half a turn. Another tap.

The bullet caught him square in the chest and threw him six feet back like a ragdoll. Lucy cried out. She started towards him; more snow exploded out under fire. She stumbled, fell back behind cover.

"Hold fire!" someone shouted. The voice echoed through the plain. "Lucy Richardson, stand up with your hands in the air!"

She ignored it. She pushed herself up, halfway on her knees, she felt her way through the snow with gloved hands. The imaginary gunshot rang in her ears and everything in front of her blurred. She only saw colour. Blinding white marred by bright, biting crimson. A dark shape motionless in the snow. A tunnel stretching infinitely before her, black and suffocating and inescapable.

She had failed.

Ethan's empty eyes stared up into the sky. He laid with his arms thrown open and his face frozen in a soft expression of surprise. A tiny hole in his jacket bloomed around it a ring of red. Under him was a pool of blood, thick with viscera and studded with white shards of bone. It soaked into his hair and his clothes - Lucy's old jacket, useless now at keeping him warm.

Her shaking hand rested on his neck, but it was formality. Stillness and cold seeped into her body from Ethan's skin and extinguished the last traces of fire that determination and adrenaline had lit under her.

Replacing it, a void opened up in her stomach. She had screwed up again. She'd cost someone their life. Everything that she had spent so long running away from had caught up. There was blood on her hands again and the snow refused to wash it away. All her effort, her doubt, her illogical, infuriating thoughts - it had all been pointless. The final outcome was the same as if she had never gotten involved at all, if she had never abandoned her safe refuge of apathy.

Ethan Lythmer was dead.

All she had gained was the sight of his lifeless face growing grey and rigid in the cold.

=====

Within the ground, notice is taken.

I sense the change above me; it feels like a snap in the stillness that envelops me. The steady rock flinches and I lose focus.

The dead human weeps its heat out into the soil's veins. The warmth is a thrill but it's a fleeting one. I want to keep it. The human wanted that too, in its last moment of sentience and experience.

It was the most exquisite moment.

I want it to last, like I do.

If time is a plane, I am the slice cut out of it and turned on its side. If the future is a sunset, I am the north pole in summer. If the past exists, I hate it.

I take from it, unhindered and joyful. I drown in that single moment of overwhelming emotion and I let it freeze with me into forever.

I embrace the human and I take it with me.

=====

The snow steamed. Bare black earth emerged from under it and then began to crack. A nauseating stench of boiling blood filled the air and then the rock swelled, as if the whole island took in a breath.

The ground drank. The cracks filled and spidered out in a sprawling pattern of veins. They hissed and then, suddenly, they shone.

Pure liquid gold erupted into the veins in a single pulse, turning the soiled earth into a masterpiece.

With a sound like an unsheathed knife, a spike of gold ripped out from the ground and stabbed through Ethan's chest. The force lifted the body off of the ground where it hung impaled with arms splayed like a pinned butterfly. Lucy jerked away, slipping in the snow. Blood poured down the golden stalagmite and swirled as it was absorbed into nothing more than a reddish sheen. The tip of the spike exploded out of the bullet hole into a thousand hair-thin branches like a bare, fractal tree.

Time itself frosted over and from a frozen moment in the past, Ethan's consciousness was thrust back into his body. The peaceful black split open as light exploded, painting the veins in his eyes bright gold.

He had no lungs to gasp with. There was a gaping hole in his back where they should be, framed by teeth of broken ribs and curtains of pouring blood. He saw it. He felt its warmth as the gold eagerly drank and circulated it.

This massacred body wasn't his. He watched it from the outside, through some other eyes. He couldn't feel anything below his neck. The pressure of suffocation was trapped in his skull and it built until he couldn't bear it and his vision dimmed again - but this time there wasn't peace in the dark.

Please, he thought, more feeling than consciousness. I can't breathe. I'm going to die.

Something replied, inside his mind:

Not die, not die.

The voice echoed into infinity and Ethan thought his eardrums would burst.

We live, we live, it said.

Help me, was all he could think.

The darkness sharpened and struck him like a fist. Gold burst out into his vision in infinitely repeating cracks and they formed an undulating shape. A shape that watched him, reached out to him.

A shape that lived.

A skintight grip enveloped him like ice and for a moment, he was whole again. The world cracked in half and fell away, and he emerged back into the light like a metal cast released from a mould.

The gold below him crawled up. Drawn from the veins that scarred the earth, liquid metal flowed up the spike and then further. It found the crushed mess of Ethan's spine and curled around it, pouring into the cracks and bringing the shattered bone back together. It reached through the past, to the split second between the bullet entering the body and the moment it ripped its way out. From that memory and from the tissue it had devoured, the gold spun a delicate wireframe of a ribcage, glinting like jewellery among the slick gore. Shuddering like rock under a seismic wave, new bone grew into it from nothing and formed bare, exposed ribs. In their confines, red, bulbous flesh boiled out of the collapsed lungs and made them swell back into shape.

They lurched, pushing air out into the rest of the body. Blood bubbled out of Ethan's mouth, he choked on the breath forced into him. A violent cough contracted his chest. It felt like drowning, like burning liquid rising in his throat with every gurgling gasp.

He felt his body again. Torn nerve endings were welded together with flowing gold and immediately they caught fire. Ethan couldn't even scream. Pain exploded through his chest and burned through his back as new skin emerged on torn muscle in gleaming gold patches until the frayed edges of the exit wound met again and melted shut. Flesh merged with metal and became one with the stalagmite that held the body aloft.

Ethan heaved a desperate gasp, fighting the pain burning between his ribs. All he could manage was a keening groan before fire shot through him again and strangled his voice. He could feel the living gold circulating alongside his blood - a cold, crawling presence pushing its way between the layers of tissue. Wherever it found the skin broken, it burst out of the wounds in crystal-like spikes, spraying blood as the damaged flesh tore further. Ethan finally screamed as gold blades stabbed out of the barely healed cuts on his forehead.

New lines of pain erupted all over his body. He was dying, surely; again. He would bleed out. He could see the blood and his own writhing body and he knew this time that it wasn't hallucination. He looked through the eyes of something else; something that was sentient even though it was heatless metal deep underground. It watched, and drank, and thought - to itself but also to Ethan, straight into his mind:

We live, we live. I help, I help.

It felt his pain. The feeling echoed just like its glittering voice did, reflected into two bodies - human and not. The gold blades softened and smoothed. They melted back into the wounds and spilled, leaving behind raised, exquisitely glistening, golden scars. The pain faded slowly into a biting ache like frostbite. Ethan fought for frantic, wheezing breaths but cold pushed through his body again; spread out from his chest and out into his limbs.

Without an immediate memory, the inhuman, metal being could only guess at the human body's correct shape. Ethan's skin turned black as liquid metal replaced the blood in the bruises on his arm. The pain ripped from his throat, a ragged, barely human howl of agony. A metal grip wrapped around the broken bones and ground them together in an attempt to weld them back into one. Ethan's vision dissolved, burned away. His forearm snapped in half at a right angle and golden spikes erupted from the skin as the bone ripped it open. All other feeling was gone. His body had disconnected from everything but this horrifying, all-consuming pain; the heartlessly clear feeling of muscle tearing away from tendons. Gold leaked into marrow and the bones shattered from the inside out, exploded by sudden pressure.

But then the metal spun into itself and the bone shards gathered back into shape. The gold fused them together and filled in the gaps. A delicate net of cracks and seams caught the light once before new veins and nerves stretched out over it like wet wires, reattaching as they crawled. Ethan's scream hitched. He thought he'd faint. He had to faint, he couldn't bear any more. Silently, he begged for unconsciousness to take him, for any escape from the pain. For death, if that was what it took. But the echoing voice in his head kept singing and it kept him awake - and so Ethan kept screaming, his body convulsing around the destructive force that was trying to save him.

Like a ship in a bottle unfolded by a carefully pulled string, the mangled flesh and bone of his arm twisted back into its natural shape. The last of the regenerating muscle bulged out and was wrapped in skin, growing out from it like a stain of paint. A raised patch of gold blistered the surface where the fracture had been open, settling into a shining, metal-smooth scar.

Ethan's breath came in a strangled wheeze. Trickles of blood ran down from his mouth and eyes, marking crimson lines on his ash grey face. His fingers twitched as the new tendons tested their motions but he didn't feel it. The pain still rang through his body, an afterimage of agony. His chest heaved as his lungs demanded air, even though he had no strength to keep breathing. A groan died in his throat, emerging only as a broken, barely audible whimper.

The voice sang, like wind whistling between the mountains:

You live, you live.

It was the last thing Ethan heard before he was finally allowed to faint.

The golden tree that grew out of his chest slowly withered. The veinlike branches curled in and retracted into the spindly trunk until it became a single, smooth spike. It bent down and held Ethan's body upright, with its feet an inch away from the ground, as if posing it to stand. It hung from the metal impaling it, limp and bloodied - but it was whole, every break and bruise healed.

The golden spike thinned and shortened. In a blink of an eye it became little more than a glistening thread. Then it snapped with a quiet clink and disappeared.

Ethan's body dropped into the snow.

There was silence.

It was broken by the sound of retching. Lucy dropped to her knees and vomited, her shaking arms barely holding her up. Everything was hollow. She felt like she had to scream, but the grip on her throat didn't let any voice out. It felt like metal.

It felt like it would come for her next.

Somebody else's gagging coughs broke through the haze. There was shouting. There were footsteps. Someone was yelling her name, screaming at her to raise her arms. She did, sitting back on her heels. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the body in front of her. She could see brilliant gold among the ruined clothes.

Movement erupted around her. Two men pointed rifles at her, shouting, but she couldn't understand them. Another one was talking into a radio; cracks of static rang out like gunshots in Lucy's ears.

"We need medical evac and a full containment team to seven-west slash-" The words blurred together in her ears. Someone told her to stand up, so she did.

There was fog over her eyes, melting everything into the muted white of stained snow. Like afterimages from the blinding sun, shadows of golden veins remained in her vision.

No matter how many times she blinked, they wouldn't fade away.

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leroyzboots · 3 years ago

Text

you and i are trying, together.

part one

Benrey's been looking for the opportunity to apologize for...quite some time now, in fact.

Just looking at Gordon and his dripping stump he now has instead of a hand causes his stomach to churn with intense discomfort.

It doesn't help with the nightmares, either.

As if the abuse of the soldiers and the military of Black Mesa constantly swimming in and out of his dreams wasn't bad enough, now they're coupled together with the deep black room where the horror occurred.

They're standing in the mixology lab, Darnold is explaining something to Gordon, when the flashbacks are triggered heavily by a loud bang and mechanical shock from one of the many computers.

Sharp, angry metal poles stick deep into Benrey's neck and fill him with electricity, drawing a long, piercing shriek from his throat that melts into Gordon's rapid wailing.

And then Benrey is crouching on the ground, and the soldier's boot is slamming into his side, crushing and breaking his ribs, and Benrey tastes blood.

He's kneeling in it, the blood pours out from his lips and covers the floor, a massive pool of Gordon's life fluid.

The world is spinning, and Benrey faces Gordon again, and watches as the scientist raises his bloody stump, now transformed into a gun, makes a fist and shoots.

The bullets strike a numbing pain into Benrey's brain, and as Gordon shoves past him, not even sparing him a glance, he expects the daytime nightmare to end.

It doesn't.

Benrey presses his hand to his forehead, the only place the shots entered, and it comes away shaky and covered in wet, sticky red liquid.

Guess that part of it was real.

It doesn't take more than a few seconds out of the lab before the bullets clatter onto the ground and the wound heals.

They're barely a few hours out from the Lambda lab when opportunity strikes.

The ground shakes beneath their feet, and Dr. Coomer lets out a little yelp and latches onto Bubby's arm, who grabs onto Tommy's collar as the floor begins to break apart.

Bubby realizes with a horrible jolt that they only have two hands.

The tiles shatter and crumble beneath Gordon's boots, and he grabs at the closest person next to him, which is unfortunately Benrey.

As the hole expands, Benrey catches ahold of the edge of it, and stops himself from falling through, but as Gordon wraps himself around Benrey's pants leg, the combined weight of the man and his HEV suit is too much for one-handed hanging.

They fall.

It's deep, and Benrey tenses as his torso hits the concrete below with a breathtaking amount of force.

Definitely half a dozen broken ribs, a fractured shoulderblade and his spinal cord snaps.

Whatever.

He'll recover.

But Gordon lands feet first, with a sickening crack that causes him to scream and tumble over onto his side.

Benrey heals as quickly as he can, feeling his nerves re-attatch as he forces himself to stand, eyes peering up at the hole they came from.

Tommy's color-splotched face peeks over the edge, so far away that Benrey just barely can make out his features.

"Are you tw-two okay, Mr. Freeman!?" Tommy has to shout the question down at them.

It had to have been a 40, maybe 50 foot drop.

"We're...we'll be fine!" Gordon shouts back upward, his leg clutched between his hands.

"I'll circle around until we find a way back up. Keep...just keep heading to the lab and I'll c-catch up."

"Alrighty, M-Mr. Freeman!"

Tommy's head disappears, and distantly Benrey hears their retreating footsteps.

Gordon winces as he stands and tests his leg, which sticks out at a slightly bent angle near the middle of his shin.

"Dude, it's definitely broken," Benrey notes, and Gordon tenses before making a face of annoyance.

"Right," he groans, "I forgot you're with me."

And Gordon stomps off, far harder than he really should on his leg, and leaves Benrey standing beneath the light shining through the hole.

Sighing, Benrey makes a decision.

He follows, jogging to catch up to Gordon's pace before trailing slightly behind.

Gordon is very clearly not doing so hot.

He's limping, and sweating like a stuck pig to the point it's dripping off his nose onto the ground.

Benrey's been watching him carefully, and Gordon....hasn't said a word to him since the beginning.

He's leaned up against Benrey a few times on accident, but not a single sound has been in his general direction.

It's when Gordon stumbles over a fallen chair and whimpers from the pain that Benrey breaks the silence.

"Dammit, man. Alright. Sit down, dude, please?"

Gordon turns, scowling, but the exhaustion on his face is showing.

"Why do you care?"

Benrey pauses.

He could lie, of course, make something up or tell a joke to get Gordon to sit.

But he wants to apologize, and starting it out with a lie isn't..something Benrey wants to do.

So he tells the truth, even if it is hard for him to say it.

"Because I care about you, and we're friends, man. Sit down?"

Gordon scoffs, turning around all the way, and slipping slightly with his broken shin.

"We are not friends, not after you so-sold me out to the fuckin. Boot boys, the soldiers!"

He's not thinking straight, the pain alone is causing Gordon to reach incoherence.

"Yeah, well you led the soldiers to us!"

Gordon opens his mouth to retort, but Benrey cuts him off, barreling onward.

"I wasn't fucking. Angry, like Bubby was, but the dude doesn't know his damn limits, 'aight? So. Had to jump in, you know? Thought it'd be uhhh, funny little prank. Like all, surprise!"

Benrey waves his hands in place, stopping only to take a breath before continuing.

"Well, it didn't work how either of us wanted. They. They uhh."

Blood, his blood is on Benrey's hands and knees.

"They cut your damn hand off. It just..just...they cut it off like butter! Ha, ha haha, butter...and it-it was so much blood and..."

Benrey gulps, and he almost chokes as he loudly mutters the next few words.

"I thought. Thought I'd killed you, you know? Gordo, I th-thought you were dead."

He struggles, and a high pitch of navy blue sweet voice hangs in the air for a second before Benrey goes on, after another deep breath.

"Gordon, I'm really sorry. I know that. That I'm not always your gamer buddy, but I'm sorry. So if you could just fucking sit down, so I can stop watching you die, that'd be fantastic."

Gordon stares, his mouth open just a little, before he sits down, a small groan escaping him as the pressure comes off his leg.

Benrey lets out a sigh of relief, before heading back a little ways to grab the bandages from the medkit on the wall.

Crouching around the chair Gordon stumbled over, he snaps off the middle support piece and tests the sturdiness.

Gordon glances up as Benrey steps over to him, the sweat wiped away and his eyes a more gentle gaze than before.

Benrey kneels, and gingerly works off the protective plate of Gordon's boot before he looks up again, the chair beam in his left hand and the bandages in the other.

"I'm gonna uh. Set the bone. Homemade splint, you know? Tommy. Tommy, he taught me how to do this a long time ago."

Benrey pushes the beam gently against the other's shin, wrapping it down with the bandage near the bottom.

"It's. Gonna hurt, but uhh. S'gonna feel better and you'll be able to put p-pressure on it again."

Gordon takes a deep breath, and closes his eyes as Benrey pushes down hard.

The bone snaps back into place, and Gordon cries out through gritted teeth, but it's over quick and the pain is lessened by a great amount as the security guard before him wraps the entirety of his leg up to his knee.

"There. You should still uh. Rest a bit. Imma lay down."

Benrey gets to his feet, and starts to walk away, but Gordon reaches out and grabs ahold of his pants, stopping him for a second.

".....Thank you."

Gordon lets go, and leans back against the wall and closes his eyes.

Benrey stays in place, watching him carefully until he falls asleep, before sidling down a little ways off to keep watch.

Things are definitely better between the two of them after that.

When Gordon wakes up, he's much friendlier to Benrey, without any real hostility.

Honestly? Gordon's glad.

His relationship with Benrey had always been a bit complicated.

Sure, before, Benrey was annoying as hell, but he always made Gordon laugh.

He was nice, someone Gordon's own age for once, and if not someone who he could confide in, a friend.

But then, the soldiers have him, and the pain in his arm is excruciating, and everything Benrey did or does suddenly isn't so comforting.

Convinced Benrey's jokes were meant to demean him, his casual touches and close contact deception, Gordon turned and just kinda.

Let Benrey have the short end of the stick.

But earlier...Benrey tells him he cares, that Gordon's life was always in his best interests, and that they were and still are, friends.

So, it feels good to no longer make Benrey the target of his affliction.

Gordon's about to suggest looking for a vending machine, for some food, when creatures round the corner and attack.

Gordon whips out his gun hand and fires, and vaguely to his right, pistol shots ring off the walls.

The peeper puppies, as Dr. Coomer had called them, bound away from the bullets and circle the pair, releasing their sonic barks and baring their open mouths filled with jagged teeth.

Gordon steps backward, holding his gun hand close to his face to blow cool air on the barrel, the metal radiating pure heat.

Benrey bumps against Gordon's back, hastily re-loading his gun, his face screwed up in careful precision.

But then he turns, and gives Gordon a strained little smile.

A little puddle of happiness forms in Gordon's stomach before the soldiers kick open the underground doors and shoot before they aim.

Gordon finishes off the peeper puppy, then stumbles and shifts his line of fire towards the soldiers.

It's a messy fight, with Gordon constantly limping on his wounded leg, and both sides being attacked by alien creatures.

Gordon's never really seen Benrey fight before, so watching him is definitely an experience.

The way he acts is familiar.

Gordon glances between the reloading gunman ahead of him and Benrey behind him.

The way their hands move over the bullet cartridges, the way both of them hit the side of it with their palm when they're about to reload.

Benrey was trained by the same soldiers shooting at him now.

But the way that they handle guns is the only similarity, because while the military of Black Mesa are ruthless and cruel, Benrey is his own, merciful person.

Gordon fires the last few rounds of his hand before it has to cool down, and thankfully the last soldier drops to the floor.

Benrey is breathing heavily, wiping sweat from underneath his helmet visor, when he pales.

Gordon glances down as something rolls from the soldiers hand to his feet.

A grenade.

Gordon doesn't even have time to react before Benrey lunges, scooping the explosive into his hands and clutching it close to his chest, practically rolling across the ground until he's a good twenty or so feet from Gordon.

He looks back, catching Gordon's eye, and explodes.

Shrapnel bursts from the walls and cracks the paint, debris scatters all around the site and lands in the scientists' hair, who is kneeled over coughing from the dust, his eyes searching the room.

Gordon doesn't want to be alone again, he hates being alone, he hates it.

He turns, ready to head back, and then Gordon wants to vomit.

Benrey staggers, halfway through the revival-respawning process, clearly not wanting to leave Gordon too long.

But dear god.

Half of his body is still skeletal, his entire left side is just an open orifice of bones and muscle.

The bones in Benrey's legs snap together, muscle forming overtop them, before flesh and clothing crawl down to form a whole.

His leg hits solid ground, and it has to be partially startling because Benrey lurches forward, and brain matter slops out of the empty eye socket onto the floor before it vanishes.

His neck cracks, and his head moves jerkily as skin reforms over his jaw and teeth, Benrey's one green eye spinning wildly in place before the tired lid creeps back to hold it still.

A few more disgusting crunches and Benrey is back to normal, passing Gordon now, casually placing his gun back into its holster and moving on.

Gordon blinks a few times, holding back his revulsion for a moment, before chasing after him, through the doorframe into a poorly lit hallway.

"Woah, woah woah man, slow down."

Benrey stops, turning and raising an eyebrow.

Gordon points through the doorframe they came through, gesturing helplessly.

"What. What the actual hell, was that?? You...just, what??"

Benrey blinks, as though he is completely clueless.

He just might be.

"You...you died for me," Gordon finishes, a little quieter than he meant to.

"Uhhh, yeah? Isn't that what friends do?"

Benrey grins as if it's a joke, and Gordon feels the surge of irritation, but also something else he can't quite put his finger on.

"No, it is not something friends do. We do not die randomly for people."

"Yeah. Uh, you do if one of em' can't die. Then it doesn't count, idiot," Benrey says all this casually, in his own, joking around style, but Gordon pauses.

He leans forward, and adopts his casually pleasant expression, but delivers his next question with the tone one would use for a ceremony or a funeral.

"So what happens when I decide to die for you, huh?"

Benrey turns, the smirk still on his face, and opens his mouth to respond with another joke when he stops, eyes wide.

Gordon's....entirely serious.

It surprised him too, but. After the leg wrapping and the grenade stunt, Gordon is. Plenty shocked but pleasantly surprised at how willing he'd be to die for Benrey.

He expects some kind of rebuke, but instead Benrey.

Blushes?

A deep flush goes across his cheeks and his eyes dart away from Gordon's, mumbling under his breath all the while.

Gordon wonders for a second if maybe Benrey's previously irritating teasing had been something else, before he sets off after the guard, a warming smile on his face.

Tommy had lied- of course he lied, he had to lie- when he told Mr. Freeman that he couldn't handle a gun.

How else was he supposed to explain without melting the poor man's brain that he was actually an incredibly talented shot, not because of military training, but because he could control the metal?

How was he supposed to explain that through sheer mental prowess, he could morph and create the bullets to go in any direction he wished, never running out of ammo because he could simply will the ammunition into existence?

He didn't want to scare Mr. Freeman away.

Tommy hurries after the Coomers, his long legs easily making distance across the lit hallways of Black Mesa.

Having just emerged from a scuffle with aliens, they were all on edge, wary.

The three hadn't been traveling long, only a couple hours, but worry had already crept down their throats.

Surprisingly, Bubby voices his concern first.

"Do you think they'll get along all right?" They quip, mostly to Harold and himself but to Tommy as well.

"Oh, I'm certain Gordon will make it out just fine," Dr. Coomer replies, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly as a stim.

"And Benrey certainly has always survived whatever Death's thrown his way!"

Bubby nods, but the ends of their mouth turn down with a crease, and he turns to Tommy, who understands their message perfectly.

"Y-yes, Mr. Coomer but! Gordon and Ben-Benrey don't get along together very well."

Anxious, Tommy absentmindedly pulls a spare Beyblade from his pocket and fiddles with the wheels, the soft whir of the toy is calming.

"I'm worried, um, I'm worried! A-about whether they'll m-manage to...to cooperate long enough to survive together."

Dr. Coomer chortles, but the nervous look behind his eyes betrays him.

Bubby shrugs, airing out his still heated hands before speaking.

"Who knows? Maybe they'll work it out and that dumbass will finally tell Gordon how he feels."

Tommy pauses, his mouth puckered.

"Y-you know about Benrey and-and Mr. Freeman?"

"Of course I know, everyone with a damn brain knows," Bubby snorts, then falls short noticing the look on Tommy's face.

"Then you know the kind of trouble th-they're going to walk into."

"Yes," Dr. Coomer sighs, taking Bubby's hand tenderly; "we unfortunately do."

Benrey's gotta get those feelings under some goddamn control, because if he doesn't, then.

Game over, you know?

Gordon doesn't seem to understand what he does to Benrey, but it's driving him crazy.

That little thing he pulled back there?

It doesn't help, idiot. Only makes him fall for him more.

But they're both in a good mood, making some distance between them and the last time they saw the soldiers.

It's around midnight by now, and Benrey is ready to go back to sleep.

"Hey, come check this thing out!"

Gordon's excited yell shakes Benrey out of his sleepy stupor, and he hurries over to where Gordon is poking around inside of a barely-lit room, the door frame busted off its hinges in order to access the inside.

Benrey pokes his head in, and his heart slides all the way into his stomach with a horrendous lurch.

This is the room.

He hasn't been here in maybe six, seven or so years, but everything is the same as he left it.

The tube shattered, still connected to the ceiling and floor, the plaque bearing his subject number stubbornly.

The tables, bolted to the floor.

The papers, scattered and ripped, the shelves tipped over and splintered beyond saving.

"What do you think happened here?" Gordon asks, kneeling by the tube in examination of something long discarded on the floor.

Running his hands over the metal table, fingers brushing the shackles, the memories return to Benrey.

Shock collars. Sweet voice tests, hours or days or weeks locked in his tube, sick of breathing the containment fluid.

"I...I know what happened here."

"Er, what? I'm sorry?"

Gordon looks heavily confused, and reluctantly, as if this place will never let him go, Benrey lets go of the chains and shuffles over to the tube.

Taking off his badge, he holds it up to the tube plaque, both bearing the same text.

B3_NY

#7037

Gordon stares, his eyes wide, before turning to the guard.

"I thought that was like, your serial number. They...they made you here?"

Benrey swallows his anger, tossing the badge to the ground and going through the next door.

"They did more than just make me."

It's all still there.

The room is lit only from above, with a dim lightbulb buzzing meekly in its socket.

The long metal bed sits in the center, almost beckoning to Benrey with omnicity.

One of the only scars Benrey has, the precise incision made jagged by struggle, prickles on his back at the sight of it.

He just stands, biting back tears as Gordon goes around the room, looking through boxes, his scientific curiosity never satisfied, until he finds something.

He's not looking, Benrey is not looking at whatever Gordon has clutched in his fist.

In his hurry to get out of this awful room, he slams into the metal table, pushing it into the wall with a reverberating crash.

Benrey drops to the ground outside, shaking and clutching his helmet, with shuddery sobs echoing around him.

He's trying to shut out the memories, but the knives are in his back and Gordon's blood is on his hands and the lightning is in his skull and it's all so terrifyingly loud.

It's a few minutes before Gordon comes back out into the hall.

Benrey goes rigid as Gordon sits down beside him, but he makes no effort to push the subject.

Benrey relaxes, just a little, lowering his hands and leaning against the wall.

A heavy warmth wraps around his hand, and as the guard looks down, he realizes Gordon's hand is on top of his right.

Gordon is purposefully not looking at him.

Heart in his throat, Benrey slowly turns his hand palm upward, and Gordon laces their fingers together.

They're holding hands.

They're holding hands and Gordon looks a little sheepish, but he's smiling fondly and his cheeks are flushed.

Benrey stares, and then cautiously leans into Gordon's shoulder, his helmet clunking quietly against the plate of the HEV suit.

Gordon doesn't let go, and Benrey falls asleep tucked close to his warmth and their hands clasped together.

#hlvrai #frenrey #body horror #abuse #leafy writes

48 notes · View notes

softcallofdutyimagines · 3 years ago

Text

Temporary Secretary | Finale

Chpt 1 | Chpt 2 | Chpt 3 | Chpt 4 | Interlude

Peck x fem!reader

The time has come. The Forsaken is free. There's not much left to do, but... Will the doctor make the right decision? And does that decision include you...

Tw for the Kravchenko fans. You might not like this.

"Agh, you fucking fool! Zykov is the for-!", Kravchenko whips around, only for the rage to immediately die on his lips.

Peck stands planted firmly, his pistol raised defiantly at the Colonel. Kravchenko growls low in his throat, but refrains from any sudden movement, "What do you think you're doing..."

"I'm done working for you, you son of a bitch", he nods his head toward the window where Sam and the Forsaken square off, "I'm going to fix this fucked up mess I made"

"How dare you... You'd backstab me? Omega? Do you so quickly forget who took you in, offered you everything?"

"Shut. Up. I'm ending this now, Lev"

Kravchenko sneers, raising his hands slowly, then making to bolt suddenly, "Give me the gun!"

Click.

"Don't. Move...", The barrel is now inches away from the Colonel's forehead, locked and loaded to fire.

"Hmp, don't play games with me Peck... You don't have the ner-"

Bang.

"Don't fucking tell me what to do", Peck tosses the gun away and rushes to the computers and comms. "Requiem, I'm here-"

And so, the battle against the Forsaken rages on. Sacrifices are made, but ultimately the day is won. For some more then others...

It's not until later that Peck hears about the arrests made at Requiem HQ. The only sense it makes is as to why he hasn't been hunted down and arrested himself. For now, he's too occupied with fleeing Omega.

Kravchenko is dead, and the only possible suspect is him. No, he couldn't dare to return to Omega territory. He can't even risk visiting his own home.

All he has is you.

He escapes the base, an easy task now that all the undead have been cleared out, and makes for the only safe place he has left.

The last thing you expect is a knock on your door, especially at this hour. A part of you wants to leave it, but the urgency of the knocks is what ends up dragging you out of bed. Wrapped in your robe, you pad your way across the cold tiled floor and sneak a glance through the peep hole.

Even if you wanted to pretend there was no one home, the sharp gasp you give ruins the chance.

"W-william?", you crack the door open, shaking as all sorts of unpleasant emotions overtake you.

At first, you almost didn't recognize him, he's burned so badly. Blood and pus ooze and leak down the left side of his face, all stemming from a raw, bubbling wound near and around his eye.

You urge him inside quickly, and bolt the door behind you, "What happened?"

It feels to him like you can barely look at him. "I did it. I helped Requiem beat the Forsaken, but... Only temporarily, that thing is still out there, on another plane... I- I....", He's starting to shake, like a shiver is overtaking him.

You take his hands in yours and lead him to the couch. Surely he must be in shock. You shush him and tell him to wait here, while you go get some medical supplies. Honestly, you don't think you have what it takes to treat such a terrible burn, but you'll at least try.

By the time you arrive, bandages, water, and all in tow, he seems to be a little more stable. He's clutching one of your blankets to his chest. He loves your things... they smell so much like you.

The smell of burned and bleeding flesh floods your nose, but you give him what you hope is a comforting kiss anyway. You do you best to clean away the blood and junk, as gently as possible.

"I... Killed Kravchenko"

You stop. "What?"

Peck winces. He's been terrified to admit this too you, ever since the Forsaken was banished. He may be a lot of terrible things, but a killer is by far both the newest and worst.

"He's dead. I shot him"

You digest the information a little to long for Peck's liking, but before he fears he's about to be tossed out... You press a long kiss to his lips, steering clear of his burns as you lovingly hold his cheeks.

Now he knows he must be out of it. Are you not upset with him? He asks as much, to which you scoff and say, "Lev Kravchenko was not a man. He was a dog and a monster set to eviscerate whoever his master turned him loose on. I say you've done the world a great service"

You finish up your speech just as you wipe away the last of the dribbling blood and pus.

"Besides", you press a little kiss to his eyebrow, right above his patch, "that's what he gets for taking what isn't his"

Peck smiles, more then a little relieved. Now that that's over with, he allows himself to rest against the back of your couch, sitting patiently as you do what you can to clean up his wound. But... No, he needs to tell you the rest.

"There's... More, actually"

"Oh?", you don't seem bothered in the slightest.

"I have to leave"

Now you freeze for real. Your heart drops to your stomach, and your limbs turn cold. God, your hand is shaking you're so afraid.

Mercifully, he doesn't leave much time for you to over think things, "Omega is going to know what I did. Now I have them and Requiem on my ass... That, and, well, the Forsaken isn't exactly delt with yet either, just... Locked away for later"

"Alright, and? What are you saying..."

Peck takes your quivering hand and warms it up between his palms, "I uh, well... I can't stay in Russia anymore, or else Omega will hunt me down, and... Same thing if I go home, so..."

He slowly brings your knuckles up to his lips and presses a kiss in the middle, "Do you... Want to run away with me?"

Despite the obvious surprise written in your face, he keeps going, "I need time to think about this, think about how to deal with the Forsaken if or rather, when, he returns and... I don't want you to stay here"

The doctor rubs his thumb over your knuckles, then kisses each one slowly, in between statements, "It's dangerous for you. If they found out about your connection to me... Well, I don't even want to think about it. Besides..."

He holds your hand open, pressing your palm to his good cheek, "I can't bear to lose you. I don't even want to be away from you. I can't, not even for another day"

Peck sighs, and let's your hand down to his lap where he continues to hold it gently, "I know that's pathetic, but it's true. I've only come this far because of you, I can't imagine going on without you", he looks up at you at last, a sad watery look in his eye.

You hesitate a moment, "... Where would we go?"

He sighs, "I don't know... Maybe we could escape to Europe for now, think things through in peace. I know it's not the best offer, but..."

Peck sighs again, and avoids your gaze. A knot forms inside him, the tension eating away. If he was ever afraid that your turn him down for a dinner date, all those weeks ago, surely he couldn't expect you to accept him now.

You hum softly, and run your free fingers through his short, thin hair. It's soft, and if it was any shorter, you think it'd be rather fluffy. He glances at you through the corner of his eye, watching as you lay your head on his shoulder.

"I'll go if you take me somewhere nice", you smile playfully.

"What would you consider nice?", he ventures, not entirely sure if you're serious.

"Oh, I don't know... How about somewhere romantic? Greece, Italy, France..."

He quirks his one remaining eyebrow, and smiles mischievously, before nuzzling his nose to yours as he says something in perfect French. Although you're not quite sure what he said, you assume it must be something sweet or nice, and laugh that cute little giggle he loves.

Instead of pulling away, he presses a little kiss to your lips, and dares a second one. You make a happy little hum and press into him, as he locks his arms around your waist before you go to hold his face between your hands.

Suddenly, he hisses and pulls away. It would seem you forgot about his burn. You apologize profusely and worry over it to see if you can help.

He blocks it from your hands and assures you it's fine. With his good eye, he motions towards his eye patch, "I've had worse", he huffs humorously.

You smile, a little sheepish, but instantly feel yourself again when he rests his forehead against yours. He takes each of your hands into both of his and rubs some warmth into them, "Christ woman, your hands are like ice"

At that, you laugh, and he kisses your forehead. Together, you sit in silence for a little, resting one head against the other. Then after a little while, the doctor clears his throat, "I um... Do you...? Do you, still think I'm handsome? Even after... This?", he asks shyly, vaguely gesturing to his raw, burned up face.

You don't even hesitate to respond as you plant a kiss to his nose, "Very"

#why are men kissing women's knuckles as a greeting/sign of affection not a thing anymore #this has been a cute fic an i hope you liked it anon 🥺🥺💖#black ops cold war #call of duty #cold war zombies #william peck x reader

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greaterawarness · 3 years ago

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Arc Training Program Ch. 3 (Getting to Know the Cadets Part One)

(Alpha decides to get to know his cadets a little more and in doing so comes to a realization. This is going to be done in parts because it would be a really long chapter if not. Also because if I don't do it in parts it would probably be a few weeks before posting again.)

Alpha isn’t sure if what’s he’s done is a good or bad thing. Ever since pairing them into groups of two they don’t seem to be splitting up. On one hand it’s making CC-2224 and CT-7567 become one hell of team. And CC-3636 and CC-1004 are dominating in the classroom. On the other hand, CC-1010 and CC-4477 seem to be feeding into each other’s bad habits. CC-1010 likes to outdo the others and CC-4477 is happy to help in any way possible. Then there’s CC-8826 and CC-1138. They… well they just encourage each other’s reckless behavior. And despite the success of completing a practice battle in pairs they still seem to fail as a group. Alpha leans on his table sipping his drink while watching a video of their last group failure. An image of 8826 flashes across the holovid crashing into 3636 causing his blaster to fire at 7567. He rubs his face with a groan.

“You seem troubled.” A voice pulls his attention to his door. Shaak Ti stands looking slightly amused. He gestures for her to sit across from him. “I take it things are not going as planned?”

“No. No they are not.” He agrees plainly. She lifts a hand to her chin while playing the scene over.

“They seem to not trust one another.” She says watching the holovid.

“What gave you that idea?” Alpha snorts. She eyes him before leaning back in her chair. This might be the most relaxed he’s ever seen her. They sit in silence watching the failed battle. When Alpha reaches for his drink, it slides across the table to Shaak Ti. He arches a brow at her when she lifts it up to her mouth. Except instead of drinking, she sniffs it. She gives him a look.

“It’s nine in the morning, Alpha.” She says sliding the drink back to him. He gives a half grin.

“Not to early if you’ve been up all night.” He lifts the cup to his lips and takes another drink. Shaak places her hands on the table with a sigh.

“I propose you take the day off from training.” She says making him stiffen.

“A day off for me is a day off for them. And they aren’t getting any down time until I see some real progress.” Alpha crosses his arms.

“They have progressed, have they not? They may still lack the trust and coordination to complete a full battle scenario, but they are advancing in other areas. They all exceed in the classroom and have remarkable marksmanship. Each has their own talents and interests. Even among the Jedi each Master is very different. Take a step back and see what makes these cadets unique and perhaps you’ll see how to get them to work together as a whole.” She says giving him a smile. He lets out a sigh through his nose thinking it over.

“Fine,” He concedes. “I’ll try it your way.”

She gives a pleased nod before they both stand. She leaves him to go find the cadets. They were finishing up cleaning the barracks when he walks into the room. When they see him, they rush over to stand at attention.

“Alright,” he says crossing his arms. “Today we’re going to have a down day. That means no regular training. This time is for you. This is not a time to nap or be lazy. Work on what you want but you have to be doing something productive. But don’t forget I have eyes everywhere so think twice before getting into trouble!”

Their faces stay neutral. When he dismisses them, they seem not too sure of what they should do. Alpha leaves before he gets bombarded with questions or before one of them starts another fight. He makes it back to his room and turns off the lights. He never said hecouldn’t nap. He has been going nonstop trying to make sure he doesn’t fail at teaching these cadets. It’s been wearing him out just as much as it’s been wearing them out. He falls into his bed and stares at the wall across from him. It doesn’t take long before he dozes off.

After waking from a cluster of mini nightmares of failing the cadets and then an ambush on a moon above Naboo, he’s not sure if the nap helped or only made him more tired. He tosses his legs off the side of the bed as he sits up. He stretches out his arms with a yawn slowly bringing himself to consciousness. After a moment he finally remembers that he set the cadets loose in Tipoca city. He finds himself running out of his room. His eyes search everywhere for signs of chaos. When he runs into the barracks, he’s surprised to see everything still standing. His chest heaves with every breath. When he hears footsteps behind him, he whips around startling 99.

“99,” he breathes while pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t see you there.”

“Sorry about that, Alpha.” He says while shuffling inside with training blasters in his arms.

“You haven’t seen my cadets, have you?” Alpha asks cautiously. 99 gives a chuckle as he stops.

“They haven’t burned anything down if that’s what you’re afraid of.” He smiles but it was comforting all the same. 99 keeps walking. “Some are training in separate rooms while I saw two in the library.”

“Thanks, 99.” Alpha says before walking quickly out the door. He knows that if they did anything to terrible the Kaminoans would have alerted him by now. Still, it made him uneasy to have eight cadets under his care running around with no supervision. He begins checking training rooms. Most were occupied by batches and their bounty hunter teachers. When he finally finds the first cadet it’s CC-2224. He’s commandeered a small training room used for hand to hand combat lessons. Alpha stays silent while walking across the upper platform so not to disturb the boy.

2224 practices some moves with a dummy. Alpha tilts his head studying the boy’s form. He’s good compared to an average cadet but Jango would call it nothing but sloppy. He quietly walks over to the room log to see how long he’s been at it. Alpha was out for a good hour, and it seems 2224 has been here the whole time.

“Want me to give you some pointers?” Alpha says breaking the silence. 2224 doesn’t startle at the sudden sound of his voice. Alpha hops the railing and lands on the mat. He pulls off his boots and upper armor before standing in front of 2224.

“Yes sir, thank you, sir.” He says through pants. He wipes some sweat with the back of his hand while stepping back. Alpha stands in front of the training dummy.

“Your trainer before taught you well enough but you could be better,” Alpha starts mimicking what the boy was doing before landing a blow that Jango taught him. 2224 stares slightly wide eyed. “Here, let me show you.”

Alpha moves so 2224 can take his place. They spend the next thirty minutes going over some new moves. Alpha was impressed. The boy is determined and has the discipline to keep at it.

“What is it about hand to hand combat that you like?” Alpha asks after a time. He thinks back to the first time he saw 2224 in a battle simulation with his old batch. He shakes his head remembering the boy landing a solid punch to a metal droid. 2224 looks taken off but doesn’t stop practicing.

“Well,” He says before landing a hit. “When we were doing one of our first practice battles my training blaster was defective. I just remember being helpless while my batch fought with all they had. I thought I was useless. After the battle my trainer pulled me aside and scolded me for doing nothing. And then I saw another batch learning hand to hand combat so I asked my trainer if I could learn it. He said yes and… well I decided even without a blaster I wouldn’t be helpless. I can still fight no matter what.”

2224 steps back to meet Alpha’s eyes. Alpha could feel the smile forming on his lips.

“Well, lets make sure that never happens.” He says. the boy wears his own smile before they return to their lesson.

After another thirty minutes Alpha leaves him to practice the new moves he’s taught him. 2224 had mentioned 7567 training in a room a couple doors down. He makes sure to go straight to the upper walkway to watch the boy from above. He finds 7567 staring at a table covered in different kinds of blasters. Alpha leans on the railing studying the boy. He finally reaches for one of the largest ones there. He slings it off the table and shuffles towards the targets. He grits his teeth before firing.

Alpha arches a brow. From the small time he’s known the boy he could already tell where this was going. Not long after firing the boy tries to turn to hit some targets on the side but the boy is cursed with clumsiness and looses his footing. Alpha doesn’t flinch when 7567 falls causing stray shots to fire beside him. he lets out a sigh with the shake of his head before hoping the railings.

“That blasters not a good fit.” He says crossing his arms and looking down at the boy. The cadet rubs his head and frowns. He doesn’t say anything as he gets to his feet. Alpha walks over to the table and picks up two DC-17 blaster pistols. “Try these instead.”

7567 stares at them still wearing his frown.

“But they’re so small.” He says still holding the heavy gun in his hands.

“Yeah? So, what. Getting shot with a bigger blaster doesn’t make you more dead then if you were shot with a smaller one.” Alpha says still holding them out. The kid reluctantly sets the heavy blaster down and takes the smaller pistols. “You have a problem with keeping up with your surroundings. I’ve never seen anyone run into as many things as you or trip over flat surfaces.” 7567 stares at the blasters with his ears turning red.

“I’ll try harder.” He says softly. Alpha reaches up to rub the back of his neck. If Jango were still around he would have kicked this cadet out by now. But Alpha’s gut was telling him something else.

“Look,” He says after a moment. “Being clumsy isn’t a crime. Even I’ve tripped and walked into things before.”

“Really?” 7567 looks up with a grin.

“Focus,” Alpha says with the shake of his head. “You just have to learn how to be more observant. These can help. With that heavy blaster you don’t have to worry much about aim because it’s rapid fire and you can hit a lot of targets at once. But these smaller ones will force you to get better at your aim and be more aware of your surroundings. I’ve seen you in battle and I know you have great accuracy. But these you’ll find to be a bigger challenge than a DC-15S. Not only that but you’ll be firing two of them.”

7567 stares down at the pistols in his hands. He finally gives a nod and turns to take aim at the targets. He barely hits the target with his right hand and completely misses with the left. His shoulders drop in disappointment.

“See? I’m no good with these!” He says turning towards Alpha. Alpha places a hand on his shoulder surprising both of them.

“Keep at it. Even Jango had to practice to be as good as he was.” Alpha reassures him. the boy nods and keeps at it. Alpha spends some time working on form and giving pointers. Eventually he leaves him to practice on his own. 7567 is extremely talented but he needs to learn patience. Alpha’s mind wonders to a padawan that 7567 almost reminds him of. He was a good kid and so is 7567.. He starts comparing Jango to the Jedi Master Obi Wan Kenobi. They were polar opposites when it came to training. Alpha stops walking to stand in the middle of the hallway as a realization falls over him. He doesn’t want to be like Jango. He wants to work with these kids and make them better. He wouldn’t just throw them away because they’re different or difficult. They are worth the effort. Flaws and all.

Read full story HERE on AO3

#Arc Training Program #Ch. 3 #Getting to know the cadets part one #alpha 17 #cc 2224 #cody #ct 7567 #rex #shaak ti #jango fett #obi wan kenobi #star wars #star wars the clone wars #star wars prequels #fanfiction #fanfic #AO3

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meowww-ffxiv · 2 years ago

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“When are you going to tell him?”

This was Thancred. Thancred, of all people, to which Liios had an easy response. “You shouldn’t be the one to lecture me,” he said and continued to clean the barrel of his pistol.

His comrade rolled his eyes and muttered something about how he was absolutely the person to lecture him, blah blah. Liios heard every word — viera ears, blunted by years of listening to the sound of his own gun’s discharges as they were — but chose to ignore it. He knew Thancred had a point, and so did Krile’s unsubtle nudging, and so did G’raha even more unsubtle nudging, Alisaie’s impatience and Urianger’s sympathetic understanding that verged on being annoying.

But so what? He did not want to think about it. Did not want to acknowledge it, because if he did that would just open a whole new can of worms that neither Liios nor Estinien — the other party of concern in this…this mess — were equipped to handle.

And Liios would like everyone to leave things the hell alone. Please. They managed to ignore Liios and Estinien fucking until now. Why did the end of the world having come and gone suddenly make them so brazen?

“Alright, fine,” Thancred said, drawing Liios’s wandering thoughts back so he could get irritated in the here and now. “Let’s say it’s not for you, or us. It’s for Estinien’s sake more than anything. He is waiting for you, you know.”

Liios squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a lump in his chest that sat right above his heart and too low in his throat to choke out. It pressed on both his lungs, made it impossible to breathe. And it was a tangle of everything. Love and terror and fear deeper than even that murky darkness under the Tempest, almost as bad as the harrowing grief in Ptolemy’s eyes when they went together to what they thought was Liios’s grave.

At least there had been a finality to that scenario. This one was terrifying precisely because— because it demanded a continuation.

From fear sprang anger, resentment like a whip. Liios threw aside his pistol and tool, didn’t care that they clattered loudly on the table, and glowered at Thancred.

Who immediately backed away, hands held up in apology. “I’m sorry,” he said. Softer now, kinder. His playfulness was gone. Liios wished he hadn’t started with it. Knew also that Thancred had no reason to suspect that it would be inappropriate. This was the atmosphere for their usual banter.

It was just the wrong time and wrong words and wrong everything. So soon after the end, the end that didn’t come. Triumph still tastes like ash and confusion to Liios. And the future he must now face, empty of immediate threats as it was, too much room for old ghosts and old hurts to creep in.

“I will be direct,” Thancred said. His voice sounded a thousand malms away and much too close all at once. Liios squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, pinching the bridge of his nose until it hurt. It wasn’t enough. It couldn’t spare him from Thancred. “I am worried about you, Liios. We all are. I…know how hard it can be to put down everything we’ve carried—”

“I am not you,” Liios snarled. He did not mean to, he didn’t want to, it was a mistake, but the black frothing foulness of everything that’d sit and rot in his belly since Garlemald came dripping through. “My brother is still alive. I did not fail.”

Thancred’s silence was as stone.

If Liios had slit his throat himself, it probably would’ve done the same amount of damage. Liios knew this.

But he couldn’t take it back.

He wanted it to hurt, even. Not Thancred; he wanted it to hurt him. He wanted the bile to burn his own tongue and his own skin, show some fucking physical proof so he could claw it off, or— or give some physical manifestation to it. For… For…

“I am not you,” Liios repeated. And this time the venom was aimed at his own throat but it wouldn’t kill him. It hadn’t years ago, it hadn’t now and it won’t, and he was damned for it. With trembling hands he yanked his pistol back up and just— held it. Taken apart, useless steel, everything in disarray. Liios felt the same, except there were cracks running down his insides and no replacement parts for them. “I am not you. Leave me alone.”

Silence. So long that Liios was sure Thancred had left.

But then he heard: “Alright. Fine. I’m sorry. Since I know you won’t be.”

“I—”

Thancred held up his hands, his sigh harsh. “You are in no frame of mind to talk right now. Let’s…try again, shall we? When you feel more sociable.”

“No,” Liios said darkly.

“Alright, then. We can pretend the last fifteen minutes never happened. I can work with that.”

Thancred’s magnanimity stoked an ugly kind of fire in Liios. He didn’t have any reason to be. And now he was splashing hot oil on the guilt.

Just say sorry, Liios thought to himself. His inner voice sounded a lot like Ptolemy’s. Just say sorry because you were shitty to him and sweep it under the rug. Like always.

Liios opened his mouth. And tried. And tried and tried. Really he did. But nothing came out. Which was stupid because he felt his stomach going queasy with the guilt and he knew he was wrong, but couldn’t force the words through his throat.

What had apologies ever gotten him? I’m sorry he said to his father’s broken body at the bottom of that cliff. I’m sorry he said to the bloody smears of his clan-brothers. I’m sorry he said to the nothing. For nothing.

“Leave,” he croaked. “You’re not helping.”

Thancred inhaled. Then exhaled.

“Can G’raha?” he asked, with softness Liios did not deserve. “Or Estinien—”

“No,” Liios snarled. “Not them or Ptolemy or anyone. Just leave me alone.”

#liios suvali #mon writing

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unstoppableforcce · 4 years ago

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when the dust settles

—CHAPTER ONE: in which we meet our sheriff

pairing: Din Djarin x f reader

art | next part | masterlist

a/n: a short little intro chapter before we get into the dark depth of the series, I hope you enjoy, I know my writing inspiration isn’t always consistent but I’m kinda hooked on what I have in the works for this !!

There was a storm coming.

A dry, desert storm. The worst kind of storm. It was the kind of storm that settled in his battle-worn joints, weighing heavy in his thick, scarred muscles as he clambered down off his steady steed.

The wind was slowly picking up around him as he busied his leather-covered hands with the dusty rope knotted together beside his knapsack, each gust swooping and swirling around him, whipping the dry desert sand into his side and threatening to pull his hat away from his head with each and every pass. He couldn’t stand it. The wind, the early dregs of the storm, the town, all of it.

Arvala wasn’t much of a town, but from what he could see of it as he glanced around back over his shoulder, holding his hat in place atop his head, he knew he didn’t like it.

He wanted to get his directions and be on his way before the storm had the chance to settle overhead.

Fighting through the last restraining knot from the loop of rope, he made quick work of retying a few knots to keep the towering grey horse where he stood beside the dilapidated railing of the seemingly empty building. That was yet another thing that irked him about the surrounding dusty, one-street township.

It was empty.

Spare the vague hints of movement that caught his eye through the second story surrounding windows and the occasional body he saw crossing the empty street, the town seemed nearly devoid of souls. It settled a chill in the base of his spine, a chill he couldn’t escape. Unnerving was putting it gently, disturbing was a far more accurate descriptor.

Arvala wasn’t much of a town, but he wanted out of it.

Razor bucked gently at his side, knocking his heavy head into his shoulder to drag his attention back from the desolate town around them, but all he could offer the dark steel grey steed was a soft brush against his dusty mane in response.

“I just need directions,” he mused almost silently, realizing he was speaking to the horse as much as he was reminding himself. “Just directions.”

The saloon was the only real building with any sign of life, the dull hum of vigorous conversation from inside vibrating out the chipped red painted doors and meeting his ears as he stalked further into the town. There was something comforting about that, it did little to damper the tormenting chill still haunting him at the base of his spine, but at least it was something.

Something that only got better as he got closer to the building and the noise echoing out of it.

The doors were thrown open as a lone figure emerged, gifting him a brief second to look inside, just enough to see a few tables packed with men, cards, and drinks, a combination he was certainly not looking forward to as he continued up the dusty wooden steps. He stole a glance back to his side as well, to the shrouded figure who had emerged just a second before, now knelt down beside the rickety bench with a hammer in hand, but didn’t direct any more thought that way. He just needed directions.

Directions and he’d be gone.

The voices became less like a hum and much more like a rancorous chaos the second he pushed through the dilapidated doors. He hated men that drank like this, spilling themselves out across the card-covered tables, downing drinks as fast as they could be poured. They filled towns like this, he couldn’t stand towns like this.

Moving to the counter, he did his best to pay them as much mind as he had paid the figure out front. He just needed directions. He needed directions and then he’d be gone--

“Can I help you with something, sweetheart?”

His head snapped to the friendly tone as it cut through the disgusting chuckles and belching happening behind him, finding the friendly face the words belonged to easily as she wiped down a mess from the bar top beside him. Sweet, kind eyes, an effortless drawl to her tone. How she could tolerate being stuffed in a saloon with the likes of the men behind him, he truly didn’t understand.

He cleared his throat, adjusting the black bandana to keep it taut over his nose and face. “I’m looking for direct--”

“Bull shit, you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!” A man shouted from behind him, the vulgar tone accompanied by a brutal slap to the hardwood table top and a clattering of glasses against each other. It was violent and aggressive and his gloved fist clenched as the cacophony of sounds interrupted him. He couldn’t stand-- no, he hated towns like this.

“Honey?” The gentle drawl drew him back. “You’re looking for what?”

“I’m looking for--”

“It is NOT bull shit, Taro, you need to shut your goddamn mouth and put your money on the table.” A second man countered, as disgusting in his aggression as the first had been, if not more so.

Against the countertop, his tight fist clenched further, his blunt nails digging deep into the worn leather around his grip. “I’m looking for--”

“Don’t tell me what to do with my money.”

He just couldn’t take it anymore.

His stubborn temper had a mind of it’s own, forcing his practiced hand to the familiar grip of his pistol and drawing it in a split second, faster than any of the men at the table behind him. The cool metal of the tip found a comfortable resting point at the back of the closest man’s head, buried in the thick head of dark hair and the men surrounding him all quickly jumped to attention even in their drunken haze, drawing their own weapons and leveling them back his way.

Four to one. There were worse odds.

“What in the stars above is your problem, man?” The words escaped the targeted man’s mouth laced with fear and confusion as his hands lifted in surrender at his side.

Glancing at all the surrounding drunken men, they wore a look similar to that tone. Frightened, disoriented, and too drunk to truly comprehend what they were witnessing in their typically mundane saloon. Good, he thought callously, it was what they deserved.

“I’m trying to ask a question.” His level voice explained as the man at the other end of his pistol began to tremble gently against the metal pressed into his skull.

The tallest of the men stood across from him, gun drawn, shrugged his shoulders in a confused aggression, “four against one and he’s trying to ask a question?”

The masked man merely pushed the pistol further into the skull of the trembling man, nodding his head forward with the forceful pressure.

“Well, go on, ask it, lord knows we ain’t gonna stop ya now.” The shaking man scrambled desperately, unable to stop his surrendered hands from shaking even as he raised them to ensure the men standing in his defense didn’t do anything stupid on his behalf.

“I need directions to the Arvala seventh, which way from here--”

This time, it wasn’t the chaos within which cut him off before he could finish a singular thought, but the sound of the doors as they opened with a careless slam. With a hammer twirling mindlessly in your hand as he turned to see you saunter in, he quickly recognized you as the figure he had paid such little attention to as he entered. But the men at the table recognized you in a different way, their shoulders falling in on themselves with a relaxed sigh of relief slipping through their lips.

He saw the shoulder holsters first. Then the badge.

“Fixed the bench out front…” An almost unnatural mixture of disappointment and exhausted cradled your tone as each of lazy words fell from your lips, dripping with both an air of confidence and layer of hesitance as you carefully eyed the scene before you. Even as you passed the hammer off to the kind barkeep, your stare stayed trained on the lone intruder in the bar, “What’s going on in here, boys?”

“Brown eyes over here is looking for the seventh.”

Disappointment and exhaustion, your entire form exuded it effortlessly as the immediate scoff tumbled from your lips. “The seventh, huh?... Guild?”

He didn’t know what to do with himself. As abrupt as his sudden draw had been, there had been a careful purpose to it, one he threw his whole heart behind in the moment, but now, with your careful stare holding on him, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His pistol was still leveled with the man’s skull, but even as the entire tone of the room shifted, you made no move to draw, no physical threat of any kind. The only movement in the whole establishment was that of the men across from him, lowering their weapons as they watched you and your trusted presence.

He didn’t know what to do.

Stealing a careful glance of his own around the room before his shrouded stare found it’s way back to you, he felt as though he had no choice left but to lower his pistol. He didn’t holster it, not yet, but he lowered it as his rough answer escaped his masked mouth.

“Yes.”

“Well…” your shoulders lifted and fell in an exhausted excuse for a shrug as you took another step closer. “This ain’t it.”

The men across the table relaxed the rest of the way as you encroached, holstering their weapons and even reaching their filthy hands towards their abandoned, unfinished drinks, again, leaving him no choice but to do the same. As he placed the cool metal back into his worn leather holster, he lifted his hands in a brief show of surrender, still incapable of gauging whether or not it was the right move.

But he had nothing else to go off of.

“Can you tell me how to get there?” He tried again, hesitant with his words as every stare in the building stayed trained on him.

Again, a rough scoff burst from your lips without any move to muffle it. “Ride, for the most part.”

“I mean--”

The kind-eyed bartender reappeared at your side, effortlessly drawing your careful attention away from him by placing a dark glass bottle into your hand before the second word of his defense could even fully slip from his lips. It looked like a transaction, the repair work for the drink, and you graciously accepted it with a nod, tipping your hat respectfully towards her before turning back to him.

Yet, even with your attention directed back towards him, as he opened his mouth again, you quickly shut it for him.

“I mean where--”

“I’m well aware of what you meant.”

The men at the table had resumed a gentle hum of conversation once guns were removed from the situation, but your words were a gavel, slamming down hard and returning the stale and dusty silence to the saloon. The dark grey clouds just outside and the violent wind knocking into the worn door were enough to signal a storm was brewing, but for a second, he convinced himself it was already there.

Staring him dead in the eye. Unwavering.

“Buy the boys a drink, apologize, and get the hell out of town.”

It wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order, plain and simple.

He froze in his boots where he stood, your harsh tone alone enough to freeze his form in a way that neither the blustering chill of the stormy wind or the darkening sky ever could. He had met plenty of sheriffs, he had passed through hundreds of towns just like this one, yet as he held your stare, he felt tense, every muscle in his body screaming, caught directly between fight and flight.

But you moved as if your words were nothing to you, as if you hadn’t just shaken him to his core with your stare alone.

Lifting the bottle in a kind salute back towards the sweet bartender, you turned towards the table and offered another careful nod their way. “Have a nice night, boys.”

“You too, sheriff.”

Effortless and exhausted, you moved for the door, nudging it open with your hip as he found just enough strength to step up and follow you. It didn’t matter though, you were already through before he made it a foot away from the table, two words falling from your tired lips as your heavy boots carried you away.

“Fucking guild...”

—

tags: @rainy-day-gracie @seasonschange-butpeopledont @nominalnebula @randomnesss501 @hoodedbirdie @littlevodika @witchyavenger @mistermiraclee @tiffdawg @trust-dreamcatcher @videogamesandpoorlifechoices @lil-baby27 @blacksquadron-rougetwo @rogueonestan

#din djarin x female reader #din djarin x reader #the Mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal x reader #western au #sheriff meets bounty hunter #the Mandalorian #baby yoda

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